X in Flight

by Karen Rivers

  And then Bob with a cloth pressing it on my head. A cold cloth, which is actually a golf towel that smells like old shoes and cow manure.

  Bob, I say, pushing him away. You’ll get me all infected. What’s wrong with you?

  I’m so embarrassed that I’m shaking like a girl. God, I say in my head, if you exist get me out of this. Now. I’m not kidding.

  That’s the closest thing to a prayer that you’ll ever hear from me. I’m freezing. I can feel my heart beating hard and out of control. Shit, shit, shit, I think.

  I stand up and my legs feel wobbly but I swagger anyway. I can’t help it. You were here. I look around, and you’re gone. Of course, you’re gone. But it doesn’t matter, I know I’m grinning. I feel good just from having seen you. That’s so stupid. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe how you make me feel.

  You must have a concussion, Smiley, says Bob. You’re acting crazy. But if you’re so fine, get out there and move that cart.

  So I do.

  I’m walking home when it happens. I warn you now, this is where the story gets weird. It does.

  It’s dark. There aren’t any streets with lights on them that run between the range and the trailer. Just the fields, a long winding gravel driveway, and the cows. A few ugly old barns, half-fallen down. I don’t know why they are still standing. In the dark, they look haunted. They look like something from one of those stupid horror movies where teenagers are constantly getting killed in their underwear by crazy homicidal maniacs with a hate-on for youths.

  The moon is pretty small, a sliver with a halo around it from the cold. It’s not exactly lighting my way. I’ve got a headache throbbing deep in my brain, a slow pounding pain. But, weirdly, I feel really good. The headache reminds me of the crash. And that reminds me of you.

  Ruby, I say out loud. It seems creepy to say your name.

  You make me talk to myself. I’m probably crazy, do you care? I think crazy people are probably generally happier than the sane ones. I’d rather be crazy, if this is what it feels like. I feel light. I feel golden.

  I feel like a jerk for thinking things like “I feel light. I feel golden.”

  I sing your name. Ruby. I don’t know any songs about Rubys but I’m sure there is one. I think maybe I’ll look some up on the internet when I get home. Oh, yeah, we have a computer and all that shit because Deer makes money doing billing on it for a bunch of doctors who are too afraid of technology to get their own. They drop it off on Friday afternoons. I always think it looks like they’re making a drug drop. These guys (okay, and the occasional woman) wearing their silk ties and driving their nice BMWs and Mercedes and Hondas, dropping envelopes off at the trailer and trying not to step on cow crap on their way to the drop box outside the front door. You can tell it’s beneath them. Deer says they’re mostly scared of computers. I think that’s funny. Yeah. Like they can cut you open and take out parts of you and put you back together again, but they can’t figure out how to press the “on” button on their PC.

  I’ll google the name “Ruby”. I’ll make you a CD of Ruby songs. Yeah. I like that. It’s romantic, like a mix tape. Of course, I can’t give it to you. Smile and say, Hey, I saw you at the range, here’s a CD I made for you. Sure. That could happen. Not. You’d see right through me. You’d see what I wanted, even though I don’t know myself.

  I just want you to see me.

  Maybe I do have a head injury. You’re like a song that’s stuck in my fucking head. I can’t stop. I can’t get you out.

  I should make a CD for Cat, I decide. Not that she’d want me to.

  I can see the lights of the trailer in the distance. I’m about a thousand meters away when I sort of stumble. I don’t even know what happened. Maybe I tripped on something, but I look down and I don’t see anything. It’s like the world just tipped a bit and I didn’t tip with it. I fall forward and try to catch myself and then the most fucking bizarre thing of all time happens. I’m not making this up. It sounds crazy to me, too, so don’t sweat it.

  Ready?

  It’s like suddenly I have wings on my shoulders. You know that feeling when you take a big feather and wave it up and down and you can feel the whoomp as it pushes against the air, the pressure that birds must feel when they fly? I felt that.

  Whoomp.

  And then I was up. Not just up, but UP. I felt it in my shoulders. It was like I was a goddamn bird or something. I realize there is no way of saying that so it sounds like anything other than a massive head injury. Hey, maybe I had a brain hemorrhage and didn’t know it. I’m not saying that’s not as much a possibility as any other thing. All I know is that I was falling and then I was up so far above the trailer that it looked like a tinker toy.

