After school, my friends and I would sit on the steps of one of our apartments and talk with each other. We mostly talked about The Pigeon Man.
           “They say he lives up on top of West Manor Apartments.” Jamal said.
           “I told you that, dummy!” Lizzie said.
           “I still don’t believe you. That place is abandoned. I bet if you took one step in there, the whole place would tumble on top of you.”
           “That’s the thing! He doesn’t like people, just pigeons. He lives with them.”
           “He probably eats bird seed!” I joked. We all laughed.
           That night, everything went on as normal. That is, until I got home. I went up to my room and Sam, my parrot, was ripping off his down feathers. I’m not taking he was ripping out a few feathers. No. He managed to rip off an entire section of feathers on his stomach. His food hadn’t even been touched from the night before, same thing with his water. I opened the cage and invited him to come out. He didn’t. This was our routine, though. I would always let him out and he would be happy to do so, but tonight he was in obvious distress.
           Leaving his cage opened, I looked up why he might be acting this way on the Internet. Most of the results came up with he was trying to get attention or malnutrition, but those didn’t add up. One article, however caught my eye. It said when birds are in pain in a certain area of their body, they rip their feathers out. This was because they couldn’t cry out in pain because in the wild, that would alert predators. Sam was trying to get the foreign object out of his stomach. I looked over at him. He must be in so much pain right now. I closed his cage slowly, incase he wanted to be out at the last second. He didn’t, though. He just sat there in the corner, nibbling away more feathers.
     I hurriedly walked down the stairs, nearly tripping a couple times. I ran to the kitchen, where my mom was slicing potatoes. Not looking over, my mom asked, “How was school today, Dale?”
     “It doesn't matter. Mom, I think Sam is sick...really sick. He has this big bald spot on his stomach. I think he ate something bad...like deadly bad...like he could die bad. He didn’t even want to come out of his cage. He must be in a lot of pain.” I said, rushing my words.
    “Dale, slow down. I’ll call the vet clinic right now, okay?” She said wiping her hands off on her apron and walking over to the phone hanging on the wall. While the phone was ringing on the other end, she told me to wash my hands and keep peeling the potatoes. I did. After a few minutes, she walked into the room with a troubled look on her face.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, worried.
    “They said they don’t care for exotic pets and that we should try the avian clinic in Hanstown.”
    “But that’s over four hours away!” I protested, “And that’s only if you’re going the regular speed limit...I mean not being stuck in a traffic jam!”
    “I know. No taxi is going to want to have a sick parrot in their cab.  I’m sorry, Dale. We’re going to just have to hope for the best.” She said soothingly.
    I nodded, but I thought deep down that Sam was going to be in a lot of pain. I didn’t want to think about him dying. I wanted to think that that outcome would be impossible.
    I walked up to my room and watched as Sam helplessly tried to get the object out of him. More feathers lost and more bare skin was now showing. As I was watching, my father called me down to dinner. I walked down as slow as I could, not in the mood to eat.
    I sat down with my plate in front of me picking at my food with my fork.
    “Something bothering you, son?” My father asked, clearly worried.
    “Sam’s sick and we can’t take him to the vet.” I said sadly.
    “Well what’s wrong with him?”
    “I think he ate something bad. He’s trying to get it out by biting it away at his feathers.”
    “Well, all birds pick at their feathers. It’s like people biting their nails.  It’s out of habit.” My father said, trying to reassure me.
    “Not like this. He picked off a lot of his down feathers. Can I go upstairs? I’m not really in the mood to eat.”
    My father nodded. With that, I went to the kitchen and set my plate on the counter and went upstairs. I went back online to see what I should do. All of the websites I looked at suggested that I call an avian vet pronto.  Except that wasn’t an option. My one and only option right now was to, as my mom said, “Hope for the best.”
    Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Not only was I worrying about Sam, but I kept hearing the occasional pull of feathers from skin. I got up several times to look at his condition. I can tell you one thing, his prognosis wasn’t getting better. 
    I did manage to find sleep. Well...it’s more likely that sleep found me because I’d rather stay up with Sam all night if I have to. I dreamt of The Pigeon Man. I only saw his silhouette, but for some reason, I knew it was him. I had Sam cradled in my arms.  The Pigeon Man touched Sam’s abdomen and Sam started flying. Then The Pigeon Man started flying with Sam and I just sat there with a wide grin on my face.
