I, Scarlet Macaw

The Scarlet Macaw can fly at speeds of up to thirty-five miles per hour with a wingspan just over three feet.

I can not fly. My feet are rooted to the very ground of which I stand as his eyes pluck me of my dignity as one would pluck feathers from a bird.

"You said... you like me." He is not asking a question. The words spilling from his lips are cold and blunt and bitter to my ears. But the taste of bitterness is the first shred of emotion crossing his face since I had first blurted out my confession. So despite his lack of question, I nod. I nod because I don't trust my voice to speak, for it will surely crack and trill and tangle my words into a net of its own making.

"Huh." He takes a step forward.

My feet unroot themselves from the ground, tripping over one another to scramble back. Chest rising and falling, puffing out and collapsing in on its self with the weight of his abrupt response.

Breathes come in small doses. Fear wraps around my throat, strangling whatever words I hoped to say. Instead, I look up.

To describe his expression would be like describing a blank sheet of paper. Emotionless. Bare. Colorless.

"You're gay." Again, not a question. Not deserving of an answer, but I nod anyway.

He takes another step forward. This time, I don't have the courage to move. My heart rattles my ribcage, flapping and flailing in an attempt to escape. To break free of this useless body, too tongue-tied to form sentences. To rip itself from this cage of black and white, this net of stupidity I've sown. To fly.

There will be no flying today.

The stiff line of his mouth splits as he starts to speak. Unable to brace myself for whatever hate he is sure to spew, my lips crack open and from it tumbles a flood of words to drown him out.

"Yes! I'm gay. I-I've liked you for a while—which is really stupid. No! You don't need to say anything. This was stupid," I fumble to arrange my words, my tongue as helpful as broken wings. "I...I'll leave. Stupid... this was stupid. Forget everything I told you. I'm sorry... I—"

A raised hand cuts me off. My chest tightens and I flinch, words forgotten. He's going to hit me. He's going to beat me until I'm black and blue and alit with more colors than a Scarlet Macaw. I close my eyes. Maybe I deserve it.

        The punch never comes.

        I blink. Fingers wrap around my shoulders. Hesitant, but eventually he pulls me close. Trapping me in a hug. A choked sob wrenches its way from my throat. In that moment, my legs give in exhausted from holding their own while beaten by dread and the anguish of a long kept secret.

        For the first time I don't want to fly away.

I, Scarlet Macaw.