  Then I got scared. I’m afraid of heights. So afraid. That’s ironic, huh. First kid who can really fly and he’s afraid of heights. So I came down. Somehow I knew how, like the wings that I couldn’t see were guiding me. Sounds fucking ridiculous, don’t I know it. But I know what I felt. That was it.

  What would you have done?

  As I glided down, night air leaking off my wings like water off a paddle, I just knew how. I knew how to glide. I knew how to land. Which doesn’t change the fact that I missed the spot I was aiming for, and when I landed, I did fall. Hard. On my knees. Like a baby bird can pretty much fly right away, but you see them falling off the wires when they’re learning how to land.

  Of course, I fell right in a stinking heap of cow dung. But who cares? My heart was beating loud, like a thousand drums, I can tell you that. I thought it was going to explode out of my chest. I thought I could taste blood.

  My body felt so unbelievably weird. No kidding. But weird in a familiar way, like it feels when you run a few miles or like it did when Cat made me go bungee jumping. A rush.

  I feel wild.

  I feel alive.

  I stand outside for a long time trying to get my head together. I feel like I’ve been shattered, dropped from a big height on a concrete floor. I feel like I’ve been glued back together the wrong way, only the wrong way is better than the right way. I am better than I was before.

  The first thing I think of is that I have to tell you. But then I remember that we don’t know each other. Not really. You recognize me because I’m the black kid. I’m Tiger freaking Woods. I don’t know you.

  I kneel down on my badly bruised kneecaps. The ground is dry and cold and harder than slate. I stay down for a while. Just kneeling there. Then I take a breath. And then another. I feel like I’m gasping for air. It stinks, sure. But what can you do? It’s a cow field, for gods sake. I’m so used to it, I barely even smell it any more. When you grow up in a field of cow shit, you stop noticing. Believe me.

  Hallefuckinlujah, I say out loud. Once my heart seems to normalize, I stretch my arms out in front of me. They look normal. A bit blurry, but I told you, I know I need glasses. I try to feel around to my back to see what’s sprouted there. I half-expect to feel feathers, but I just feel my damp t-shirt shirt that’s stuck to me from sweat.

  I don’t even know what to do. I feel like whatever’s just happened has made me too big to fit in our little trailer. Like I’m so enormous that if I go in there, I’ll fill up the whole space. I’ll squash Deer and Mutt. I won’t be able to breath.

  Has anything so weird ever happened to you that you feel locked in place, like you don’t know if you’re coming or going? That’s how I feel. I stand there until Deer pokes her head out the door and says, Phone is for you, X.

  She looks at me funny. I wonder what she saw. How long she knew I was out there for, just kneeling in the field like a great fucking moron.

  I go inside and pick up the receiver. For a second, I think it might be you. I don’t know why. Well, the day couldn’t get much stranger, could it? Why shouldn’t it be you?

  Yeah, I say, my voice cracking.

  X?

  Yeah?

  It’s me, says Cat.

  Yeah, I say. I can still feel my heart bea
ting. Not so crazy now, but erratic. Like there are two pulses in place of one. I can hardly hear her. It’s like my ears themselves are beating. My whole body is beating.

  I’m sorry about before, she says. I was freaking out.

  Yeah, I say. I’ll talk to you later.

  I hang up. The thing with Cat is that when I talk to her, I feel empty and heavy at the same time. My heart thud thud thuds in my skull.

  You okay, baby? says Deer.

  I have a headache, I say. Which isn’t even true, any more. That stopped the minute I took off, the minute I took flight.

  Head dick, says Mutt.

  Yeah, I say, I’m the head dick around here, you got it?

  Got it, he says, stabbing a brussel sprout with his fork. Dick.

  I sit down and eat and none of us say anything, which is weird because it’s usually just chitter-chatter so much you can hardly stand it here. It’s like they knew that something had changed. Something no one could talk about. For a second as I’m chewing a hunk of ham which sticks between my teeth and tastes like tin, I think about blurting it out. Saying, Hey, I just flew way up into the sky. I want to tell them what it felt like. But I don’t do it. I don’t know if I could even explain it. Or describe it.

