I wrote this today as part of my commitment to the Clarion West Write-a-thon. A dedication means that person sponsored it by donating to CW, and then provided me a writing prompt that sparked the piece. If you would like something written especially for you, please consider sponsoring me.
Here’s all the work of the 41 days. You’ll also find these pieces cross-posted at Sterling Editing as incentive for writers to practice their editing and story-building skills.
Enjoy.
Wings
For Anne Sneideris, with love.
Another bad day at school. Bruises under Nora’s clothes, and a heavy sodden panic in her chest that made it hard to lift her head or think, or even breathe. Like when Mrs. Morrison erased the board before Nora understood something, and then it showed up on a quiz. Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe one day Mrs. Morrison put on the board what kids were supposed to do to make their parents not hurt them, and Nora missed it, and now she couldn’t pass the test.
Today she gave the wrong answers the first two times Mrs. Morrison called on her. The third time, she just stared at her desk. All the other girls giggled, until Mrs. Morrison said in a sharp voice, “Very well, Laura Lipton, when you’re quite done tittering, you have a go.” And Laura didn’t know the answer either.
Out in the corridor after class, Laura said in a vicious whisper, “You’re stupid,” and pinched Nora hard through her shirt. Another sore place. Another bruise. The panic in Nora’s chest was heavier now, choking, like yesterday… she didn’t want to think about that. She kept her head down and went to her history class.
At recess, she stood pressed against the iron fence that kept kids from wandering off the bluff and down to the rooftops below. She liked to come here these last few weeks, even in the rain. She liked to watch the blackbirds swoop over the bracken and then fly away. It made her chest feel lighter for a minute or two.
“Hello, Nora,” said a voice, and Mrs. Morrison stepped up beside her, hugging a cardigan around her shoulders. “Birdwatching?”
Nora nodded without turning her head.
“Birds are lovely,” the teacher said.
“Yes,” Nora said, and couldn’t hold back the single tear that spilled from her eye down her cheek.
“Do you know, when I was about your age, birds taught me to fly?” Mrs. Morrison said. Now Nora looked at her, and the weight in her chest was the worst ever, because if Mrs. Morrison was making fun of her it would break Nora’s heart. It would be even worse than the pinching, or whatever might be waiting for her at home.
“I was very sad,” the teacher said, “about something that happened. And I came out to this very fence and watched the birds, just like you. Then I picked one special bird, and I imagined what it was like to be right inside of it, flying up in the sky. Can you do that?”
Nora chewed on her lip. And then, because it was Mrs. Morrison, she tried. She imagined herself in the air, her arms spread like wings. But that would never work. She was too heavy to fly.
She began to shake her head, but Mrs. Morrison said, “Imagine, Nora. There we are, you and me, blackbirds up in the sky looking down on these two peculiar creatures on the ground. Can you see us?”
And then, “Oh!” Nora said, because now she understood. It was like yesterday being held down in the bathtub until she felt wet and heavy all through, and then she wasn’t in her body any longer, she was up on the ceiling watching and it didn’t hurt anymore. Oh….
And spang! there she was, up in the sky looking down at her own tear-smudged face lit up with wonder, watching Mrs. Morrison crouch and put an arm around her, hearing as if from far away the teacher saying, Well done, Nora, well done. Now, would you like to tell me what’s making you so sad? And Nora would try in a minute, she would try, but right now she was stretching her wings, she was wheeling away, she was heading for the open sky.
