xyzphage

one who devours unusual letters

When One Becomes Two

Hugh Twersky

Logan Berry was sitting on the front step of his house, tying his shoe lace, when a turkey buzzard flew into his lap. It was only a juvenile turkey buzzard—which is how it could fit in Logan’s lap as he leant to tie his shoelace—but it had been flying long enough that you'd expect it not to wind up in such predicaments, you really would.

The juvenile turkey buzzard was unnamed, as are all members of the family Cathartidae. This is because turkey buzzards do not share the human concept of “I” and “You”. The particular turkey buzzard wedged in Logan Berry’s lap, did, however, understand the concept of numbers and knew that—somewhere in the immediate past—one had now become two.

One juvenile turkey buzzard had set out that day from the many-nested tree, using one thermal then another thermal to carry it through the air toward the area with the many penned animals, at which point one turkey buzzard flew low to the ground, using its sense of smell to detect the gases produced by decaying animals. One turkey buzzard flew over many non-decaying farm animals. One turkey buzzard finally caught one whiff of one of the gases that one decaying animal would give off, and increased the rate at which it flapped its two wings in anticipation, thus decreasing its manoeuvrability and wham: one turkey buzzard was surrounded by one something else, which did not appear to be dead or decaying, though that sweet smell of carrion was everywhere.

Logan Berry knew his trainers smelt a little off, but did not suspect that they were emitting cadaverine and putrescine, and that this could be the cause of this collision. He was not frightened or surprised by the sudden appearance of a turkey buzzard in his lap. The turkey buzzard’s arrival was, in fact, one part Welcome Relief and one part Culinary Opportunity.

Backstory: When Logan Berry was seven and three quarters, his friend, Oliver Carol, had posed the until-now-unanswerable question: "Do turkey buzzards taste like turkey?"

Logan Berry left off tying his shoelaces, twisted the neck of the juvenile turkey buzzard, placed it carefully on the decking and went inside to look up recipes online.

He was soon distracted and began gmail chatting with someone he had never met in person.

Logan Berry looked away from the computer screen. It was dark outside. He had left the front door open. He remembered the dead turkey buzzard he had left on the deck. He walked outside, noticing he still hadn’t done up his left shoe lace. He stood over the dead turkey buzzard.It no longer looked like something you would cook. Or something you would eat. It looked like a photo an animal activists would print on posters and tape to lamp posts.

Logan Berry picked up the turkey buzzard by the neck and spun around like an Olympic discus thrower and launched the bird into the bushes near his house.

He rubbed his hands on his thighs, stooped and tied his shoe lace.


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