My friend L, an astrophysics Ph.D student, tells me that a rare hummingbird species that hasn’t been sighted in over 200 years will make an appearance in San Francisco in the immediate future. She’s excited to see it but can’t make it out of the lab in time, so I go to the specified location, which turns out to be my kitchen. The hummingbird flits through the window and lands on a table. I catch it between my thumb and index finger to get a better look. It has tiny blue, green, and purple iridescent feathers. It is minuscule (its entire body fits onto the pad of my thumb) and surprisingly strong as it struggles and punctures my thumb with its sharp beak. I squeeze it to make it stop before letting it go. As it flutters around, it grows to the size of a small pigeon. Its face becomes increasingly human until all of a sudden I realize that I’m staring into my Boyfriend’s face.
“You have such pretty blue-green eyes,” I tell the creature.
“They’re blue!” it snaps.