Growing up, Juan was led to believe by general chatter that lightning, while certainly a risk, was not something a person had to be particularly concerned about. Sure, if you are in a pool and the lifeguard on duty isn’t a teenager, you usually have to get out of the pool when the weather starts turning electric, but otherwise, no one really made any fuss about it - you just carry on with your day.
One day in the 10th grade, Juan was walking home from school. It was a fairly lovely day, the sky being blue and whatnot, when rather suddenly a storm rolled in and lightning shortly followed the dimming of the sky. Juan pulled his jacket up over his head to keep the rain off his rare good hair day, as he kicked up his pace into a quick jog. Then came a huge flash of light followed immediately by the loudest noise he’d ever heard and then CONK on the head like a hardback book had been dropped from the sky. It wasn’t enough to knock him down but enough to be alarming. He stopped dead in his tracks - actually, strike that poor and inaccurate turn of phrase, he stopped *alive* in his tracks. He seemed to be fine, but what the hell was that? He turned around and spotted a badly fried bird on the sidewalk, and it hit him - again, what a poor turn of phrase, though at least accurate this time - the bird must have been struck by lightning. Juan squatted a little closer, it didn’t seem possible that the bird could still be alive, but Juan was a hope-filled optimist. As he got closer, a thought occurred to him, a phrase that’s been uttered so often it seems true, but is it? They say lightning never strikes twice, and Juan thought, if that’s true (and why wouldn’t it be?) then Juan was arguably in the exact safest spot.
Juan would soon discover that despite the popularity of the phrase, lightning, in fact, often strikes the same place multiple times. Really makes you wonder who these people are that come up with such nonsense phrases! Anyway, no need for suspense or surprise, if you’re smart you’ve surely realized that Juan was about to be struck by lightning. ZAP! Juan’s gangly, brown body laid over the corpse of the fried bird, though in better shape than his flat, feathered friend. Long story short, he survived, his hearing didn’t.
And that wasn’t all the changed after that day. Not that it’s possible, but Juan couldn’t help believing that the spirit of that bird had entered his orbit and seemed mangled with him, congealed somehow. Some nights he would dream he was flying and when the sky would turn the slightest shade darker, get vivid flashbacks of the dreadful day little birdie went WOOSH, ZAP, BONK. He also noticed when birds would sing around him, though he couldn’t hear them, he seemed to be able to understand their meaning, which surely wasn’t the slightest bit probable, yet still...he was never more certain about anything than that the bluebird on his block was pissed at the cardinal (for some multi-generational family feud drama). He was also shocked to be somehow privy to the new-to-him, ungoogled fact that actually evening birds have superior verbal abilities and get more worms than early birds.
As a lightning strike survivor, Juan’s desire to know everything he could about lightning risk caught on fire - again, what an absolutely terrible turn of phrase. The fact that most struck Juan to his core - good god, what is wrong with me?? - was the fact that one-third of lightning-strike injuries occur indoors. Yes, you heard me, even in your very home you could be struck by lightning. The odds are higher if you are on your computer or other electrical equipment. Weather.gov also advises you avoid plumbing! When’s the first or last time you ever heard someone say during a thunderstorm - “Hey! Don’t use the toilet! It’s lightning out!” Never?! You should also stay away from window, doors, and porches. Do not lie on concrete floors or lean against concrete walls. Are you absolutely kidding me, weather.gov?? In fact, they are not. In fact, weather.gov has not once written a certified joke.
Juan became the most reclusive recluse that ever lived. He bought an old nuclear missile bunker in Nebraska. The only thing above ground was the door. One day as he was playing his 500,021st game of solitaire, he heard an undeniable flapping sound which was weird both because he was more than 100 feet below ground, and also because, if you’ll recall from mere paragraphs ago, he was now deaf. Nevertheless, he started looking around like a dog convinced the squirrel on tv is real - and to everyone’s surprise but himself, found an actual, alive bird. The bird, terrified to find a human, looked for an exit. Juan, simultaneously did the math on how in the world an alive bird came to be in an underground bunker. Was there a hole somewhere? And if so, how long til lightning found him?
As frustrating as I’m sure it is to read this sentence, I still have to tell you that there will be no hole. There will be no logical realization of how the bird got there. You’ll have to chalk it up to one of those unsolved mysteries like the ones Juan’s mom obsessed over back when cable was a thing that meant TV. Juan named the bird Betty, because why not? One day Betty started building a nest with all the discarded tissues Juan had ever snotted into. This was devastating for a few reasons, one because Juan only had 10 boxes of tissue in the bunker and he’d run out 2 years earlier, and had been reusing them until they disintegrated - I know it’s disgusting, but what do you want from me? Comfort or truth?? The second reason it was devastating (and also possibly confusing or problematic) was because it meant Betty was about to have babies. To be honest, you really shouldn’t be surprised about this - the title of this story is “Juan has three birds and a ghost” and so far Juan has neither or maybe 1 bird or 1 ghost, depending on where I’m going with this story, which to be honest, your guess is as good as mine at this point.
