In school all of my friends were a bit older than me. I was the youngest in my class due to my birthday being over summer break. That meant they were all getting their licenses and driving months before I would.
My friend, K was seeing this guy that I didn’t really like. But we all hung out pretty often, he was older and had a car. Anyway, he told me a superstition I had never heard before. It is apparently extremely bad luck to hit a bird with your car.
I myself am not superstitious, but I do kind of collect superstitions. I am really fascinated with them. So if any of you guys know any, feel free to share them.
But I wasn’t sure how it was possible to even hit a bird with your car. Don’t they fly? I had never even heard of someone hitting a bird with a car.
A few years later T and I were living together and I was carpooling to work with him. We also worked together. I know that it is a terrible idea to date co-workers. A lesson I wish I could say I have learned. But, I am an idiot and will apparently never learn that lesson.
I mention T here. It was very early in the morning, still in the grey light before the sun comes up. We were driving through a rural area.
I was in the passenger seat when I saw a tiny bird fly directly into the windshield. It hit the glass with a crunch right before my eyes. I knew it was dead. It had to be dead. I had heard it’s tiny little skull crack.
I freaked out. I turned to T. “Oh my god! Oh my god! You hit a bird!”
It was stuck on the windshield. It’s feathers fluttering in the wind. “Do something, quick! Get it off!”
T calmly turned on the windshield wipers. But the bird was somehow stuck beneath the wiper. He smeared it’s crushed body across the length of the windshield. Along with a long rainbow of blood.
“What are you doing! It’s stuck! Oh god!” I was really grossed out by this point. I’m not great with handling things so early in the morning. I was barely awake, let alone prepared for the bird carnage at this time of day.
By this point T was kind of grossed out too. “We killed a bird. We killed a bird.” He kept saying it over and over. But, for the record, I was an innocent passenger. I didn’t kill that bird.
The more he ran the wipers, the more blood he smeared across the windshield.
Finally, he admitted defeat. He pulled over and got shovel out of the back. He pulled the dead bird off the windshield and flung it into the woods.
I wanted to give it a proper burial. But T was in a rush to get to work. It was one of the few fights we ever actually had. The rest of that relationship was silent seething and constant misery.
He looked shaken and grey when he was done. I barely ate for the rest of the day. I kept seeing that bird hit the windshield. I kept hearing the crunch of it’s skull.
I don’t know if it gave us bad luck. I already had my weird luck long before he hit that bird. We eventually broke up and I don’t speak to him anymore. Though I’m not sure that us breaking up was bad luck either.