Dragonfly

by Alyssa Thiessen

I bowed, forcing my lips into a light smile. “Well, fair Juliet, are you up for a flight this sweet evening?”

  “Of course.” She clapped her hands together and then laughed. “I would go flying with you every night!”

  I didn’t reply but busied myself with the straps and harnesses. Since the last time we were up I’d rigged up a better system. Rather than being clipped to my belt and supported by my arms, her harness straps now ran over my shoulders and around my torso, from one side to the other, and then across my chest, so she was actually supported by my body. My arms around her would simply be extra security, not a necessity. It would be a much easier way to fly and it would allow her to face outwards and see the world as I did.

  When I told her, her expression fell. “I like seeing your face when we fly,” she said. “You should see the look on your face when you’re up there.”

  “No, this time you need to see the world the way I see it. Then you’ll know why I have that look on my face.” I strapped her in, her back against my chest.

  She turned her head partially to look at me. “You know, I still think it would be easier if you’d teach me to use the wings myself.”

  “Maybe one of these days,” I lied. And then we were in the air again, high above the city. I could see through the night easily, almost better than I could in the day. But I knew her night vision was limited to what was illuminated by the stars and city lights. I tried to stay low enough so she could really see the city. I kept my hands around her body, even though it was no longer necessary, because I liked the sensation of my arms around her waist. She had her hands around my arms, and I could tell when she was nervous because she would dig her nails into my skin. I would straighten out or slow down, in response. With the harness like this, it was easier to take her up for a longer period of time. Still,

  I wasn’t used to flying with another person, and I tired before I wanted to. I reluctantly swung around and brought us back to the rooftop. I had no idea what time it was or how long we’d been up there, although a quick glance at my watch told me it was too long. I unhooked her, and she stood, looking up at the stars. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “I know,” I said.

  “I used to have dreams of flying. I know a lot of people do.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And now we don’t have to just imagine it. We can actually fly.” I turned away from her, walking to the ledge of the building and sitting down, my legs dangling off the edge. I knew exactly where she was going with this line of thought. “Think about how much you could make if you patented those.”

  I waved her away. “I’m not interested in being rich.” That much was true.

  “Well, you could patent them, then, and make everyone’s life better. Imagine if everyone could fly!” I often did. What would it be like to not have to hide anymore? To be just like everyone else? She came and sat on the edge beside me. I looked down at her feet. Green sneakers.

  “Maybe you could use them to help people in another way. You must see a lot from up here.” When I didn’t say anything, she nudged my foot with hers. “One day, I’ll convince you.” One day. She was thinking long term.

  “I don’t think so. You can try, though.”

  She laughed, her voice quiet in the still night. “I will.” Then she leaned her head on my shoulder. How could the impossible feel so right? Everything about it was perfect. About her and about the moment. Everything except me. I was the lie. I covered her hand with mine and she turned her palm upwards. I looked down at our clasped hands.

  “I like being here, with you,” she said, her words almost lost in the wind.

  “Me too.”

  After a moment, she tapped my foot with hers again. “You know what one of the best things about flying with you is?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Promise me you won’t laugh?”

  “Nope.” I grinned down at our hands.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you anyway.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s just—I love it because it feels like we’re almost part of the same body. Like we’re glued together. Like I’m a part of you. Inseparable.”

  “That’s the best thing?” I asked her, still teasing. “Flight is wasted on you then.”

  “Well, it’s also pretty up there.”

  “Breathtaking.”

  She lifted her head from my shoulder to look at me. “But it wouldn’t be as beautiful by myself. Being up there in the sky would be cold and lonely if I weren’t with you.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Then maybe you’ll stop bugging me about taking them out on your own.”

  She nudged me with her shoulder. “Nice.” She was silent for a moment. Then she asked, “What about you? Do you prefer flying alone or with me?”

  “It’s much easier to concentrate when I’m by myself.”

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  “I’ve always been by myself up there.”

  “Do I ruin it for you?”

  “No. Sometimes I think it’s the opposite. Like all flight is kind of ruined now that I know what it’s like to fly with you.” I could tell she was happy with my response because she squeezed my hand and put her head back on my shoulder.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” she said.

  After a while, I glanced down at my watch again. “It’s late. I wouldn’t be surprised if your family were home and wondering where you are.”

  “But I’m practically an adult. I’ll tell them I went out.”

  “And they won’t mind?”

  “They don’t really get any say.” She had no idea how lucky she was to have someone who thought they should have a say.

  “Are you disappointed to be missing the family stuff?”

  “Not at all.” I looked closely at her face. She was being truthful. “When I go out with my family, it’s nice. It is. To be with each other. But we don’t talk about anything that matters. In fact, we barely even talk at all. We’re just—together. And I’d rather be together with you.”

  I put my arm around her and pulled her close to me, feeling the satisfying weight of her body as she leaned in to me. “I’m glad,” I said. Some nights, we’d come down sooner. She’d play for me, or we’d sit together in her bed, just—talking. I wondered more than once if this was what it meant to be truly intimate with somebody. Tonight, though, sitting together on the ledge, was enough.

