Dragonfly

by Alyssa Thiessen

  I captured her fingers in mine now, holding her cold hand against the window. She turned her face to look at me. “I just don’t know where this is going,” I told her.

  “Does it really matter?”

  “I guess not. Not really.” I imagined pulling her against my body now, leaning in and touching her lips with mine. I could see it vividly, feel it. But instead, I slowly released her hand and let my arm hang down in a semblance of relaxation. I was staying.

  I let her take my hand and lead me back inside. We sat on the carpet, in front of the blackened TV. She turned on the light.

  The evening passed too quickly. We spent it simply. She made me pasta, told me about her graduation, taught me to play poker. I won every round—I was, after all, a much better liar than she was. At 10:30, the alarm I’d set on my watch began to beep, warning me it was time to go.

  “I’d better disappear. Your parents will be home soon.”

  “You really have been watching.” She took my wrist and looked down at the large black watch. “And who wears a watch anymore?”

  “What can I say? Tools of the trade. And I’m good at my job.” I led the way to the window and then turned, my back against the wall, with her standing just inches from me. I wondered what her lips would taste like. I’d called her innocent and naïve, but I’d never even kissed anyone before. I got the distinct impression she wouldn’t object. Instead though, I simply nodded and turned to leave.

  “Are you really going to call me this time?” she asked.

  “Of course.” As I disappeared into the darkness, I knew that should be the last lie I’d ever tell her.

  It wasn’t, though. I called her the next night, and the ones after that. When the streets were dark and abandoned, her natural, soothing alto was an addictive balm to the emptiness. Not that it could last. I knew, ultimately, I’d need to let her go. The longer I waited, the harder it was going to be.

  Chapter 5

  Life didn’t stop just because I’d met a girl. The mark I’d had in mind when I’d met Lexi was moving. It happened, sometimes, when I tarried too long watching. The family’s unpredictable schedules and patterns now, paired with their intended departure, meant I’d need to find a new target and start from scratch. I’d hoped this would keep me busy enough to resist seeing Lexi again.

  It didn’t. In less than a week, I started to hunger for her presence. Not just because she was beautiful—and she was beautiful, in an uncommon way, with her heart shaped face and ever-changing eyes. But it was her company I ached for.

  Of course, I probably would have caved eventually anyway, but it was the kid with the cigarette who did me in. As I hung up the phone that seventh night, before I turned back to my apartment, I noticed a slight movement across the street. A boy—he couldn’t be much older than I was—was watching, leaning against the opposite wall, a white cloud of smoke drifting above him. I pulled the long coat more tightly around my wings and hurried back inside. In my room again, I peered out of the window at the stranger. He threw his cigarette on the ground and then looked for a moment at the front door where I’d been. Suddenly, his gaze shifted and his eyes met mine. I stepped back, letting the curtains fall.

  I closed my eyes, trying to control my shaking hands. I wasn’t easily spooked, but there was something about the way he looked up, like he knew where I’d be. I took a deep breath. If he’d seen me, it was over. I’d have to leave. No more high-rises here. No more Lexi. I looked again, moving the curtain aside slightly. The boy was gone.

  It had to have been my imagination. If he’d seen something, he wouldn’t have disappeared so quickly. But the close call meant that using that payphone was out. It also meant facing the reality that, sooner or later, I’d have to leave.

  It was that fact that found me the next evening at 2 a.m., tapping at Lexi’s window, grinning as she came to the window and peered out, and asking her to meet me on the roof.

  I circled the rooftop as I waited for her, the false remote clipped on my belt, my extra harnesses, in my hands, for her. Nik had taught me to never do anything without planning meticulously and to avoid any kind of contact. I was about to ignore him on both counts.

  Through the dark, the light from the door lit up the concrete pad. I closed in on the rooftop, and I saw her jacketed figure, head tilted up toward me, hands wrapped tightly around her body. I imagined she was shivering. It was a cold night; we were on the brink of winter and, although I was accustomed to being out in the chill, most people were not. She raised her hand in a quick greeting as she saw me appear from the darkness. I landed a few feet from her, easily, comfortably. I’d been doing it all my life. “Why didn’t you call first?” she asked, trying to smooth her sleep-teased hair behind her ear. Her light blue nightshirt extended past the hem of her fall jacket, although she’d thrown on jeans underneath. “I would have stayed up.”

  “The phone I’ve been using isn’t an option anymore.”

  “Can’t you get a cell?”

  “It’s a risk.” Nik had drilled that home. No phone, no trace. Although he’d also insisted no real contact, and I’d obviously completely ignored him. “So,” I said, abruptly changing the subject, “have any problem getting up here?”

  “None. Everyone’s sleeping. And the door wasn’t locked—people use the garden up here when it’s warmer.” She smiled up at me. “I wish you could see yourself flying. It’s amazing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You remind me of a dragonfly,” she said. I couldn’t help but grin. I’d made the comparison too. “Not just the wings,” she added. “The position of your body, the way you move through the air. I love dragonflies. They’re beautiful. Everything about them.” She looked away now, staring out into the darkness of the night as she spoke. “You know, once, when I was eight, I ran over a dragonfly with my bike. Only the edge of it, but its wings were crumpled and it wasn’t moving. I cried and cried and cried. And then I crouched down beside the little thing, closed my eyes, and prayed that God would heal it. When I opened my eyes again, it was gone. No trace.”

