Spritely. It hopped around and sang with joy in its little wooden cage. Spritely. Every morning when the sun came to smile it sang, and when the moon came to play it chirped. No, there was never a dull moment in Anya’s room. There used to be dull moments. Times when it was so quiet that the silence burst her eardrums and the wafting gloominess occupied the room like a ghost occupies a haunted castle. She couldn’t stand the dismal, white lace curtains with cut out flower patterns at the bottom. The off-white bedspread accompanied by the faded yellow bed frame made the room dull and lifeless. It wasn’t until her father brought home a little green finch he had caught in Hyde Park that the room became bearable. The room stayed the same for the most part, but now there was a corner by the window where the finch lived that was so cheerful and colorful that Anya wept tears of delight. She was accustomed to weeping. Her mother had taken ill a year prior and within one month she was gone. Anya’s father tried his best to be both parents to his angel, but between the debts he had to pay the barber to keep the two rooms over the man’s shop and his long hours working in the foundry, he couldn't possibly be a father, let alone a father and a mother. But still, every morning at five-o’-clock he would lift his little girl’s chin up using the thumb, middle and pointer fingers of his right, calloused hand, gently push her bangs out of the way and give her a kiss on the forehead goodbye, the kind of goodbye that acknowledged that times were tough but that they were going to be all right. Then silence. Deafening silence. After their goodbyes Anya would see her father off down the road until he had walked over the horizon. Then came the weeping and darkness, but not anymore. Now, instead she would run to the special place in her room that she had named the “sun corner” and listen to the music. Music from the green finch that harmonized with the sunlight flowing in through the side of the now open curtains. And between the breaking of day and the new wooden cage acting as a home and stage for her finch, life alone wasn't so lonely anymore.

Together, they stared at the rain as it gently tapped the window. Together, they explored all the crevices of the house turning filth and mold into exotic beauty with their imaginations. They even ate the leftover bread (which was always stale) Anya’s father brought home from the grocer by the corner every night, and sometimes there was some cheese and bits of assorted meats if they were lucky. She would break off a piece of bread for herself and then one for her green finch. And all throughout dinner Anya’s father would smile on as he saw his daughter feeding her bird while saying “one for you, one for me, one for you, one for me.” And they were content, even happy, even filled with laughter.

The first Sunday of each month was a marvelous time. It was one of the twelve days of the year Anya’s father didn't have to work, so they had the whole day together, just the two of them. But today it would be the three of them. The first stop was church. Before leaving, Anya got up early to put on her good dress with her good shoes and good gloves. The gloves were a little small on her but she didn't mind. She thought the gloves made her look more mature. She double checked the skirt of her dress in search of the hole she had sewed up the night before, just to make sure that no threads had come undone. It was a bit of an eyesore, but for the first time she didn’t care. Today was too special to care about things like shredded white dresses and worn out shoes and tight gloves and limp white sashes turned yellow by time; today they were going out.

She took the cage down from a nail sticking out of the wall and waited for her father with the green finch in hand. Anya’s father did a double take seeing his daughter standing there with the posture of an English princess while holding her little finch. He should’ve protested, but he didn’t want to. He thought it too cute and saw the determined look in his daughter’s eyes. The same look her mother once possessed. The look that said, “You can try to tell me ‘no’ but you will lose.” He just smiled, took his daughter’s hand into his own, firmly but tenderly, bid the green finch good morning, and they headed to St. Francis of Assisi’s.

As they entered, they suddenly became the receivers of many stares, funny looks, whispers, and even some giggles from the younger children. But just as quickly as it started, it stopped when the minister asked for everyone to be seated and began the service. The green finch stood with his head down in a stone-like and serious manner as did Anya’s father during the opening prayer. When she looked up to check on the green finch, she noticed the similarity between man and beast and let out a very audible giggle. Everyone turned around to see what was so funny just as the minister began to sing “Shepard of Tender Youth.” The voices of the churchgoers soon became one as they sang along, and everybody thought it amusing and charming to hear the little green finch sing out too. It was such a lovely change from the familiar, drab and sullen Sundays that the minister even offered the finch a wafer and poured a few drops of wine into a little cup, which he then placed in the cage. Anya couldn't have been prouder. After the service, Anya was told that her little green finch would always be welcomed at church.

