By Michelle Koubek

The bird was an anhinga. Samantha had never heard of them before. Not until she saw the proud, needle-necked bird perched on the railing like a king ruling over the reservoir. After that, she looked him up on her phone. 

The blue and gray feathered king sat by the water unruffled as people, his people, passed by. He perched on his throne, ready to hurl judgment at whoever got too close. Samantha found him an intimidating creature, but like it is with most powerful beings, that did not stop her from wanting to be near him. 

She noticed other pedestrians slowed before getting too close to the anhinga. It was difficult to discern from the window of her hotel room, some 150 yards away, but she guessed they were afraid he may attack them. After all, other than chip-snatching seagulls, birds don’t usually loiter when humans are nearby. But she knew that the anhinga would not attack. He was stubborn as a doorstop, yet elegant, royal even, and above barbaric deeds. 

She had been watching the anhinga every day for the past month as she worked her job from home, and waited for her apartment to finish construction one town over. He never seemed to leave the reservoir. 

Jeb, her boyfriend, and she would sometimes take evening walks around the shimmering body of water. The anhinga would always appear, assessing them from his rusty metal throne, a different spot of the circular railing each time. 

Samantha grew so accustomed to his presence that on days when she could not immediately see him from her window, she would trek outside to locate him. Her boyfriend warned her that she was getting too attached, but that did not bother her. Samantha tended to love uncontainable things. 

Then, checkout day arrived. 

Samantha knew within hours she would be unpacked and sprawled across the sofa of her new two-bedroom apartment looking over the city. There were no bodies of water outside the window where she was going. There would be no anhinga. The sadness she felt as she followed the moving van away from the reservoir was laced with indecision. Should she have said goodbye to the anhinga? Would that be ridiculous? 

She strained to marvel at him once more as she turned onto the highway. The anhinga commanded the middle of the reservoir now, the dead place where the fountain had stopped working. She could barely see him through the car window. 

A year passed before she returned.  

She did not see the anhinga immediately and remained patient while walking the reservoir. But by the start of the second lap, a quiver took over her shoulders as if she was being shaken by the ripples of the water. The anhinga could not be dead. Not when she needed him to be a king. There was still no anhinga by the end of her second lap. 

By her third lap she saw it: a silhouette on the concrete under the railing. It stood at the edge of the reservoir five yards ahead and, although its form was partially obscured by the poles, she could tell that it was a bird from the feathers that peeked out between the brass like small black spears. 

But was it her anhinga? 

Samantha walked closer and crouched. From there, with six inches separating them, she confirmed what she knew to be true. It was him, her king. The anhinga had never left the reservoir. He had merely moved his throne to beneath the railing. 

Still, Samantha was disappointed. She had returned and was less than a foot away, yet the anhinga was gawking at the water, uninterested in her presence. She wanted him to acknowledge her, this beaked ruler of an unimportant kingdom. If only for a second, she wanted to feel like she was important to him. More important than she was to Jeb, who had left her just yesterday. He was another creature that could not be tethered. 

But the anhinga took flight as Samantha stared on, so the shine in her eyes dripped onto her cheeks in tears. How dare he! He looked so beautiful above her like the atmosphere cupped him in its hands. A wisp of hatred flickered across her eyebrows. 

Then, to her surprise, the anhinga landed on the railing, just feet away, and looked at her. 

His look was not arrogant as she expected. He eyed her with no more comprehension than one would expect from a bird. And in that moment, Samantha knew that he did not think that he was a king. On the contrary, he was an animal confined to this land. He was not uncontainable. He was trapped by instincts that told him to guard this territory until he died. 

Embarrassment burned through Samantha like a quiet fire. It was the same feeling she had when Jeb walked out, criticizing her for being an idealist with an eggshell for skin. 

Samantha decided that running away was all she could do, so she ran, unsure of where she was going. 

The anhinga stayed where he was without moving. He did not follow as she fled the place he could not leave. 

That night, Samantha laid down on the floor of her apartment, spare now, cleaned of her boyfriend’s things. She didn’t know what to dream about; all her kings were gone, so she imagined she was a beautiful bird, searching for her kingdom.