![]() The day that Bird tried to fly, the grown-ups were out looking for him-all of them except Mom and Granny. From that day on, Grandpa never spoke another word. Bird’s little blue bath towel was found not far from his body, snagged on a bush, the towel that served as wings. Grandpa kept talking like that, and no one paid him much notice until Bird jumped off a cliff, the cliff at the edge of the tallgrass prairie, the cliff that dropped a good couple hundred feet to a dried-up riverbed below. ![]() Bird’s thick, black hair poked out in every direction, just like the head feathers of the blackbirds, Grandpa said, and he bet that one day Bird would fly like one too. His name was John until Grandpa said he looked more like a Bird with the way he kept jumping off things, and the name stuck. ![]() GRANDPA stopped speaking the day he killed my brother, John. ![]()
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