So, Betty had 2 babies, Bluecifer and Browser - and so that’s the 3 birds for you. Phew, okay, only 1 ghost to go.
Juan, Betty, Bluecifer and Browser quickly became their own insta-family, They developed a routine. Sleep in late, since the early bird definitely doesn’t get the worm, coffee, then flight lessons, lunch, then solitaire, choir practice, stretching, hot coco with marshmallows, followed by worm hunting and ghost stories, then bed. One night, - okay, here we go, ghost stuff - as Browser was crowing off a real dumb ghost story, all the candles suddenly went out. In the pitch dark and deafening silence (really?), Juan felt a familiar presence. It was warm, but authoritative, smelled like vanilla and vodka, and soon lit up the smallest flame revealing its mildly translucent and overly lined red lips. “Mother???” Juan yelled - which then echoed through the bunker. Mother smiled, her left upper lip mole creasing into a half moon. A single tear fell from Juan’s left eye as he realized what her appearance in this form meant. She was gone from the world above, he had missed her final years, his fear secluding him from all he had once loved.
Juan rushed to her side and threw his arms around then through her. He stood and stared - she stared back. Betty quacked, duck-ily. Bluecifer and Browser hid behind her. Juan’s Mom said something but unlike the birds, he couldn’t understand. She stared at him intently - clearly it was something important. Juan said, “I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” Juan’s Mom shut her yap and held up her see-through hands and signed I LOVE YOU. Juan signed it back. Juan’s Mom shut her eyes as though resigning herself to be taken up to heaven. Juan and co. watched on. Minutes passed awkwardly. Juan’s Mom began to panic. Was she in an underground bunker not just to say a final goodbye to Juan, but because it was on the way to an even more southern destination? Juan’s Mom’s eyes showed panic as she looked down. Minutes passed. Bluecifer yawned. Browser put himself to nest. Years passed. You had to know where I was going with this. The title is “Juan has three birds and a ghost.”
And so, that’s how it came to be that Juan had three birds and a ghost. If it impresses you much, I can also say it in Italian: Juan ha Tre uccelli e un fantasma.
One day in the 10th grade, Juan was walking home from school. It was a fairly lovely day, the sky being blue and whatnot, when rather suddenly a storm rolled in and lightning shortly followed the dimming of the sky. Juan pulled his jacket up over his head to keep the rain off his rare good hair day, as he kicked up his pace into a quick jog. Then came a huge flash of light followed immediately by the loudest noise he’d ever heard and then CONK on the head like a hardback book had been dropped from the sky. It wasn’t enough to knock him down but enough to be alarming. He stopped dead in his tracks - actually, strike that poor and inaccurate turn of phrase, he stopped *alive* in his tracks. He seemed to be fine, but what the hell was that? He turned around and spotted a badly fried bird on the sidewalk, and it hit him - again, what a poor turn of phrase, though at least accurate this time - the bird must have been struck by lightning. Juan squatted a little closer, it didn’t seem possible that the bird could still be alive, but Juan was a hope-filled optimist. As he got closer, a thought occurred to him, a phrase that’s been uttered so often it seems true, but is it? They say lightning never strikes twice, and Juan thought, if that’s true (and why wouldn’t it be?) then Juan was arguably in the exact safest spot.
Juan would soon discover that despite the popularity of the phrase, lightning, in fact, often strikes the same place multiple times. Really makes you wonder who these people are that come up with such nonsense phrases! Anyway, no need for suspense or surprise, if you’re smart you’ve surely realized that Juan was about to be struck by lightning. ZAP! Juan’s gangly, brown body laid over the corpse of the fried bird, though in better shape than his flat, feathered friend. Long story short, he survived, his hearing didn’t.
And that wasn’t all the changed after that day. Not that it’s possible, but Juan couldn’t help believing that the spirit of that bird had entered his orbit and seemed mangled with him, congealed somehow. Some nights he would dream he was flying and when the sky would turn the slightest shade darker, get vivid flashbacks of the dreadful day little birdie went WOOSH, ZAP, BONK. He also noticed when birds would sing around him, though he couldn’t hear them, he seemed to be able to understand their meaning, which surely wasn’t the slightest bit probable, yet still...he was never more certain about anything than that the bluebird on his block was pissed at the cardinal (for some multi-generational family feud drama). He was also shocked to be somehow privy to the new-to-him, ungoogled fact that actually evening birds have superior verbal abilities and get more worms than early birds.
