Feathers

Conditional Love

Conditional Love

Peter shuffled his feet along the walkway, arms crossed, to his next class. Lucy walked next to him, her eyes consistently shifting towards sudden sounds and movement and skipping over every crack in the sidewalk in case it might bring bad luck. She munched on a roll she’d shoved into her schoolbag, the only thing the students wore that wasn’t uniform (though it had to be navy canvas or brown leather and have no writing). Peter had yet to see her without something in her mouth; even the night before she’d slept with a piece of gum and woken up to a snack of powdered donuts; both she’d somehow managed to slip past the luggage check.

“So, where are you from?” Lucy asked shakily. This was the first thing she’d said to him since breakfast.

“Lots of places, Rhode Island, Vermont, and for the past four years I’ve lived in Barrington, Illinois. What about you? Where did you come from?” Peter asked. He figured he’d better start getting to know her if they were going to have to marry each other one day in the somewhat near future.

“Why do you want to know that? Do you want  to murder my family?!” she cried, and instantly moved into a hostile position, stepping two feet further away from him than she already was.

“No,” Peter replied, “I was just trying to make conversation. I think that if we’re sharing a bed, we should probably get to know each other.”

“About the bed thing,” Lucy looked away, “I, well, I don’t think we should continue to share one. You see, with your wings and all, well, I’m afraid you might give me a parasite or something. I feel very uncomfortable sleeping next to you. I saw them, and they definitely don’t look safe. Honestly, I don’t know how you live with having them. They’re pointless. You can’t fly with them, and they can give you diseases and stuff. Plus, they’re ugly. They scare me.” Peter was very offended by her comment, but he knew that it was somewhat true. They were ugly and pointless, but they didn’t have parasites living in them. He made sure to keep them clean. Although insulted, he saw that her views could be useful. He was glad she had a problem with him. Maybe if the two of them protested, they could get out of living together. Maybe they could be matched with other students that had similar problems.

“I’m fine without sharing a bed, but where am I supposed to sleep?”Peter asked.

“You’re like a bird, so I guess maybe a tree?” she suggested, turning up her nose as if she were superior to him. At first, Peter thought she might be joking, but her expression told him otherwise. Was he really so low compared to the others that even Lucy, this psychotic and quite strange girl, would believe she were better than him?

“Let’s get something straight,” Peter sighed, “I have wings, but I am not a bird. I am a human being.”

“Really? Because you obviously aren’t a human. I’ve never met a human being in my life that had wings,” she protested, “And I don’t feel comfortable sleeping with someone who can carry the bird flu.”

“So, do you eat grass? Because I’ve never met a human being in my life that’s as big as you. You must be a cow. And I don’t feel comfortable sleeping with someone who can give me mad cow disease,” Peter scorned.