Ebony Wings

12

~Ali~

Jaz and I stand motionless in the middle of the room watching as the two angels raid our wardrobe, assessing each garment piled inside before throwing select pieces towards us - thermal socks, woollen jumpers, my tightly knitted gloves, fleece pullovers, Jaz's leather boots - you name it, any article of clothing that provides some degree of protection from the elements is thrown to our feet. The mound of insulating fabrics grows steadily like a mountain being pushed up from the ground.

"And... there." My black weatherproof coat is thrown to my ankles, an unfashionable but practical accessory that my mother insisted upon. A beanie hits Jaz in the stomach before soundlessly crowning the pyramid of winter clothes. "Now, put all of that on," Ethan instructs.

Jaz and I look to each other skeptically, then glance down to the very ill-cordinated lump of lined garments skewed haphazardly on the floor mixed amongst thinner undershirts and vests to layer. Unwilling to dress myself in every piece on the floor, I pick up as much as I am able to cover my body with, the clothes piled up to my chin as Jaz and I waddle to the bathroom on autopilot.

We take opposite sides of the room; I unload my pile of winter gear onto the closed toilet lid and Jaz lets hers drop into the bathtub. I strip down to my underwear and fold my clothes neatly onto the counter beside the sink. I sift through the selected clothes, none of which were chosen to be matched together in a sensible outfit. I start with the simple things - a pair of skinny jeans pulled tightly over thermal leggings (much harder than expected to pull fitted jeans over an under-layer - there is still an uncomfortable bunching of the leggings behind my right knee), two long sleeve t-shirts under a high-neck woollen jumper and ankle high double layered socks. Already feeling the sweat gathering under my arms, I push up a roll on deodorant stick under my jumper and lather it on thickly. In the confined, poorly ventilated bathroom, heat begins to bloom along my skin, a tackiness setting around my hairline and underarms. I push up a roll on deodorant stick under my jumper and lather it on thickly, the movement requiring more effort than necessary by the bunching of my clothes. Before I talk myself out of an extra layer, I grapple with another jumper, wrangling it over my head and twisting it into place over my body. It sits looser than it's under layers, hanging gently off my torso so I don't feel even more restricted than I already do. I step into my favourite brown leather boots, pulling the laces tight around my socks, the grey tops bunches around the top of my boots. I leave the final layers untouched - my black coat and a thin cotton scarf - as I shake out my hair, gurgle on a mouthful of spicy mouthwash and spit a blue spray into the sink as Jaz totters back into the room, layered with enough clothes to resemble an Arctic Michelin-Man.

Drying my mouth on a towel, I pull the coat over my two jumpers, leaving it unzipped for the moment. I feel like I waddle more than walk out of the bathroom as I carry out my stack of folded clothes. To my silent surprise, Ethan and Jack are shedding their layers rather than increasing them as we were instructed to.

My steps slow as Jaz's searching gaze finds mine across the room, dumbfounded as Jack tosses his shirt aside, the weight of his opened wings behind him pulling his stomach into a hard board of rope and lined sinew. Ethan's shirt follows a similar ending, his wings pulled back into his body as he slips to top over his head before rolling it into a ball and dumping it over the two-seater sofa. He turns his back on us, fiddling with a black rucksack. Two pale, velvety slits like long-ago healed scars slice downwards on his shoulder blades, the only indication that he is not completely human. Unlike Jack, Ethan's wings remain retracted, the pearly scar tissue gleaming like satin in the sunlight.

But Ethan is facing me now and I am mortified to realise I have been staring. He smirks knowingly and playfully flexes his pectoral muscles and I turn the other way so fast I almost give myself whiplash. I am torn between walking back over there and running my hands down his angular obliques or throwing myself head-first out of the window as I die of irrevocable embarrassment.

But I will myself not to act like the prepubescent teenager my hormones are making me feel like. I tie a chain around each of my scandalous thoughts, padlock them away and gain some composure - however little I have left, anyway. I head towards the kitchen, fixing myself a drink to keep myself busy but Jaz can no longer contain her confusion.

"Why are your shirts not on your bodies?" Her direct bewilderment draws a chuckle from the two angels and I notice that her many years of exposure to Jack has muted her physical reaction to him topless. I, on the other hand, am much more susceptible.

"It would be pretty unfortunate if angels got cold when flying, don't you think?" He jests in response. "Ethan, ready?" Jack's voice drifts to us from his position reclined on the couch, biceps bulging as he cradles the back of his head. I remind myself to draw my eyes up to his face as he speaks.

"One second!" Ethan takes a select few items out of the bag he handles, stuffing them into his trouser pockets. After he pats down his pockets and secures them closed with a safety button, he comes up behind me. Not really registering what is happening, I allow him to fold me into his body, strapping me to the front of his chest with his arms criss-crossing around me like a safety belt. "Okay, ready." It takes all of my concentration to pull my braincells into a semi-ordered line and prevent myself from bucking to the floor. Deep breath, Ali.

In my steady focus on anything other than Ethan's nutty skin beneath my back, I don't even realise that he has carried us towards the window. He lifts the sash window as high as the mechanism allows and I then register what he is planning to do. The heels of my boots dig into the wooden floorboards but do not find sufficient traction, particularly as he lifts me into the air, guiding me onto the windowsill feet first. My legs dangle off ledge jutting out from beneath the window and I skitter backwards further into Ethan's body. The ground lurches below me, spiralling further away in my vision and I become dizzy at the sight.

"Just breathe..." Ethan's voice is hushed and lyrical behind me, whispering into my ear like a lullaby. In response I find myself leaning backwards, lifting my chin to the gentle glow of the late afternoon sun, the drop below my feet forgotten, maybe even embraced as I imagine myself floating above the ground. I look out to the world around me; the sweeping green hills of distant farmlands, the lake bedazzled in liquid gold, the endlessly blue sky. And I realise I am not scared - well, somewhere deep within myself I am sure that I would find my reservations about this idea, but it is too far buried beneath my certainty in Ethan and the prospect of living out almost everybody's childhood dream.

I feel it, rather than see it. There is a sudden release, his body shivering lightly under mine as he releases his wings, the soft blur of white glowing against the building's brickwork.

"Ready?" I gulp, digging my hands into his arms clamped around my waist. His wings expand further, fluttering in anticipation as we shuffle forward ever more. I strain to keep the backs of my heels planted on the stone ledge, my toes dipping over the edge. Tiny crescent moons appear over Ethan's forearm where I release my nails from his skin. I close my eyes and hold my breath. My stomach teeters uncomfortably.

Then

we

fall.