I pull up next to the apartment. It looks more like a small town home- the type with painted shutters.
It snowed yesterday, and our favorite Camry isn’t too great with traction.
I’m always nervous for exchanges like this.
“Here!” I text.
“Sweet. Coming down now!”
I see the front door open. The woman appears on the front patio.
She’s wearing one of those sweatshirts that you see the gym bros try to rock- the intense cut offs that show the sides of your whole torso.
And besides that, she’s not wearing anything but underwear.
“Oh word, no pants?” I say.
“Yeah, not the best idea for the weather, huh?” she answers, as though a cold breeze is the only reason that would justify covering your ass in front of a stranger.
“Alright, I’ll help you bring her to your car.”
And that’s the story of how I bought a houseplant off of Facebook Marketplace.
I truly believe that any lowered profit margins on marketplace are compensated for with experiences like this one. Maybe as an item is listed, the site generates a new magical being to present it to you.
Hey, you got your giant cheap plant. But you had to consult with the pantsless townhouse wizard woman first.
I think there’s some charm in that. My apartment is becoming this mosaic of collected items, each one oozing with story. I’d like to think that the chaos makes it better.
So I build my living space out of second hand treasures and narrative.
While I was working on it recently, I remembered this novel that I read a couple of years ago about bowerbirds.
Bowerbirds look a bit like grackles, if you’ve ever seen those. Purple-y black plumage. A little dark bird. They live in New Guinea and Australia, so I have yet to witness one in person.
My favorite fact about bowerbirds: they spend years learning their art- architecting elaborate nests out of found objects.
They create archways out of sticks and sprinkle colorful seeds and berries around them like confetti. Bowerbirds love the color blue, so many of these structures are dusted in varying shades of cobalt. Each piece is placed like a brushstroke.
These nests aren’t actually nests at all. They’re called bowers, and they’re created by the males solely to attract a mate.
The male bowerbirds have been known to maintain the same bower for decades. They change out the decor once it shrivels up and use their beaks to paint new pigment along the walls of it.
Bowers are a continual practice of creation and a bid for connection.
I think about this a lot, actually.
And hopefully it’s clear that it’s not in the “I’m going to build a nest and do a bird dance to attract a lover” kind of way.
Sometimes I feel like I’m a tiny black bird, constructing my little life and looking out into this void of the future. I really don’t know what this thing is being built for.
I’d imagine the birds don’t either.
I collect these confetti pieces- stories, people, music, wisdom I’ve taken to heart.
These camping trips and hole in the wall pubs, these drunken watercolor nights and skipping stones in the lake, these occasional marketplace escapades.
I build them on top of each other: my life, my love, my home, my mind.
I feel like sometimes future possibility touches down on me like a bird on the bower.
I get glimpses, little samples of what’s to come. Dancing back and forth.
And until the visitor becomes a resident, I am building.
Because that future possibility might just be me, and I want her to love everything we’ve built together.
In the meantime, I watch my capacity to love expand. I look at the people in my life- what they create, what they say. Those confetti pieces are my favorite to hold.
When I think about bowerbirds, there’s no room for loss. Every expression is only an addition to the sculpture of it all.
So I will check Facebook for new listings.
I’ll keep you posted if anyone shows up missing clothing.
I will piece together my mosaic.
I’d like to think that the chaos makes it better.
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