Cancelled Flight (Exercise 2)

Wet tears dotted the corners of her eyes. She sat with her back against the wall, crouched over somewhat like a hermit, knees to her chest, chin atop her knees. She looked up at me, expected sympathy, a hand held out to grab hers, save her. I stood against the window pane opposite her, arms folded across my chest, legs crossed, right over left. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, but I needed her to think I didn’t care. This was the time for the bird to leave its nest, to sore across the beautiful dawn sky and get lost somewhere else, anywhere but here. However, my bird refused to fly. Her wings were strong, fully grown, but she only flapped them when she thought I wasn’t looking. She didn’t want to leave me but she needed to.

            Gentle light seeped in through the cracked window to her left, my right. The shade was drawn, but the cool air still eased in and wrapped itself around my arms. She spread her legs, like the extension of her wings, flapped them then closed them again. She willed me toward her. I shook my head. Another tear fell. She licked her lips, parted them, tried to speak but no sound was emitted. I was tempted to speak but I said nothing. I needed her gone, but I didn’t want her gone. The slightest movement she made tugged at my tear ducts but not quite hard enough to cause rain to fall.

            You’re waiting on me to leave so you can call her over. I won’t go. Tell her to come now, while I’m around.

            I glared at her. She was testing me, but she knew me well. I wouldn’t do anything while she was around. Just go.

            I’m not leaving. Why should I leave? So she can come take my place?

            She’s not taking you’re place.

            She cleared her throat, threw her head back. She refused to move. Since she wasn’t going to leave I needed to ease her that way. I walked across the room to the closed door, pulled it open and tapped my foot. Another tear fell. She swallowed hard and slid up the wall, arms hugging her slim body. Her heart rate was up. Her chest rose and fell like a pump was attached to it, in and out, in and out. Slowly she eased toward the door; centimeter steps she took. Her back was to me, her brown sugary scent tickling my nose. My hands crawled into the air, hung over her shoulders. When she turned her black hair gently slapped my face. We were millimeters apart, lips a breath from touching.

            Do you really want me to take flight? she asked barely in a whisper.

            Her warm breath melted against my skin. My hands landed on her shoulders. Tension released itself from my body. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. She took a step out the door. I pulled her back in like I was afraid the rising sun would burn her delicate skin. She took another step back and once again I pulled her forward.

            I’m ready for lift off, she mouthed.

            I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I. Am not. Ready. I quickly pulled her back in and slammed the door. Then I forced her against the wall, her palms against mine, fingers intertwined. My phone continued to vibrated, now, against her pelvis, gently vibrations gently surging through her body. Our lips grazed, our breath tickled each other’s skin. There was a knock on the door. We had eye contact and refused to break it. I gripped her hands tighter, watched them go from red to pale. I was the mother who suggested her child go to school close to home apposed to the university miles away. The woman on the other side of the door was the stepparent, hoping for just the opposite. I swallowed hard. I would explain it, I’d make it work, but this bird was not going to leave her nest, not yet. I wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. We were not ready for that sweet flight to freedom for neither of us desired to be free.