    The loud beeping of my alarm clock washed my dream away. The smile on my face was still there when I woke up...until reality hit me. I ran over to Sam, my legs wobbly with sleep. Sam was still in his corner, but he was motionless. I frantically opened his cage, expecting the worse. I pet his head tenderly and he perked up. He was alive! I laughed with hysteria. I slowly moved my hand out of the cage and got ready for school. I didn’t want to leave, but I knew that my father would never let me ditch school. I made sure I told Sam goodbye, hoping that this wasn’t our final departure. 
    I met up with Jamal so we could walk to school together. I told him about Sam and the dream I had.
    “Dude, that’s tough.” He said.
    “What if that could happen though? I mean, with The Pigeon Man.”
    “Man, that’s just a myth.”
    “I thought Lizzie said that she saw him, though.” I countered.
    “She probably made that up.”
    “Maybe. I’ll ask her at school anyway though.”
    At school I asked Lizzie about her encounter with The Pigeon Man. I made her swear to tell the truth.
    “I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw him,” She said, “I don’t know any other person who randomly stands on top of West Manor.” That was all the evidence I needed.
    School seemed to drag on longer than usual. I wasn’t paying attention to the teachers at all. I was trying to set up the basics of my plan. When the school day was done I tried to rush home. Jamal stopped me as I was slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
    “Hey, man you wanna play some B-ball or somethin’?”
    “No...I have something I need to do first.” I replied in attempt to avoid conversation.
    “What? You gonna see The Pigeon Man?”
    I didn’t respond. His mouth fell open. “Dude! You can’t be serious! That’s crazy talk!”
    “It’s better than doing nothing and also...it’s the only chance I have, really.”
    Before he could respond, I started to run. I’m lucky that my house is close to the school and West Manor Apartments, or else I’m not sure that I would be able to follow through with my plan. I need to get home before my father.
    When I walked in, my mother greeted me, but I didn’t hear what she said. I was too worried about Sam. As I approached his cage, I noticed he was in the same position as this morning. I, once again feared the worst. I choked back a sob. I gently touched his head. He opened his eye. I let out a sigh of relief. I picked him up, in doing so, he bit me. I didn’t care. I placed him gently in my bag. As I trotted down the stairs, I told my mom that Jamal’s sister in law was a zoologist and was visiting his house this week and that I was going to see what she could do for Sam. My mom complied, but warned me to be home before my father. I hoped my lie wouldn’t go in vain.
    I stopped in front of West Manor. This is the closest I’ve ever been to it, and from this distance, I could see how decayed the building actually was. There is no way someone lives up there. I told myself. I contemplated on not going in and going home instead. I pushed that thought aside and walked in.
    The place smelled of mold and urine. There was no wall in which graffiti wasn’t present. I could only see because of the holes in the walls and multiple floors that lead to the roof that let sunlight in. I looked at the stairs. I gently set my foot on the first step, slowly adding my weight to it to see if it would hold. This would be a slow process. I hope I’m done with all of this before my father gets home. 
    After finishing the first flight of stairs, I already wasted 30 minutes. The next two flights I went up them as I would a safe staircase. The fourth staircase stopped me. I could see several holes in the stairs. I tried my best to get around the holes and rotted wood without tragedy. It almost did when Sam started struggling to escape the bag he was in, startling me. My foot almost landed on a piece of rotting wood. I caught my mistake at the last second. As my foot moved back, the wood fell down four stories. I was frozen in shock of what could have just happened.
    I put my hand on Sam, trying to reassure him.  I slowly walked around the hole I just made. My pace was drastically slowed as I went up the next two stories like this. It was sunset already. I hoped that my father was late from coming home from work.
    I stepped up on the roof. The view up here was amazing, especially with the sunset. I suddenly remembered why I up here in the first place. I frantically looked around for The Pigeon Man. I didn’t see him anywhere. My heart sank. I went over to the edge of the building and sat down. Maybe this is what Lizzie actually saw: someone looking for The Pigeon Man and being let down.
    After a few minutes, I heard whistling. No. Surely that can’t be right.  I perked my head up. There. I heard it again. I turned my head around. I could see a man in the distance, right on the other side of the roof.  I quickly stood up and ran over to the figure. Before I reached him, I watched him. He was whistling to the pigeons and feeding them food from his hand. Some were perched on his shoulders. It was fascinating. 
