Feather Light

Chapter 2

When I was little, it was just me and my mother. We lived in an apartment in the sky, high above the big city. I can remember standing on my tip-toes with my nose pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass, pretending there was nothing beneath me. We would walk to school and I would hold my mother's hand while the city swirled around us, knowing she would keep me safe. There were photos from those days, the two of us with matching grey irises and pale blonde hair, big smiles and no questions in our eyes.

Then there was an unpleasant time. I was still little, so I only remember little things. I remember my shoulders itching, the skin crawling and begging to be scratched. I remember thrashing around in bed, moaning with pain and my mother standing over me, a dark silhouette with a look of terror in her eyes. I remember crying in our bathroom, turning around and around in a circle, trying to see behind me without knowing why.

After that, the photos of my childhood grew sparse, but whenever I appeared in a picture, it was either a close up of just my face, or I was wearing a big pink over-coat. I'd stopped going to school, but that was okay, because as far as I was concerned, my mother was the smartest person ever anyway. We went to the store and sometimes to the park, and I wore that over-coat everywhere.

Summer came. It was the worst heatwave on record and I couldn't wear my pink coat. Instead, the one photo from that summer showed me with a set of perfect, white angel wings on my back. Those wings went everywhere with me. They caught on the side of the slide at the playground and the feathers tickled my cheek as I rolled over in the night. Snatches of conversation stand out in my memory, spoken by shop keepers, mothers at the park, the nice lady from across the hall.

"Oh, she's wearing them again! How darling!"

"Aren't you getting a little old for fairy wings my dear?"

"You know, I could have sworn I saw one of them move the other day..."

I saw my mother's face, paling at each new query, dismissing the attention as best she could. She loves them so much, you know little girls, it must have been the wind...

We moved out of the city before the next summer rolled around. There weren't many pictures after that.

Years later, my mother was gone and I was on my own. I'd tried several ways to forge my own path in the world. For more than a year I worked as an online computer support technician, barely leaving my apartment in the city and almost losing my mind with the isolation.

Terrified but desperate, I'd applied to a local company who organised kids' parties. I'd worked a stint as a face painter, wearing a bulky coat and trying to remain inconspicuous. Most of the time, the parents were so distracted with kids and cake and chaos that no one gave me a second glance.

One day, at a fairy themed party, a little girl crawled beneath my chair and sat up under my coat, discovering my wings. The rest of the girls at the party wanted to see, so I took off my coat. Everybody just thought they were part of my costume, a surprise to have a real live fairy turn up. The mother was thrilled and gave me a bonus, so I "wore" my wings to every party from then on.

Eddie hired me for his twins' birthday and loved my wings so much, he gave me an audition for the show. I put together a simple dance routine and ended up with a permanent gig.

My life consisted of the casino, my apartment, my TV and ordering shoes online. My gig paid well enough, so my bank balance stayed steady as long as I was careful.

Things were shifting though. My livelihood was under threat, and danger seemed to lurk everywhere. Add to that the fact I was a social creature and the solitary existence was killing me. I silently grieved for what I didn't have and what I did have, just wasn't enough anymore.