NORA & KETTLE

1. WINGS

NORA

If I had wings, they would be black, thin, and feathered. Not a flat color... but iridescent. Shining with hues of purple, green, and blue. Catching the light with the barest fingertips. And when I needed, I could fold into the darkest shadows and hide.

This time between the dark and the dawn is mine.

I roll from my bed and slip quietly across the floor, avoiding the creaks in a shadowy dance no one will ever see. My ears tune to the nonexistent noises around me and I sigh, ghostlike, with relief. Because in this time, he sleeps.

A snap of a memory flashes through my mind and body as I feel the sharp, short cracks delivered this time. This time.

I ease the dresser drawer out, holding my breath as tiny splinters catch the sides, and reach underneath the lace and silk to the boys' pants hidden beneath. Quickly, I slide them on, my bruises objecting as I bend to fasten them. Tucking the ends of my nightdress into the waist, I pad to the window.

Across from our brownstone, one light shines dimly through a dirty window. Someone leaving for or returning from a shift; a refrigerator light; something simple and easy. I crinkle my nose and think, Of all the hundreds of people who live in that apartment building, how is it that only one solitary light shines? I quirk my lips into an unsure smile, a new split stinging as it stretches apart. This is why it is my time.

Bending and flexing my legs, I take a deep breath and push the window ajar. It protests, groaning as I push my torso out and use my back to push it up. Settling on the windowsill, I close it down, pulling a small comb from my pocket and wedging it in the gap so I can get back in.

Perched like a bat ready to launch into the night, my eyes dart to the corner of the building, to the rickety fire escape that would be much easier to climb. A car light bends over the gaps in the iron and fans out like the punch in a comic book. Wham! I snigger to myself, the laugh seeming foreign, jarring. I'm not supposed to laugh. I'm a sad girl, with a sad life.

But it is my life, and tonight... I'm going to fly.

I face my window and grasp the drainpipe that runs the length of the building. Staring up at the sky for a moment, I search out my destination. The one error in the building, which grates on him, invites me. One beam they forgot to trim sits out from the wall like a pirate ship plank. I dig my bare toes into the worn spaces between the bricks and climb.

I'm a shadow taped to the wall, scaling the pipe in solid but fast movements. Breathing hard and forgetting everything. The sky and the stars hang around just for me. They cling to the fading darkness, and I let them spark my senses. The night air closes in like the wings of a crow, folding over, protecting and gifting me something I lack. I pass the window of our sleeping neighbors and shake my head. They won't hear me.

I breathe in deeply. Car exhaust films the air but it lightens, sweetens, as I climb. Overhead, the plank casts a cool shadow over the building, lengthening as the moon starts to dip away and the sun coaxes the sky into pinks and oranges. My time is only minutes. My mind is only on the hands pulling me up and the legs stabilizing me.

I dig my toes into the brackets holding the pipe. It cuts in, but my skin is toughening through scars crisscrossing over other scars. I throw my head back, my hair wisping and sticking to my cheeks. Sweat makes my grip slippery. It takes more concentration, more strength to hold on, but that's why I like it. This risk sends flickers through my heart; pinprick lights like the points of a star. It keeps something beating that could be dead, should be dead. But I can't let it.

I won't.

The pipe trembles under my weight, the screws wriggle in their brackets, and I hold tighter. Moving faster up, up, up, until I reach the beam. I link my hands together around the plank, the dry wood soaking up some of my sweat.

This part, the upside-down part... I love.

I hug the beam and creep my feet up the wall until I can wrap my legs around it, swinging like a raccoon on a telephone wire. My head drops down and I stare out at the inverted city, the skyscrapers hanging from the earth like stalactites, dripping their lights into the clouds and piercing the sky. One shake and the people would spill from their locked-in positions, sprinkling like pepper into the atmosphere.

Just float away.

Light as air... I want to be a speck carried by the wind.

My hair swings in coils and clumps on either side of my eyes, and my head starts to beat like a drum full of water from too much blood. I work my way around until I'm right way up, lying stomach to beam.

I push back to sitting, my legs dangling, my chest filled to bursting with cleaner air, the flames of sunrise singeing the top of my head.

If I had wings... They'd need to be strong enough...

Closing my eyes as the round edge of the sun pokes above the horizon, I spread my arms wide. I let the small breeze flutter under my limbs, cool my skin, and free my hair.

If I had wings, I could fly.