Los Compadres
The old, blue Chevy pickup rumbled down Avenue E almost on a daily basis. Two heads always in the cab, one next to the other. As the years passed, he made a small step to ease her climb into the truck, and she always seemed to inch her way over the seat to sit next to him. They seemed the perfect match: never a quarrel, always caring. He would lovingly joke with her, and she always smiled and laughed. She would reproach him for his mischievousness, and he would chuckle. He was the twinkle in her eye, and she was the love of his life for just over seventy years.
He left one January and the twinkle in her eye slowly faded. She waited for only a month or so before going in search of the light of her life.
“Look! See them?”
Dad was excited to see them---them being a pair of mourning doves who come to visit the feeders he fills every day. Then he sits at the kitchen table every morning to watch all types of birds come and have their fill of seed.
“See them?” he queried again.
“Yes, I see them.”
“Those are los compadres,” he proudly announced.
“What do you mean?” I asked, now curious.
“They remind me of los compadres,” he replies with a small quiver in his voice.
He then explained of how the two doves remind him of his friends.
“They come every day and seem to take care of each other. Watch. First, one will eat and then the other. They take turns.”
And as we watched, it really seemed as if they were doing just that. Once one of the doves even gave the other some seed, as if feeding its partner.
“See?” Dad points. The doves have now moved to the bird bath to drink, again taking turns and patiently waiting on the other. They bathe and fluff their wings.
He becomes misty eyed, lost in memory, but then smiles as they fly away.
enough