  We sat like that, until the night got very dark and quite cold. I could tell, when I heard her teeth begin to chatter and felt her body start to shake, that it was time to say goodnight. I may have been built for the cold, but she definitely was not. And it was far too cold for her to be out here with such a light jacket and only me for warmth. “We should call it a night. I have some work to do,” I said. She nodded and we stood together.

  “Be careful out there.”

  “I will,” I said. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her. She was standing so close, her head tilted up, her lips parted. She ran the tip of her pink tongue along her lips, moistening them. I could see myself leaning in and kissing her, and I imagined the taste of her skin, the texture of her lips. I pictured myself touching her hair, running my hand along her neck. But there were promises in such kisses. Even as I leaned in and our bodies touched, I knew there were promises. Instead, I pressed my lips against the cool of her forehead. I felt her sigh. I knew I would go home unsatisfied, but I didn’t deserve the brief pleasure her kiss could afford me. I didn’t even really deserve to want her like I did. “Good night, Lexi,” I finally whispered against her ear. I held her then, close to me. I knew she could hear the quick rhythm of my heart, and I hoped she understood that she was the cause.

  “Good night, Joshua.”

  With a quick wave, she walked to the rooftop door and, not glancing back, went inside. The door clicked shut and I was alone. I stood staring at it until my fingers stiffened and legs ached. I wondered what it would have been like to follow her, through the
door, inside. Impossible, of course. Completely impossible.

  Chapter 7

  Later, sitting outside my mark’s apartment, it was, as usual, difficult to concentrate on the mundane details of his life. I wanted to be back with Lexi, in her room, listening to her voice and lying next to her. Instead, I was on the cold rooftop alone, watching two nobodies and their money. The husband was, I had already discovered, more or less like the rest of them: wealthy, disinterested, busy, predictable. He was also, however, an unfortunate blend of uneven temper and minimal intelligence, a combination that rendered him unpleasant and volatile most of the time, especially when he was in his domesticity. Although my choice of profession never bothered me, ignoring the violence in people’s home used to. Nik had tried his best to condition me to pay no attention to it. Sympathy was a weak emotion and a distracting one, and I couldn’t afford to be weak or distracted. “Never let yourself feel and don’t—under any circumstance—get involved.” It had been a long time since watching a scene like the one in front of me had caused me any measure of discomfort.

  But watching the man’s wife meticulously cover the bruise on her cheek didn’t sit right this time, and I was unexpectedly glad he didn’t have children. I had to remind myself that the day-to-day dealings of these people didn’t matter to me. At all. People made their own choices, and they themselves, as Nik had said, had the power to change them. Yet I lingered on the form of his wife, sitting in front of her mirror, working with her foundation and blending, blending, blending. I couldn’t help but think of Lexi. Would she marry a man like this woman’s husband? A pompous, arrogant fool who thought money gave him permission to treat her like she was worthless? Would anyone step in if she did?

  As I watched them, night after night, my mood grew darker. The more agitated and angry he was, the more I clenched my fists and paced the rooftop. But what could I do? I’m no hero, I reminded myself. I’m the villain.

  Besides Lexi and my marks, Marcus was my only other point of contact, and lately, the only one I could count on to not play havoc with my emotions.

  “Tell her about yourself yet?” he asked, his voice in the usual conspirator’s whisper as he handed me the heavy bag of groceries he’d picked up for me.

  “No.”

  “And she hasn’t asked too much?”

  “She believes what I tell her.”

  “Then she’s too gullible for you. Can’t trust a gullible girl,” he said with finality. “Gullible girls can’t keep your secrets because they trust everyone.”

  Still mostly concealed by the dark of the trees, I leaned my shoulder against a thick oak and sighed. “Might be true enough, Marcus. But I just can’t seem to get her off my mind.”

  “Mm hmm. Well, be careful.”

  “Always am.” I hesitated again. This conversation was uncharted territory. Was it okay to be talking with him like this? I knew what Nik would have said, but I added anyway, “I like her though.” After a pause, I asked, “What was your wife like?” I realized I’d accidentally used the past tense. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “My wife is great. You should have seen her getting our little girl ready for school this morning. She’s a good mom. Beautiful, too. Is your girly pretty?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I hope she’s a good woman. My wife’s a good woman. Everyone should be so lucky.” He was blinking rapidly now, worrying his hands.

  “Everyone should be so lucky,” I agreed.

  “Next week—same time. Lay low until then, Kid.”

  “You betcha.”

  He was gone. Alone in the night, I wasn’t in any hurry to go home just yet. I watched my breath turn white in the cool air. Gullible girls, he had said. I wondered what my own mother had been like. Just shadows of memories. Dark hair, I thought, like mine, and similar eyes to mine: dark brown or maybe even black. My father was even less clear: graying hair, a rough texture on his face—perpetual day-old beard. Not much else. And no wings. I was pretty sure they didn’t have wings. I didn’t have early memories of flying either, although I was certain I’d always had wings. I remembered being quite young, looking up at a butterfly and feeling my wings respond entirely on their own.