  I chew and swallow.

  Chew and swallow.

  But inside, I’m exploding. It’s like I can feel all the cells ricocheting around in my veins and I can feel my heart squeezing. My hand shakes. I’m overflowing. I’m full of an energy that I can’t control. I try to keep my eyes on the plate, on the bright pink ham, on the pattern of faded flowers on the edge of the mustard dish. I try to see the potatoes. I can sure taste them. Salty, buttery, sweet. Everything seems sharper, brighter, clearer than before. It’s crazy. I wonder if this is what it feels like, to go insane.

  I cough. Just because. I almost need to make sure I’m still in control. You know? I cough again. And then Mutt coughs because he’s a copy cat. I look up at him and he looks back at me and in his big huge eyes, I think I see something. I think he can tell.

  Eggs, he says.

  Yeah, I say. What. I open my mouth wide and show him my chewed up ham.

  He creaks with laughter.

  What was I thinking he was going to say? Some secret of the universe? Something wise?

  How was golf today? says Deer.

  Oh, I say closing my mouth. Uh, it was good. I hit my head.

  What? she says. How?

  I tell her that I lost control of the cart and I show her the lump so small you can’t even tell it’s there. I tell her that I’m fine, that it’s nothing, but I’m not really fucking sure that it’s true. Is it true? Am I fine?

  She gets up and looks so closely at my head that I can see the pores on her nose, smell her breath. For some reason, it makes me want to hug her. Tight. Like the way she hugs Mutt. Instead, I duck my head out of her reach.

  I’m fine, I tell her. Really. Forget it. I put my glass of milk down so hard it spills.

  Oops, says Mutt.

  X, says Deer. Come on.

  For a second, she looks kind of scared. Do I scare her? I’m her kid. Sometimes I feel like the only adult in the room, her big wide eyes looking at me like that. Like a kid. It makes me mad. It makes me feel like I don’t belong. Then I remember how it felt to be up there. How small this trailer looked from the sky. How everything flowed out beneath me like a painting. It makes this whole thing – the trailer, dinner, Deer, Mutt – everything, everyone, seem surreal.

  Um, um, um, um, says Mutt.

  The end, I say. Good story, Mutt.

  But um, um, um, he says. Um, the end.

  It’s not the end, I say. I got homework. This day won’t ever end, huh.

  Uh huh, he says.

  Uh uh, I say.

  Are you okay? Deer asks again.

  Yes, I snap.

  I stomp into my room, shaking our whole home. I want to go to sleep. I want it so bad. I want to check out for a while so I can think. I want to figure this out.

  I can’t sleep. Ridiculous. My heart is racing.

  I sit up on my bunk for a long time. I feel like I can’t breathe properly, the air is too thick. I’m dizzy, but I’m not. I stare outside through the dirty glass and think, what the fuck? What does it mean? Does it mean anything?

  I’m scared.

  I prop the lamp onto my shoulder and try to do my homework, but I can’t concentrate. Close my eyes, but I know sleep is a million miles away.

  Flip through the homework again, none of it makes sense. I’ll get it off Robbo in the morning, I figure. He’ll let me copy, on the off-chance that he’s done it. He always copies mine, it’s about time he paid me back. Fuck homework. It doesn’t matter. This just doesn’t matter.

  I’m sweating. I can’t take it. The tinny air, the sound of Mutt and Deer giggling in the other room. The homework that looks like Russian or something. If this doesn’t matter, then what does? I feel like screaming.

  After what feels like hours, Deer tucks Mutt into his bed, pats me on the arm. I flinch. Her touching me feels like too much. I listen to the sounds of her brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed. Soon it’s so quiet, I can hear the numbers on the clock flipping over. It’s one of those pre-digital clocks, with numbers that actually turn over. From the seventies. I count to sixty between each one. I count my heart beats. I count Mutt’s breaths. I’m wide awake. I strip down to my t-shirt and boxers, realizing I’m still fully clothed. Now, sleep.

  But sleep won’t come. I wait and wait.

  I think hours go by. It feels like it.

