He nodded, thoughtful as he continued to row in that same motion.  "Did you ever have a pet?"
                          
Strange question.  Looking in his eyes, I saw there was more to it though than just those words.  I had a good guess but I would first answer him.  His curiosity spoken brought up a memory, one that would always hurt to think about.  But hell, most memories were hard to think about. 
                          
I looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes right then.  "Never allowed.  Pets are something I actually think Clare wouldn't mind, surprisingly.  But she--"
                          
"She's allergic to animals," he interrupted my words.  But they were the truth and looking back to him, I saw his eyes were shadowed, lips tight in seeing that he knew I was telling the truth this time.  I couldn't help but wonder if he was pondering what other things I could have possibly be telling the truth about. 
                          
I sighed.  "Yeah, she is.  And because she never could have the pleasure of having a pet, that meant I had to suffer as well from that.  Except it was much harsher than just not having a pet," I said, frowning deeply at the very vivid memory. 
                          
My mind left the present, going to the past where ten year old me presided.  She never allowed pets.  And being ten, I knew just how much she would hate if she found out what I had done.  But I couldn't help it, especially since I always wanted a pet.  Besides that, I just couldn't let an injured bird die right in front of me.  Something happened to the poor guy that made him struggle the way he did outside my bedroom window, his wings in a fluttering chaos but he didn't really move.  What else was I suppose to do other than open my window and help him?
                          
That was what led to where me and Birdie were a week later.  He couldn't fly.  So, I took care of him, as my pet.  I named him Birdie and he became my best friend.  Of course, that was something I hid from my mother.  I didn't think it would be too hard.   
                          
"Birdie, do you think your momma misses you?"  I asked him, glancing over to where he was perched in his make shift nest I made; it consisted of a wrapped blanket. I even added a few leaves to make it feel more like home to him. I was siting next to where he comfortably laid on my bed, the open window in front of us bringing us fresh spring air as we looked out it.
                          
His answer was to give a slight purr from within him, his beady black eyes looking out the window with me.  Sitting with my legs crossed next to him, I looked back down to him as I spoke. "Once your wing gets better, you'll be able to travel home."
                          
I looked back out the window in slight sadness, taking in the leaves of the trees as well as the other free birds soaring by.  Me and Birdie watched them go by everyday, and in the hopes he would heal, the window was open in case he wanted to try to fly.  But he was always just comfortable, sitting in his little blanket next to me. Of course, during the night I would put him in his little shoe box.  It looked like a real bed for him too.  I would be happy if that stayed his bed forever.  I didn't want him to leave and lose my best friend.  But I knew he had to be missing his family and they must have missed him.
                          
I glanced back down at where he laid in his blanket, looking out the window. I lightly ran my finger down Birdie's feathers, softly petting him.  Smiling down at him, I felt the breeze against us again and heard the flapping sound coming from outside.  It held his attention, Birdie's eyes on it. I eyed the fresh sign I made this morning too, having taped it flat to the roof so all the other birds could see it from the sky.
                          
I explained to him why I had to make a new one.  "Birdie, I had to make another one this morning since it rained last night," I said, sighing. Looking back to him, I spoke in a lighter voice, not wanting Birdie to worry. "But this one is even better. It has your name and your picture I drew of you. I was able to color it in too this time. There is a big arrow, pointing right towards this window here," I said, tapping the window sill. He tilted his little head slightly, watching my fingers. I smiled, raising my hand and pointing to the sign a few feet outside my window, taped to the roof.