  I’d been alone, though, when I’d met Nik. He’d found me in a field somewhere. Cold, like today. My wings had been tucked in tight to my body. All the memories prior to that moment were scattered fragments.

  But when Nik reached down and pulled me up, my world came sharply into focus. He’d always told me something traumatic must have happened before he’d found me. He was probably right, considering the fact I was only about twelve years old and alone. When I had no family and no memories and nowhere to go, Nik had given me shelter, taught me a trade, and refused to coddle me. He’d kept my secret, too. I was sure, as a con man and a thief, the thought must have crossed his mind to sell my story, but he never did. He certainly wasn’t a father figure, though. Hardened, emotionless, he taught me the things I needed to know. He was the only clear memory of my childhood that I had.

  It was time to go. I was starting to get cold, anyway.

  Soon, the garish lights ringing in the Christmas season began to appear in the streets below, and the tacky traditional refrains blended with the sounds of the city in a quiet cacophony. The multi-colored glow from the oversized tree that appeared in Lexi’s living room, in such stark contrast with my bare apartment, brought a warmth and color to my life I knew I’d never deserve.

  “Two days until Christmas,” Lexi whispered, sitting on that familiar couch, in front of her big screen TV. Her hand, as always, rested in mine on my lap, her head comfortably on my shoulder. “You’ve really never celebrated it?”

  “Really,” I said. “As far as I know.”

  “I wish you could celebrate with me.” And then she asked, after a moment, “Why do we only meet at night?”

  I continued to stare blankly at the screen as I thought of an answer that would satisfy her. “I’m not a vampire, if that’s what you’re worried about.” A joke. Not a good one, at that. She was quiet, serious, waiting. “I don’t know. With my lifestyle, it’s become routine for me to sleep during the day and wake up in the evening.”

  “But it’s not routine for me. Don’t you think we could do something in my day? You could take those things off. You could—meet my friends.”

  Alarmed, I shifted to face her. “You haven’t told anyone about me, have you?”

  “Well, no. No, not like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “I might have told one of my friends that I met somebody.”

  I could feel my pulse pounding now. I waited for a moment before replying.

  “What, specifically, did you tell her?” I kept my voice even. The anxious look on her face cautioned me to stay calm, stay in control. She was afraid I’d be angry. I was, a little. And terrified. “Lexi?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. Just that I—I met someone.”

  “You said nothing about these?” I gestured to the wings behind me.

  She returned to silence, and I groaned inwardly. “I may have said... something.” Her cheeks colored and I could see that she was trying not to cry. “I may have mentioned the wings. But only to one friend. We went to school together.”

  “What did you say, exactly?”

  “I said you invented wings. When you were younger,” she explained. “She didn’t believe me, if that helps. She said I’m always pretending to be something.” She gestured to her current dark red hair and purple irises. “She said it was impossible for anyone to make something like that.”

  “And you want me to meet her to prove that I exist? This isn’t enough?”

  “It’s not like that.” Her eyes were wet, and I tried not to care. “It’s just—are you embarrassed about me? Or do you have some sort of secret life?”

  “Secret life? Like the kind where I fly around on a set of wings at night or the kind where I break into people’s homes and steal their stuff?” I wasn’t trying to be
sarcastic, but I cringed at the tear that traced its quiet way down her cheek and disappeared into the fabric of her jeans. Another one followed it, but she brushed it away angrily.

  “No. The kind of life where you have someone else already.”

  “I have no other life.” I sighed, leaned against the back of the couch, and looked away from her out of the window. Just this one. Just this one where you’ve suddenly become the only thing that matters to me. Where everything else is just existing.

  “So is that a no? To going out in daylight?” I sighed again, unnecessarily loudly. I was in no danger from her friend, I imagined, especially if she doubted my actual existence, but I could never give Lexi what she wanted. If Lexi knew what she were really asking, she would take it back.

  “Can we just leave it for now? Keep things the same for the time being?”

  “Sure.” Her voice was flat. The movie had ended and we were surrounded by silence.

  “I should get going. Your family will be here soon.” I shifted to get to my feet.

  “Hey, Joshua?” She stopped me, her hand on my arm. “I don’t know if next Thursday will work so well.” Punishing me? For denying her daylight? As if she could read my thoughts, she rushed to explain, “It’s just that my dad’s getting weird about my not coming out with them anymore. I tried saying that I’m getting too old, but, tonight, he looked sad. He said I wasn’t too old, and I should reconsider for next week. I think it matters to them that I’m never there anymore.”

  I nodded, thinking of my mark, who left purple evidence of his feelings on his wife’s body. Lexi was lucky. Luckier than she realized—or maybe she did realize, after all.

  “That’s okay,” I told her. “We’ll figure something out.” It was a lie. She wanted things from me I could never give her. It was clearer now than it had ever been before. I’d known all along that what we had was impossible. I’d been playing some kind of game, and it had now played itself out. I stood. Could she sense the finality of my response?

  “You can call me though,” she said, as we reached the window. “We’ll think of another time that works.” I nodded.