The Old City Section of Philadelphia can be a very interesting area of town to work, play and relax. The architecture ranges anywhere from the original colonial structures dotting narrow cobblestone paths to Georgian and Victorian facades bordering streets like mismatched dominoes to large warehouses converted into overpriced lofts, while maintaining their Old City charm while holding on to their identities by keeping the names of thier original uses, like the Chocolate Works or the Hoopskirt Factory. Rising up from the rubble of some of the fallen and forgotten foundations, you can now see glass and steel reflecting the sunlight and giving those fortunate enough to afford it, a spectacular and unobstructed view of the office towers in Center City a mile west.
Tourists flock to this part of the city for the nation's history, found anywhere from Independence Hall and the Betsy Ross house to the new Liberty Bell Pavilion and the great fortresslike structure that is the National Constitution Center. Restaurants are packed, most days from open to close as visitors wait anxiously for their turn on the Duck Boats or the London double decker tour busses. The clip clop of a countless array of horse drawn carriages can barely be heard above the scripted tourguides telling riders the significance of The Real World House.
Walking the streets is much better than trying to navigate your way around siteseeing traffic, unless of course, you happen to be late for work or on your lunchbreak on a beautiful summer afternoon and suddenly find yourself on the tail end of a tourgroup of 30 to 50 people all stopping to snap pictures of a church steeple or a park bench that just so happens to have proof (read off of a bronzed plaque) that some founding father once sat there to clean the mud off his shoes.
I enjoy my casual morning strolls from the bus stop to work. Oftentimes, when the morning air isn't too thick with the building humidity of the day, I will walk from home, taking a different route each time and discovering things I have never seen before even after more than ten years living in Center City. It was upon one of these walks that I found myself suddenly attacked, without provocation. No, it wasn't a mugger. No, it wasn't a gang of misfit teens.
But I can honestly say that I now feel what it must've been like to be Tippy Hedren all alone in that little rowboat...
The other day, I was doing my usual walk from the bus stop, up 4th street to Arch, and decided to cut through the grounds of the Quaker Meeting House, a large 2-story brick building that takes up nearly an entire city block. Within the confines of the 8 foot bricked wall surrounding the grounds there are nice little garden areas with benches scattered about where you can sit and have lunch or escape from the noise of traffic passing down Arch Street.
That morning, however, I was doomed to cross the angry path of an overprotective mockingbird keeping a watchful eye on her nest.
Little did I know that mockingbirds build their nest low to the ground, under or in closely packed shrubs. I sort of found this out the hard way when I passed through the iron gates from 4th street and headed up the brick pathway that would lead me out through a matching set of gates directly across from work. I wasn't ten feet inside the walled garden when, above me and to my right, I hear a loud and obnoxious screech. There, ontop of a lightpost, is a mockingbird, it's head bobbing feverishly in my direction. It screeched again and took up toward the roof of the meetinghouse.
I ignored it and continued on my way, the tiny sound of the plastic grocery bag brushing against my leg is the only sound reaching my ears on an exceptionally quiet morning. As I rounded the corner, I suddenly got a chill up my back. It may have happened before the actual incident or it may have been simultanious. I couldn't be sure. All I know was that there was a soundless rush of air that passed by my left ear and I quickly spun around to catch the tail of the mockingbird disappearing up into the tree over me. I stopped and stared up, thinking that this bird did not just try to fly into me.
But there it was, out on a branch staring down at me, screeching and pointing with his head and....well...mocking me. I decided that I don't care how little that thing was, there was no way I was running. I stood there for a minute staring back up into the tree, watching the bird bounce from limb to limb until...and I can't tell if it was my imagination, but...it zeroed in on me. I stared in amazement as the bird spread his wings and took flight. Then, when its path was clear, it close its wings tight against the side of its body and, with a screech that I can only imagine sounding like the last sound to escape the mouth of a Kamikaze pilot, this demonbird came at me like a heat seeking missile.
With barely a second to react, I arched my back to try and get out of its path and swung my plastic bag up infront of me at the same time. The bird, as if pulled by a wire, suddenly did a sharp right turn just inches from my head and took off up into the tree again.
"Shit!" I shouted with a nervous laugh.
The bird perched itself once again on the branch and screeched, readying itself for another attack. It flew up and out of the leaves and came down towards me like a heavy stone, this time turning away higher up and landing once again on the roof.
I must've really looked like a fool out there in the middle of the garden, standing in the sunlight like a contortionist with turret's. I realized that I probably did look like a fool by the reaction to the group of hot firemen standing infront of the fire house on Arch Street, looking back in my direction and smiling. I took one last look up towards the roof and noticed that the bird was gone. Wary of another attack, I grabbed my plastic bag (and what little pride I had left) and headed to work.
***
(last night)...
After a couple hours of speaking to my friend, Rob, on-line, I headed downstairs to watch a special call "Ghost Adventures" or some such crap. It was a 2 hour special on the Sci-Fi channel and turned out to be pretty cheesy. Although there were a couple of clips that kinda got my blood crawling. It also happened to be at this point that Rob decides to call me on my cell.
I was lying on the sofa, shirtless, the phone resting on my stomach, set on vibrate. Glued to the television, I watched in awe as the makers of the documentary had caught, on film, bricks and boards in the basement of this supposed haunted hotel in New Mexico flying off of the floor and into a wall. The cameramen were so startled that they went off screaming down the corridor, their cameras capturing nothing more than out of control light and shadow.
My heart raced...
My breathing shallowed...
My vibrating phone comes to life on my stomach...
I scream...
After answering the phone and telling Rob what just happened, we chatted alittle bit about phone problems and he said he was going to bed and watch a DVD. It dawned on me that I still had 3 DVDs from Netflix that I've been holding onto for a couple of weeks, but I couldn't remember what they were. With him still on the phone, I opened each envelope and read the titles.
And I burst out laughing.
The last envelope held the most appropriate movie title, considering my ordeal on the grounds of the Quaker Meeting House.
The only thing better would've been Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.
But this is a close second....
To Kill a Mockingbird.
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