As a lightning strike survivor, Juan’s desire to know everything he could about lightning risk caught on fire - again, what an absolutely terrible turn of phrase. The fact that most struck Juan to his core - good god, what is wrong with me?? - was the fact that one-third of lightning-strike injuries occur indoors. Yes, you heard me, even in your very home you could be struck by lightning. The odds are higher if you are on your computer or other electrical equipment. Weather.gov also advises you avoid plumbing! When’s the first or last time you ever heard someone say during a thunderstorm - “Hey! Don’t use the toilet! It’s lightning out!” Never?! You should also stay away from window, doors, and porches. Do not lie on concrete floors or lean against concrete walls. Are you absolutely kidding me, weather.gov?? In fact, they are not. In fact, weather.gov has not once written a certified joke.
Juan became the most reclusive recluse that ever lived. He bought an old nuclear missile bunker in Nebraska. The only thing above ground was the door. One day as he was playing his 500,021st game of solitaire, he heard an undeniable flapping sound which was weird both because he was more than 100 feet below ground, and also because, if you’ll recall from mere paragraphs ago, he was now deaf. Nevertheless, he started looking around like a dog convinced the squirrel on tv is real - and to everyone’s surprise but himself, found an actual, alive bird. The bird, terrified to find a human, looked for an exit. Juan, simultaneously did the math on how in the world an alive bird came to be in an underground bunker. Was there a hole somewhere? And if so, how long til lightning found him?
As frustrating as I’m sure it is to read this sentence, I still have to tell you that there will be no hole. There will be no logical realization of how the bird got there. You’ll have to chalk it up to one of those unsolved mysteries like the ones Juan’s mom obsessed over back when cable was a thing that meant TV. Juan named the bird Betty, because why not? One day Betty started building a nest with all the discarded tissues Juan had ever snotted into. This was devastating for a few reasons, one because Juan only had 10 boxes of tissue in the bunker and he’d run out 2 years earlier, and had been reusing them until they disintegrated - I know it’s disgusting, but what do you want from me? Comfort or truth?? The second reason it was devastating (and also possibly confusing or problematic) was because it meant Betty was about to have babies. To be honest, you really shouldn’t be surprised about this - the title of this story is “Juan has three birds and a ghost” and so far Juan has neither or maybe 1 bird or 1 ghost, depending on where I’m going with this story, which to be honest, your guess is as good as mine at this point.
So, Betty had 2 babies, Bluecifer and Browser - and so that’s the 3 birds for you. Phew, okay, only 1 ghost to go.
Juan, Betty, Bluecifer and Browser quickly became their own insta-family, They developed a routine. Sleep in late, since the early bird definitely doesn’t get the worm, coffee, then flight lessons, lunch, then solitaire, choir practice, stretching, hot coco with marshmallows, followed by worm hunting and ghost stories, then bed. One night, - okay, here we go, ghost stuff - as Browser was crowing off a real dumb ghost story, all the candles suddenly went out. In the pitch dark and deafening silence (really?), Juan felt a familiar presence. It was warm, but authoritative, smelled like vanilla and vodka, and soon lit up the smallest flame revealing its mildly translucent and overly lined red lips. “Mother???” Juan yelled - which then echoed through the bunker. Mother smiled, her left upper lip mole creasing into a half moon. A single tear fell from Juan’s left eye as he realized what her appearance in this form meant. She was gone from the world above, he had missed her final years, his fear secluding him from all he had once loved.
Juan rushed to her side and threw his arms around then through her. He stood and stared - she stared back. Betty quacked, duck-ily. Bluecifer and Browser hid behind her. Juan’s Mom said something but unlike the birds, he couldn’t understand. She stared at him intently - clearly it was something important. Juan said, “I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” Juan’s Mom shut her yap and held up her see-through hands and signed I LOVE YOU. Juan signed it back. Juan’s Mom shut her eyes as though resigning herself to be taken up to heaven. Juan and co. watched on. Minutes passed awkwardly. Juan’s Mom began to panic. Was she in an underground bunker not just to say a final goodbye to Juan, but because it was on the way to an even more southern destination? Juan’s Mom’s eyes showed panic as she looked down. Minutes passed. Bluecifer yawned. Browser put himself to nest. Years passed. You had to know where I was going with this. The title is “Juan has three birds and a ghost.”
And so, that’s how it came to be that Juan had three birds and a ghost. If it impresses you much, I can also say it in Italian: Juan ha Tre uccelli e un fantasma.
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