Lola’s steps were heavy as she trudged along the gray pavement. Her dull eyes cast downward, avoiding contact as much as she could. It was relatively easy here in the inane bustle of the city; hidden amongst the crowd, she did not have to concern herself with anyone noticing her. But still, she hated it—the walk home from the library. The sounds were overwhelming—she felt them drilling into her mind. The all-encompassing screech of car tires, the squeaky, insidious chalkboard scrape of snipped conversations, and the incessant beep. Beep. Beep. The recurring death of the traffic light crossing drowned her in noise. Noise everywhere she turned. Noise. Noise.
And in amongst it all, the deafening “caw-caw-caw” of the crow.
The bird had first alighted on Lola’s windowsill one drab October morning. Its feathers were a tainted black from the spectrum of colors intermingling; its wings had spread wide into the sky. In the sunlight, it had been a stark beauty against the muted backdrop of the city. Its beak dark and pointed into a hooked question mark, it had settled in front of her, preening nonchalantly. Distant but oddly familiar.
And now, here it was again, exactly the same as always.
With each visit, the crow carried within its feathers both the calm and the storm. The past and the present—protecting and haunting simultaneously. Today, as the sounds screeched into her spirit, dragging the nails of intrusion across her face, she felt her hands trembling and her heart racing. The crow’s piercing gaze stared into her soul. It knew. She knew that it knew. What exactly, she could not pinpoint. It disconcerted her and comforted her somehow. It had become a fixture in her life, a silent observer. She was glad for the consistency.
Today, in the midst of her anxiety, Lola paused, her breath catching in her throat as she locked eyes with the crow. For a moment, the waves threatening to overwhelm her into submission subsided, replaced by an inexplicable silence that seemed to shield her from the world.
She took a hesitant step forward, her gaze still fixed on the crow. Its sharp black eyes were unwavering, boring into her. It cocked its head gently, and with wings unfurled, it flew slightly ahead of her. Lola felt the heavy weight of her decision. With uncharacteristic abandon, she decided to follow its lead. It continued its flight, then paused, looking backward as if ensuring she was still behind. She was. Lola navigated seamlessly through the city streets, the noise muffled and becoming increasingly distant, like a memory she could not hold. Her steps became purposeful as she allowed the crow to guide her away from the well-trodden path she usually took home.
They arrived at an empty park, her heart still throbbing but her mind clear—softened by the call of the auburn leaves as they fell from autumn trees. She breathed. The air felt cleaner, rejuvenating. She felt it fresh in her lungs. Sacred. The crow landed on a bench and waited for her to compose herself. Lola’s heart calmed, but in her veins, she felt the liquid river of anticipation replace the thrashing, uncontrollable waves of fear. She sat down beside it.
“Thank you,” she whispered into the wind.
The crow’s pupils pierced into her, its gaze penetrating yet strangely gentle—nurturing, before outstretching its wings and soaring upwards into the dimming sky.
Lola watched silently, allowing the peace to settle into her.
The crow had shown her a way through the chaos. Another path. One that she would never have chosen for herself. On that sodden, solitary bench, she realized that the crow she had feared had been a guardian all along. Her hands instinctively reached to her locket, the only remnant of the mother she had ever known. Her fingers stroked the shape of the engraved bird.
She knew that she had finally met the woman who had died so that she would be born. She had been with her all along. Around her neck, she would no longer carry the noose of anxiety and uncertainty, but hold dear to her heart the unspoken vow of the crow—a promise of guidance, protection, and the beauty of the unexpected. As she sat on the bench under the dwindling light, she understood with a clarity she had never known; she would never see the crow again, but its presence would be felt far beyond what her eyes could perceive.
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