  The rooms are so close together that I can hear Deer sighing and turning. The slithery sound of her bedspread sliding off her and her legs kicking the sheets. She doesn’t exactly snore, but she makes a weird smacking sound with her mouth when she’s dreaming. It’s driving me fucking nuts. Like a dripping tap. My head kind of hurts, but not a lot.

  There’s no air in here. It’s like sleeping in a submarine. The air is cold, but thick. Soupy. It smells of burnt dust from the electric heater.

  I push the blankets back as quietly as I can. Swing down off the bunk, jam my jeans back on. Creep outside without shoes. I don’t want to open the shoe cupboard because it squeaks. I don’t want to wake up Mutt or Deer. I check the clock and it’s almost four o’clock in the morning. It’s a bad time to be awake. Surreal. It feels vaguely imaginary, like I’m not quite in myself.

  I go out through the half-screen door and jump down the three steps. I stand in front of the trailer in a small pool of light from the solar lights that illuminate the front porch. I don’t know why I stand in the light. It’s not like I’m afraid of the dark or anything. I feel stupid just standing here, so I stretch as far as I can. It feels good. It’s cold, there’s my breath in front of me like it always is at this time of year, hanging there like it’s waiting for something. There’s the gooseflesh on my arms and legs. There’s the ache of being too cold. I breathe deeply. I try to feel grounded. I don’t have anything on my feet, so my feet are bone-chilled. And then I realize why I came out. Why I’ve been so anxious and restless and uneasy.

  The thing is that I have to try again. To see if this is real or if it’s just something I made up, a hallucination or whatever the hell it might be.

  I do it. I just think about it for a second, not even that long. I can feel my wings stretching. Unfolding. Like they were there the whole time. Taking off feels like releasing a breath that you’ve been holding. It does. It’s like that, times a thousand. Times a million.

  I stay pretty close to the ground. I don’t really trust myself not to fall. It’s so fucking amazing and I can’t believe it’s me. I wish I could describe better what it feels like. It feels exactly how you think it would feel. It feels natural.

  I fly around for a while. Not far. Over the driving range. High enough that I can’t see the flags clearly, but low enough that I’m not clearing any treetops or anything. I feel so quiet inside. I can’t explain it. It’s like I’
m liquid. I don’t know. It’s fucked up, okay? I never said this was easy. It’s not easy to understand. Not for me, anyway.

  I stay out for some time. I don’t know how long. I go all around the neighbourhood, listening to the sound of myself moving through the night. The slow flapping of wings. Everyone’s lights are out. They must be sleeping. Everyone’s dreaming. I think of all the dreams everyone is having right now. All that craziness. I think of all the people who can’t sleep who are lying there counting the hours. All the people who are having nightmares they can’t get out of. I feel really peaceful. I don’t do anything. I just fly for a while and then I stop on the roof of a building, estimating the landing just right, falling onto my toes first and then heels, rocking back a bit but not falling. I look around. Wish I had a cigarette even though I don’t smoke. It just seems like sitting here smoking would be some reason for stopping. Maybe next time, I’ll bring a snack. It sounds crazy, I know. But I want some Doritos. A hot dog. Something.

  Maybe this is happening for a reason. Like Batman. Maybe I should search the city for signs of crime and do something about it this time. Do anything. But I don’t even see any cars moving. Nothing is happening here. Besides just because I can fly doesn’t mean I’d be able to save anyone from anything. I could fly down and scare the shit out of them, but what good would that do?

  I wait until the sun starts to rise and then I go to the edge of the building. I sit there with my legs dangling off the edge. I feel like a jumper. If anyone sees me, they’ll probably think I’m suicidal. Maybe they’ll talk me down. Suddenly, I’m really goddam embarrassed to be up here in bare feet and my pajamas which are too short in the leg. What if someone sees me?

  I’m feeling crazy, feeling out of control and yet calm. I go to the edge, which is about 15 stories up and I just let go –keeping my eyes wide open – and fall for a few seconds. I’m feeling so afraid I’m going to fucking throw up, I’m going to die, I’m going to faint, and then I just spread my wings.

  You’d think after that night, I’d have like a transforming magical day. But I don’t. It sucks.