Happiness

Happiness is a garishly coloured parrot that sits on his shoulder and squawks in his ear all day long, providing a running commentary on how great everything is.  When he can’t stand any more, he tries to grab it by the neck; but it simply topples off his shoulder and flaps around the room, easily evading his clutches.  Once he gives up, it flies back and takes up its recital again:

“That sunset is just phenomenal.  Things are going well for you at work this year.  Mmm, that burrito was a good choice.  You know, these Sunday mornings really are a special time.”

He hates the parrot.  He hears what it’s saying, and he agrees with almost everything (although he wasn’t entirely sure about that burrito), but he just doesn’t… feel it.

He knows that he’ll always have to carry the parrot, and he knows that he’ll never get used to it, and he knows that nobody else will ever understand what he goes through.  He’s absolutely certain about these things right up to the moment when he sees a girl standing on the far side of the room at a party, watching him.

No – she’s not watching him, but watching his parrot, staring very carefully at his parrot as if she can’t believe her eyes.  Here’s what’s funny, though.  His parrot - his parrot has stopped squawking.  He turns his head to look at it – completely silent, completely still, as if it’s been stunned by heatstroke – and realises that it’s staring back at the girl.

He looks back at her, and meets her gaze for the first time, and smiles.  It’s only then that he realizes that his parrot isn’t looking at her at all; it’s looking at the parrot that’s sitting on her shoulder; completely silent, completely still.