pigeon

looking up “sialia” while the boys watched X-files

The blue-white gleam of the TV slip-n-slides a track across the battle-scarred hardwood floor of someone’s apartment. Prob’ly someone named Dave or Seth or Don or Ron or Troy or something like that, or else one of their brothers or one of their friends or one of their roommates who was friends with my friend, let’s call him Cael.

Cael and I were freshly back from the road, re-ensconced in good old Columbia, MO, the town that feels like a walk-in closet in a 1920s craftsman foursquare. Or anyhow, it did then; now, who knows, it probably feels like a Shake Shack and a car wash, like everywhere else.

On our long, misguided, rambling tour around selected states, we had spent the most time in Wisconsin, because that’s where the girls were — Si and let’s call her Fae, along with their fresh-faced baby-hippy younger sister Willow. I wish there were some way I could compress the machinations down even more compactly than this:

Cael & I met through the pagans, he was an orphan from Nebraska, we became best friends, I was sort of in love with him, he didn’t go to college, I graduated, we went on a long romanticized trip, it was weird and hot and boring and awkward and eye-opeining, I paid most of our expenses with my mom & stepdad’s money, he wanted to go back to Racine to get with this girl (Fae) he’d fallen in love with, he said she had a sister (Si) that would prob’ly get friendly with me, we stayed with them for a couple weeks, Fae wasn’t that into him anymore, he was glum, I kind of got with Si, my infatuation was somewhat forced, it got more real later, but in the meantime we were back in MO, staying at someone’s old house I guess, Cael and whoever the friends & roommates were were watching X Files on TV and I was having a flashback to how it was when I was a little kid — when the TV was on and I had something more compelling to do than watch it, how it felt like a surreptitious privilege to steal away and do the other thing.

Just for kicks, I asked perplexity.ai to condense that down to about half the length:

Cael and I met through the pagans; he was an orphan from Nebraska. We became best friends, and I had feelings for him. After I graduated, we took a long, romanticized trip, which was a mix of weird, hot, boring, and eye-opening moments. I covered most expenses with my family’s help. The trip centered around Cael reconnecting with Fae in Racine, but she had lost interest. He introduced me to her sister, Si, and I developed feelings for her, though initially forced, they became genuine later. Back in Missouri, we stayed at a friend’s house where Cael and others watched The X-Files, reminding me of childhood moments when I’d sneak away from TV to do something more interesting.

I guess it’s a tad more level-headed, a bit less flailing, although the repeated use of “had feelings for” makes me wanna sour puke a little. And there’s a hella awkward comma splice in there. But I mean, my original draft was just one long massive comma-separated run-on anyway, so who am I to complain.

In any case, what I was doing while not watching TV was looking up the etymology of bluebird, because we (the WI girls and me & Cael) had started this game of trying to figure out what colors each other’s auras were, or something along those lines, and coming up with, like, soul-names to go along with them. My color was mossy green (of course), I think Cael’s was burnt sienna or something weird like that? I don’t remember Willow’s color scheme but her name was Willow. (Sometimes I’m lazy with making up the fake names for these posts). Everybody was like, oh, Si, your color is blue! you’re so blue! lalalala, but I kept insisting that I also sensed an undertone of orange-ish brown or brownish orange, a ruddy sunset hue. I can’t remember if I thought of bluebirds because of that, or if she had professed an affinity for bluebirds and that was the starting point, but in any case, I looked it up — there was, bless the old-school nerd gods, an actual, hefty, hard-bound dictionary in that house, complete with etymologies!

Genus Sialia, subfamily Turdinae, family Muscicapidae: three species, including the eastern bluebird (S. sialis)

This recollection is tarnished by the presence of the syllable “Turd” in that particular etymology, as well as by this:

The male is blue, with the breast reddish. (emphasis mine)

Si was definitely not male, although she had some fetching “tomboy” characteristics (is that a deprecated word now? I’m sure we were still using it at the time and it wasn’t derogatory), and in fact after we split up she started partnering with (as far as I know) pretty much exclusively women.

To belatedly make a long, pointless story short, I was like aha! and called her up (on an actual telephone of course) and said, “Your name is Sialia!” And she liked it, and I liked that she liked it and it made me feel special.

I’m kind of cringing at the juvenile parts of all this, but there’s a warm resonance of something else that draws me in, invites my mind’s eye to peek in through the lit-up dollhouse windows of whoever’s house that was, and watch younger me and my friends and acquaintances go through the motions, striving, relaxing, idling, obsessing, burning up time —

Maybe that’s what the resonant note is: time. The luxury of time, mixed with the warmth of the woodwork you always find in homes like that, those rambling early 1900s stacks of brick and timber lining the streets of midwest college towns and cities.

I love those houses. The shady porches, the heavy supports. The squared-off self-possession. The perfect amount of dilapidation. There’s plenty of them here in Milwaukee too, many tending toward the humble bungalow side of the spectrum, but plenty three- or even three-and-a-half-story ones too, reaching for the treetops, perhaps reluctant to fully relinquish the influence of their Victorian predecessors.

Touching the pages of the dictionary. The floorboards against my bare feet. Everything I needed in a backpack or in the mess of stuff inside my hatchback Tercel. Patchouli. Infatuation, awkwardness, jealousy, possibility. Just the sheer obliviousness of youth! Looking back, I’m grateful we were safe, then. Little bluebirds in a nest.

OK, just for kicks, I had ChatGPT condense this whole post down to a single paragraph:

After a meandering road trip marked by youthful infatuation, awkward romance, and emotional confusion, the narrator and their friend Cael return to Missouri, crashing at a friend's house while Cael and others watch The X-Files. Amid the nostalgia and the ambient glow of the TV, the narrator recalls their recent adventures—meeting Cael through a pagan group, harboring unspoken feelings for him, funding their travels, navigating a failed romantic setup with a girl named Si, and ultimately forming a more genuine connection with her. While the others zone out, the narrator dives into a dictionary to look up the word bluebird—inspired by a soul-color game they all played—and dubs Si “Sialia,” the genus name for bluebird. Though cringing at the naiveté of the past, the memory is tinged with warmth, a reverence for old houses, the texture of youth, and the quiet luxury of time.

Honestly, not too bad? A couple of fluffed details, a dangling modifier, and that godawful “feelings for” again — are these fucking AIs afraid of love? But I like some of the phrases, like “the texture of youth” and “the quiet luxury of time.” The truth is in there?