    Sam started to flop inside of the bag, alerting The Pigeon Man. He turned his head and looked at me. He wasn’t what I expected to see. He was hobo-like, wearing torn up ratty clothes, being partially bald, and dirty looking.
    I stared at him with awe, my jaw slacken. “What brings you to these parts, Kid.” He asked in an old, scraggly voice. It was somehow comforting.
    It took me longer to answer than it should have. “ Oh...Uh...It’s my parrot, Sam. I think something’s wrong with him.” I replied, taking Sam carefully out of my bag. He, again, bit my hand.
    “Let me take a look.”
    I handed him the sick bird. I was surprised that Sam didn’t bite the old man as I handed him over. The Pigeon Man looked closely at Sam’s stomach. “Eh, here’s the problem. C’mere, Kid.” He said walking over to a small shack I didn’t notice before. He took out a rusty old tool box.
    “What are you going to do to him?” I asked, my voice catching on the last word.
    “I‘m thinking he swallowed something metal. I’m going to cut it out of him before it can do real damage.”
    I wanted to argue, but his tone made it impossible for me to do so. I just watched as he grabbed a syringe, sterilized it in this clear fluid I think was alcohol. To distract myself as he plunged the needle into my bird I started to talk to him.
    “Soo...uh...what’s your real name?”
    “What do you know me as?” He said never pausing to talk. His hands were surprisingly steady for an old man. I had to turn away as he started to cut open Sam’s abdomen.
    “Well...down in the neighborhood, we call you The Pigeon Man.”
    He let out a laugh of approval. “Well then that’s what you shall know me as. I’ll pretend your name is Kid. That sound okay?”
    “You don’t want to know my name?”
    “Eh, I know your parrot’s name. That’s all that matters.” He replied.
    “Don’t you ever get lonely up here?” I asked with mild curiosity.
    “I have the birds.” He said simply.
    I was silent for a while. I watched as pigeons walked up to me slowly then backed away abruptly. It was like they were betting which one was brave enough to come the closest to me. I think the one that landed on my shoulder won.
    “Just gotta stitch Sam up. There’s not much blood. You can come over if you think you can handle it.” The Pigeon Man called.
    I walked over to him and Sam. I saw a bloodied key sitting on the counter he was operating on. “Is that what he swallowed?” I asked pointing to the key.  He shook his head yes without even looking over.
    He pulled the last stitch and tied it up. He petted Sam’s head one last time before hand him back to me. I sat Sam back in my bag, careful not to tear the stitching.
    “I have one last question. Why do you have all of this medical stuff up here?” I asked, still curious about his lifestyle.
    “If the pigeons get hurt, they try their best to get up here and I heal em’ up best I can.” He said, again in his soothing tone.
    “Well, I’ve gotta go. My dad’s probably freaking out right now. “ I said walking towards the stairs I came up.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Home.” I said slowly.
    “Down those stairs!?”
    “Well, yeah. How do you think I got here?”
    “Kid, those stairs there aren’t safe. Take the fire escape. I fixed it up enough.”
    I changed my course of direction to the fire escape. I smiled at him and waved. “Thank you!” I called. He replied with a soft smile and wave.
   
    I got home and told my father the same story I told my mom. I told him that Jamal’s sister in law healed him up, then showed him Sam in my bag, still sleeping from the medicine. I showed my father the precise stitching. He wasn’t mad at all. He was actually happy for Sam’s well-being.
    I walked up to my room and put Sam back in his cage. I slept with ease.  My alarm clock didn’t wake me up in the morning, Sam’s morning “Hello” did. I looked at him from my bed. He was on his perch, looking at me. If parrots could smile, I bet he would be doing so right now.
    I looked at his food and water dish. I was happy to see that both were empty. That means he ate. I refilled both dishes then walked to school, upbeat. 
    When Jamal asked if I saw The Pigeon Man, I told him that my dad was already home, so I couldn’t make it. I made up the story that my father knew someone who knew how to operate on birds and that they found a key in Sam’s stomach. Jamal was happy that Sam was better.
    I didn’t tell anyone about The Pigeon Man. I felt that if I did, they would interrupt his peace, then he wouldn’t be happy. I wanted The Pigeon Man to be happy. He does a lot of good for the world, and he expects nothing in return.
    Sometimes at night, I look out my window and at West Manor and I swear, I can see the silhouette of a man looking back at me.