  “Amazing.” I managed to deliver the word deadpan.

  She nudged me gently. “Laugh if you want. But it was important to me. It showed me that God must care about the faith of a child. Like the things I loved mattered to Him. Because I mattered to Him.”

  What could I possibly say in response to a story like that? I knew she believed it with everything in her, this tender memory of something she couldn’t explain. Her interpretation didn’t surprise me—not really. A girl who could ignore the way we met, ignore everything she knew about me and just—accept me anyway—no wonder she believed God healed her dragonfly.

  I cleared my throat, smiling lightly. “So, do you want to do this?”

  A quick smile darted across her lips. “Without a doubt.”

  “Okay. We’ll see how it goes. I’ve never, you know, successfully carried anyone before.”

  “You tried?”

  “A few years ago. I failed, though.”

  “Did she fall?” She was nervous. Good. She probably should be. Maybe she’d change her mind about coming up.

  “He. No,” I admitted. “I couldn’t even get him off the ground.”

  She hesitated. “You said it was a while ago?”

  I nodded slowly. The realization of my error dawned on me, and I groaned, inwardly. Something about her made me forget to lie.

  “How old were you when you invented them?”

  I tried to think quickly. It was hard to think when she was around. “I was thirteen.” Did that sound reasonable? Thirteen? Could someone invent something like this when they were that young—and still manage to keep it a secret?

  “And you kept it a secret, that long?” she asked incredulously, echoing my own disbelief in my concocted truth.

  I nodded.

  “So what? You’re some kind of child prodigy?”

  “You could say that.”

  She smiled slightly, then shifted her focus a
bruptly. “Should I take off my shoes and jacket? To make myself lighter?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No, not necessary. It’s even colder up there.”

  “Do you have something to strap us together?” She was smart. I’d thought of that too. That way, if I couldn’t hold her, we’d both fall. I held out the harness in my hand to her. This harness wasn’t for show, like mine. This one would have to bear her weight. I’d never actually tried it. I hoped that it would do what it was created to do, and if not, that I was strong enough to hold her.

  “Ever gone rock climbing?” I asked, as she took the straps.

  “Rappelling.”

  “Know how these go on?”

  “Kind of. It was last year. The guide helped us.”

  “Okay.” I moved to help her into it, trying to ignore the fact that I was touching her. I snugged it close around her body, concentrating on keeping my mind clear. I clipped her harness into mine. “We’re linked.”

  That smile appeared again—quick, shy. “Which way will I be facing?”

  I’d thought of that already too. She’d have a better view if I held her facing out at the world, but she’d be more secure if she could wrap her arms around my body. “I think that, for this flight, since we’re just trying things out, we should start with you facing inward. You could still see if you tilt your head sideways.” She nodded quickly. “You need to hold onto me.”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded again. She stepped closer; her stomach and legs were against mine, and she wrapped her arms around my waist and placed her head on my chest. I held the remote in one hand and then wrapped my arms around her tightly. I was quite certain she could hear the quick, heavy pounding of my heart, and I was hoping she thought its rate was due to anticipation about the flight rather than to her proximity.

  Her hair smelled like strawberries. “Ready?” I felt her nod. I took a deep breath. I might not even be able to get off the ground. I wasn’t able to with Nik. She was much smaller than he had been, though. I felt my four wings, in response to my thoughts, begin to beat quickly. I could feel their power in a way almost unfamiliar to me. I wasn’t a child anymore. Soon we were up, off the roof, hovering above the surface.

  We didn’t go quickly. My wings weren’t usually used for speed as it was and, with her in my arms, I flew even more carefully. And even though the burden of her weight was slight, it did, I soon discovered, take more work.

  I could hear her gasp as she noticed the height at which we flew. She said nothing, and I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with conversation. We flew until my arms and wings began to tire. “We’re going to need to go in now,” I told her reluctantly.

  “K,” she answered. Her grip on me loosened, although her body was still tense, and I realized she was weakening as well.

  “Should I take you to your window?” I asked.

  “Uh huh. I took the screen off for you already.” I took her down, along the side of the building, thankful the neighboring apartments were dark. With her in my arms, I wasn’t able to thoroughly scan the area. She was making me careless. At the window, it occurred to me that getting her through safely, without the aid of my wings, posed a problem.

  “I’ve got you,” I told her, hoping she trusted me enough to follow my instructions. “You’ll need to let go of me, though. And unhook yourself.” It was a terrifying thing I was telling her to do, but she didn’t hesitate. I felt her arms loosen, and then I heard the click of metal as she did as I asked. I shifted her weight and held her out so she could grasp the edge of the window. She scrambled through, and the sudden difference in load made me weightless for a moment. I found myself unexpectedly above the buildings. As I made my way back down, I met her laughing eyes at the window, waiting for me.