The next stop was the market place. There they bought a few pieces of fruit for lunch and a kite. The kite came as a surprise to Anya; her father revealed that he had been working overtime, not to buy a new set of tools, but to buy his daughter something fine, not just good, but fine. Happier than words could describe, Anya grabbed her father’s hand and they ran to the park. They found a spot with wide open skies and puffy white clouds and sun and everything beautiful. Anya’s father got behind her and maneuvered her hands using his and together they flew the kite. But every few moments Anya would look at the cage she had placed on a bench with the green finch (chirping its beak off at the other birds) to make sure that it was still there. A woman of maybe fifty or sixty years old dressed in all-black with a sun hat atop her grey hair, sat on the bench to take in the scenery and fresh air when she noticed the bird. She stared at the green finch for the longest time while Anya stared at her with a hawk’s eye.
“Is this your bird young lady?” asked the woman, who noticed Anya noticing her.
“Yes” Anya replied nervously.
“You’re one lucky girl to have such a lovely bird. I think green finches are the loveliest of all the birds. Even better than the linnet birds and white doves!” She paused for a moment, turned toward the bird, put her hand on the top of the cage and then said “I’ll tell you what. How about I give you a shiny new tuppence in exchange for your bird?”
“Yes, it is a magnificent creature,” said a man, “But little lady I’ll give you two tuppence for it.”
“Ah, but I will give you four tuppence for the bird. My children would love to play with it,” said a woman whose little son was busy ripping the wings off a butterfly that had landed in the grass.
Soon there was an auction going on with people closing in on Anya and her little green finch. They grew in number and began creeping closer and closer, getting ready to pounce. Anya began to back up and tried to figure out how she would get herself free from the situation. All she could think of was the destruction of her sun corner, the destruction of her dinner time and play time, the destruction of the singing, the destruction of the only beautiful thing she could claim as a piece of her life, or even a piece of her. Old and young hands not gentle enough to hold, let alone understand or care for the green finch, were reaching towards them like monsters. Anya saw images of people hurting her finch, strangling it, silencing it, not loving it the way she and only she could.
“No!” she screamed. She let go of her brand new kite, sending it into oblivion as she grabbed the cage with both arms and ran. Anya’s father began to chase after her and demanded her to stop with a booming voice, but she kept going. She shoved people out of her way, even knocking down a fish stand as the tears of horror rolled down her face like wicked rain. She ran past the open markets where men and women were pointing to chickens and ducks that were then beheaded. She ran past beggars that pulled at her skirt and upstanding gentlemen who thought that she was just some unruly child. She ran past the Royal Marines, and a woman pushing a stroller, all of whom stared at the running novelty. Finally Anya made it. She was at the cemetery where her mother was buried.

She made her way straight to her mother’s grave and dropped down to her knees on the damp soil, still holding the cage to her chest. The hole in her dress opened up again and she had lost a glove somewhere on her wild run. She traced her fingers over the piece of wood sticking out of the ground that read “Beloved wife and mother.”
“I already lost you mummy,” Anya cried out, “and I will not lose my finch too!” She continued to cry and her sobs got louder and harder until she felt more air leaving her than entering her.

Finally, Anya’s father caught up with her and trotted over to the grave. He didn’t say anything, he just held his daughter as she shook with anger and fear. The white, fluffy clouds began to turn a grey-black color and quickly consumed the sky. Anya felt her father lifting her in his arms as they made their way to the barber shop. The whole time the rain went from bad to worse and when she got home she was a wet, shivering, mess of a girl, and completely helpless.

Three weeks had gone by since that horrible day and Anya had refused to step outside. She wouldn’t even open her bedroom window and she closed the once open curtains. She wanted to stay locked up forever with her finch who had now changed its song to a more sorrowful tune, but she knew that her finch needed fresh air. It needed sun and voices other than Anya’s and her father’s. But it was mostly Anya’s voice, since her father had returned to work. She got up off the hard wooden floor of her room, took a deep breath in, and, knowing that there was no one to stop or help her, she slowly dressed herself to go out. She took the cage from its nail and they made their way to the park. Each step she took was cautious and hastened but she stopped to apologize to the fish vendor for knocking over his cart. He was a stern man weathered by years of hardships, and was still bitter over the whole incident, but he forgave her.
“Life goes on lass and that’s that. You take the good and the bad and you risk it all to make a life. But at the end of the day you just have to let go. Just let it go lass.”
She nodded, then paused, then kept walking until she found a quiet little space in the park. It was a spot underneath a cherry blossom tree where no one could find her.

All of a sudden the little green finch became very excited for the first time in weeks. It flapped its wings with nowhere to go but still tried to fly towards the tree. Anya looked up and noticed a nest with a family of green finches, which made sense out of the finch’s behavior. After a few minutes the green finch settled down and accepted its fate. Anya began to think. Think of everything, her sun corner, the singing, the people at church and the people from the park. She thought about her loneliness and her mother, and she thought about how dangerous and amazing the outside world was. How anything could be hurt or happy. She looked at her little green finch, her best friend and now prisoner. She gazed up at the nest and the sky, the yellow-green grass and the dandelions being birthed from it. She looked at everything she could see until her eyes finally made their way to the cage in her lap. She carefully picked it up and felt the wood before setting it down by the base of the tree trunk and taking the finch into her hands. She nestled it close to her check and whispered “Be safe my love, please don’t forget me and always know that I will never stop loving you.” She gave the finch one last kiss on the top of its head before unfolding her hands with her heart and letting go. The little green finch soared into the setting sun and began to sing the happiest melody it had ever sung. Anya began to cry. She cried tears of sorrow and joy as she stood up and watched the green finch until it flew over the horizon and out of sight. The cathartic experience poured out of her like a river into the ocean. The loss of her mother, her father never being there, poverty, and now loving the little green finch all came out in the same set of tears.
She stood up quickly and shouted, “Goodbye my love!” before sitting down again. Then a miracle happened, Anya smiled. It was involuntary, but she was glad it happened. It had been so long since she last smiled that she was convinced that she had simply forgotten how. But as it turned out, she hadn't. Once again she got up (this time slowly), brushed off her skirt, and, like the little green finch, began to head home towards a new life.