A Penguin

Jeanie was in her small kitchen, making breakfast: a tuna sandwich with tomatoes on top and a big, round mug of black coffee. There was a postcard above the sink, one of those postcards with sheep saying something sweet. Her mom had given it to her when Jeanie moved out because she knew her daughter loved sheep. Her exact words had been, “The sheep will keep you company, I’m sure.” This postcard said, “There is nothing in the world I like as much as you.” There was a picture of the Earth, and the sheep listed things from around the world saying he didn’t like them because the only thing he liked was “you.” On the bottom of the Earth, there was a penguin standing upside down and shivering. There was an arrow pointing at his feet and a little note: “cold penguin feet—I don’t like.”
Jeanie laughed quietly. She read the “cold penguin feet” joke every morning, and it was still funny. She thought about her mom for a little bit and then turned to her sandwich. It was sitting on a plate, and the round mug was steaming. She carried the plate and the mug to the coffee table next to the window. Oh, breakfast could begin now.
While she was eating, Jeanie decided to focus on the air outside. She tried to see it for a while, and then a sparrow flew by. As he was flapping his little wings leisurely, he stopped in midair. He looked around, found what he was looking for in Jeanie’s window and landed on the windowsill. He lifted one skinny leg and knocked on the window twice, impatiently.
“Hello,” Jeanie said.
“Hello to you too,” the sparrow said, hopping and landing in the chair opposite Jeanie’s. “Before you have said whatever it is you are going to say, keep in mind that I am a penguin.”
“Okay, I will try to do so.” Jeanie responded. She attempted to set her buttocks in the chair again but noticed she was the only one who had a drink. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Breakfast?”
“Thank you, I had my breakfast already, but I would appreciate a cup of hot coffee. I take it white.”
“White?”
“Oh, excuse me, with milk, no sugar. This is how the English call it—white.”
“Oh.”
Jeanie set off to the kitchen to make some hot, white coffee.

Jeanie needed to set up a conversation.
“So what does being a penguin involve?” Jeanie asked more casually than she had ever asked a question before.
“Traveling long distances,” the sparrow-penguin answered thoughtfully. “It’s hard for one’s family, but it leads to success. One needs to learn how to fly for ten, sometimes fifteen hours at a time. At first it made me so exhausted that I began hallucinating. But now it’s been so long that it has become a part of my body’s adaptations; I listen to music during the whole flight, and I forget I am going to work.”
“Sounds like it’s useful,” Jeanie agreed.
“Diseases also travel long distances, a very good example being STREP throat. If left untreated, it can reach the heart and lead to a fatal end. Note, if you would be so kind, that I am not claiming it will lead to a fatal end; but it might.”
“Noted,” Jeanie nodded.
They drank their coffee, Jeanie with her mouth, the sparrow-penguin with his tiny beak.
Jeanie sighed. “Distances are annoying.”
“I could not agree more. Most of the time crossing a distance is a waste of time,” the sparrow-penguin was quite definitive in his answer.
“Especially when it comes to crossing distances between people,” Jeanie was trying to get personal.
“I obviously cannot speak about people, as I do not identify as one.”

The sparrow-penguin took a nap. When his head rested against the back of the chair, the fine feathers on his head gently changed shape to comfort the skull inside.
Jeanie played the piano a little bit. The song she could play best was called “A Perfect Indian.” It was about some quiet Indian guy who kept coming into this girl’s dreams, but she wasn’t happy about it because this was the only time he smiled at her. And not in reality, Jeanie filled in. She couldn’t really figure out what the song was about.
The sparrow-penguin’s beak moved up and down almost imperceptibly with the rhythm. When Jeanie stopped playing, he opened one eye.
“You are a mediocre pianist. This is remarkable for a person with fingers as short as yours.”
“Thanks,” Jeanie said. Something told her this was a compliment.

“Okay, but you are still a sparrow,” Jeanie observed.
“In a way, yes” the sparrow-penguin did not seem disturbed. “In your case, your forehead is big, and you are still Jeanie. But I did not say anything about that, did I?”
“You just did, of course,” Jeanie was a little offended.
“Of course,” the sparrow-penguin didn’t seem to care. After a minute or so, he added, “My wife told me I was a penguin. She is sometimes delusional. She thinks our children are penguins too. I tell them not to make fun of her because she might be delusional but she is still their mother, and an incredible mother at that.”
“So that’s why you’re a penguin. You love your wife,” Jeanie said wisely.
He shivered and let out a little cough instead of responding.
Jeanie looked at the floor for a while. When she looked up, there was no sparrow sitting in the chair. Clearly, there was a penguin sitting there, wings folded on his lap. Clearly, very clearly, a penguin.
“I wish I was a penguin too,” Jeanie said.
“I will get going,” the penguin said, standing up. “Thank you very much for the coffee, it was decent.”
“I am glad,” Jeanie responded and reluctantly opened the window. “You are welcome any time,” she shouted after the flapping penguin wings.
After the penguin left, she sobbed a little bit and then made another tuna sandwich.