  “Was I that heavy?” She moved aside to let me crawl through her window. My feet on the carpeted floor, I looked around the feminine room. I’d seen it countless times before, but never from this perspective. It was, as usual, not tidy. Clothes were crumpled in the corner; make-up and hair products and photos lined her dresser.

  “You can sit down if you want,” she said. I sat cautiously on her unmade bed, marvelling at the smooth texture of the satiny white sheet against my hand. I couldn’t help but glance at the crumpled bedspread at my feet. I imagined its cool surface wrapped around her warm skin, and I wondered at my own reaction. Focus, I told myself. Just focus. She picked up her acoustic guitar and sat beside me, resting it comfortably across her knee and the crook of her arm. Her fingertips caressed the strings, strumming softly.

  “Aren’t you worried about waking your family?”

  “They’re heavy sleepers. And when I can’t sleep, I play. Plus the door’s locked.” Then she cocked her head at me, watching me watch her. “It was a pretty amazing ride. So I’ll take requests. What do you want to hear?”

  “Have you written anything?”

  She colored slightly. “Sure. Nothing good, though.”

  “That’s okay. Play me something you wrote. Bet it’s better than you think.”

  “You’d lose that bet. I just mess around a little.”

  I nudged her foot with mine. “Well, you said it was my request. I want to hear something you wrote.”

  She nodded slowly. “Okay. But you have to promise to take me up again. Thursday, when my parents are out. You can meet me on the roof.”

  I nodded solemnly. “Deal.” She started with a tune soft and sure; she knew this piece by heart, by feel. And then she started to sing. Her quiet, alto voice rose and fell so softly I had to lean in to hear the words. The lyrics were simple, something about a father and child, and the melody was hauntingly beautiful. When the last note died and she raised her eyes to mine, it took me a moment to realize I’d been holding my breath.

  “Wow,” I finally whispered. She smiled now, a slow, easy smile. She set the guitar on its stand and settled herself on the bed, her back against her headboard, her feet at my thigh.

  “You know what my favorite thing about the night is?” she asked, after a long pause.

  “What’s that?”

  “The quiet. It’s so quiet at night.”

  “Not everywhere.”

  “No, not everywhere. But here. Up high. Nobody rushing around, nobody fighting. Just—peace. Quiet.”

  “My favorite time of day.”

  “I guess you’re mostly out at night. With what you do.”

  “Yeah. It’s really the only time that works.”

  “Think you’ll ever decide to do anything different with your life?”

  “I don’t know. It’s really the only thing I’m good at.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “The only thing?”

  I looked down at my hands. “I don’t think I’m cut out for much else.”

  “I don’t know about that. With an invention like those, you could do a lot of good, I bet.” Good. If she had any idea about the violence and injustice I’d watched take place in the world around me, and the coldness with which I’d ignored it, she wouldn’t have such high hopes for me. Then again, she had no idea who I really was. “But I guess,” she added, “if you didn’t do what you do, we’d never have met. And that just wouldn’t do, at all.” Her voice was soft with sleep now, and I could see her eyelids getting heavy. “The morning after that first time I met you, I wondered if you’d been a dream. But then I knew you must be real. A dream has never... made me feel... the way you do.” And then she was quiet, and the room was quiet, and the only sound was the rhythm of her breath. I stood slowly, careful not to disturb the bed, and picked up the comforter from the floor. Laying it gently across her lap, I resisted the urge to kiss her forehead. I’d promised her Thursday but, for the next few days, I needed to focus on my mark.

  Focusing was easier said than done. I’d never had problem with my prep work before, although it wasn’t like I needed this job to be done any time soon. I wasn’t hard up for cash; I had a thick bundle of bills that took up half of my small duffle bag. So instead
of memorizing schedules and routines, I caught myself imagining the way her jeans hugged her curves and the rise of color in her cheeks when she laughed. Alone on the ledge, I could have sworn I felt the texture of her fingertips as she wrapped her arms around me, the warmth of her body as she pressed herself against me.

  I wasn’t a complete fool. I knew there was no future for us, even if I didn’t have the wings to separate us. Lexi was too emotionally young, too wealthy, too loved, even if she didn’t realize it. Too good. I had no right to see her again. But when did rights ever stop me?

  Chapter 6

  As I landed on the rooftop in front of her, she stepped forward and impulsively threw her arms around me. “Hey, Dragonfly,” she whispered into my shirt. I held her like that for a moment, close to me, feeling her heart pounding. I hardly recognized myself these days, although I felt more like myself than I had for a very long time. Thursdays had become ours now, and the nights in between, for me, shadows. Each time I came for her, she was waiting, with this same breathless anticipation.

  She finally pulled away and looked up at me expectantly. “So, Romeo,” she said lightly, changing my title to make me human again, “what’s the plan for tonight?” The Romeo reference wasn’t lost on me. Nik had had me read and read and read, to ensure I understood the world of which I was a hidden part. Romeo. Part of the thrill of the moment was lost for me. I fit the title of Romeo—love struck, impulsive, foolish. He hurt every person who loved him. I didn’t doubt the end of our story would be as perfectly disappointing.