“Dad,” I sob as tears pour from my eyes. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”

Silence.

“Dad... please.”

My blood roars in my eardrums.

A rooster crows from somewhere.

Roosters crowing…?

Huh?

My eyelids spring open and a feather lands on my forehead.

“What the hell?” I bolt upright in bed and pluck the purple and teal feather from my head. I spin the feather around between my fingertips. “Where on earth did this thing come from?”

As if responding to my question, a rooster crows from somewhere nearby… from somewhere inside the apartment. Throwing the covers back, I plant my feet on the carpet and pad over to my partially opened bedroom door.

My skin is damp from the dream I was having. Well, not really a dream. More of a memory of that day three years ago when I lost my father. It’s been so long since I dreamt about that day that I forgot how exhausting remembering could be.

Sighing, I step out into the hallway to find out why I heard crowing. I instantly stumble back as a rooster flaps its wings, and feathers spew through the air.

“Mom!” I cry then flinch as the rooster pecks at dust particles and its talons claw at the carpet. “Could you come here for a minute?”

The rooster crows again then barrels toward me, looking as evil as the devil himself. I skitter around the bird and it ends up diving into my room. I slam the door, locking the crazy bird inside, then scramble down the hallway to the living room.

My mom is camped in the recliner in front of the television, laughing at what appears to be a soap opera. Even though I cleaned yesterday morning, the place is a mess—wrappers on the floor along with empty soda cans, clothes piled on the couch. There’s also a trail of feathers leading from the front door to the hallway.

“Mom, why’s there a rooster in the house?” I should sound more shocked, but sadly, these sorts of things happen all the time in the McKiney home.

She shovels a handful of popcorn from a bowl on her lap. “It looked sad, so I thought I’d bring it home.”

I sigh, less surprised than I was to begin with.

Not only did the car accident claim my father’s life, it left my mother with several injuries along with a few bolts loose in her head. It’s not like she’s insane; she just gets confused easily and does strange things like haul evil roosters home because they look sad.

“Mom, we can’t have a rooster in the apartment.” I start picking up the wrappers and throwing them into the trash bin.

“But it doesn’t have a home. I feel bad for it.” Her eyes remain glued to the TV screen as she stuffs her mouth with popcorn. She spends a lot of her days this way—watching reruns and soaps, and rarely leaving the apartment.

“Where did you even find a rooster?”

It’s not like we live in farmland. We reside in a small town in North Carolina, close enough to the beach that you can usually smell salt in the air. The weather consists of humidity, humidity, and more humidity, sun, and the occasional rainstorm.

“Mr. Garlifed had it.” She aims the remote at the television and flips through the channels. “He kicked it out, though. Said the thing was watching him while he slept.”

The apartment we’ve lived in for the last three years isn’t located in the best neighborhood. The affordable area tends to draw in unique characters, like Mr. Garlifed who likes to constantly monitor the people coming and going from this place and who apparently owned a rooster. But with my mother unable to work because of her disabilities and me being the sole provider, it’s the only place I can afford. Hopefully, after I graduate with my nursing degree, I’ll be able to change that. But, since I have to manage my time between school, my job, and taking care of my mother, graduating is still a long ways away.

The rooster crows again as I’m scooping up a pile of clothes to take to the laundry room. “It can’t stay here, Mom. I’m going to have to give it back to Mr. Garlifed and have him take care of it.”

“But what if he kicks it out again?”

“Then he kicks it out.”

“I want to keep it,” she whines. “I need the company.”

“You have Nelli and me as company.”

Nelli is my mother’s sister and my aunt who damn near saved my life. She came around a lot after the accident, helped out whenever she could. When she retired, she offered to start sitting for my mother while I went to school and work. She doesn’t charge me anything, says she’s happy to do it.

“But I want someone who’s here all the time,” my mother gripes. “I want a pet.”

“We’ll find you something better than a rooster,” I tell her then hurry down the hallway toward the laundry room.

After dumping the clothes on top of the washing machine, I grab a broom and prepare to open the door and chase the rooster out of the house. It’s times like these when I wish my older sister, Lizzy, didn’t live clear across the country. I think about it every day. How much I wish she were here to help take care of our mother. How much less stressful my life would be. But my sister has her own life in Seattle with her husband and two children.

“I just can’t do it, Clara,” she said the day after our father’s funeral. “There’s just not any room in our place, and I have Jenna and Kessington to take care of. My plate is already too full. You don’t have anything except your job and school.”