Wings

An explanation is likely required here. This piece was written last term when I needed to tell a story using stream of consciousness, a form of writing with blatant disregard for the conventions of syntax, and also for the 'logical' way that a piece of writing is expected to flow in the eyes of the majority. It was a stretch to write this, and it's still a far cry from true stream of consciousness, because even now it makes too much sense. However, I'm not ashamed of it, and having recently been a bit poetically inspired, thought I'd post this here for anyone who cares to read it.

Remember the day I got the letter. Ride home after the service. Something to ask you. Don’t worry, good thing. Butterflies all day. Used to watch them flutter in droves across Huron in autumn. February now, but the same fluttering inside. Many splendored thing? Rather multifaceted. Not sure whether to laugh or cry. Don’t worry. Don’t breathe as easy. Sinking to the bottom. Trapped. Hands reach for me. Arms too short. Fighting not to breathe water like air. Roaring, drowning, struggling, waiting. For? Good thing. Break the surface. Breathe again.

Something to ask you. Sit in my class, counting on shaking fingers. 9 hours. 540 minutes. 40,500 heartbeats. Now more like 60,000. 7 plus or minus 2 times. Numbers unfeeling. No heart in it. Rather solve another question. Ask you. About some other girl? Weather? Misunderstood intentions? In love with me? No. Surprise better than disappointment. Hope is so hard to crush.

For I know the plans I have for you. Wish He’d tell. Surrender. Trust. Wait. Hour left. Fly or fall. It all depends on the question. His arm brushes mine. Butterflies. A hundred pairs of wings, translucent in the sun. Something to ask. Could be a ruse. Root vegetables or the like. Yes, I don’t mind potatoes. More important surely. Thy will, not mine.

Over at last. Not so sure I’m ready. Maggie and Susanna whispering. Afraid Marc will hear.

- Have fun! Tell us everything! Good luck!

Pretend I don’t follow. Cheeks feel sunburned. It’s time now. Out the door and down the steps. Can hardly walk. See rainbows in puddles. Halos around streetlights. Silver moon sparkling. Reflects in his eyes. Look away. Click the seatbelt in place. Dreaming? Pinch. No. Deep breath. Silence.

- Something you wanted to ask?

- Yeah. Been waiting for this all day. Had it all planned. Now I can’t remember a word.

- Don’t be afraid.

As if I’m not. Grip the door till it hurts. Heart in my head. Deafening. Then:

- We’ve been friends for a while, but now we’re becoming something more. Do you see it that way?

Root vegetables! This is much better.

- Yes! Of course!

- How long have you felt that way?

- A year.

Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall. Most was winter. High precipitation. Endless night. Used to be afraid night wouldn’t end.

- For lack of better words, will you go out with me?

Daybreak now. Filled with fluttering. Could fly in the dawn with wings like the sun. Nothing will melt them.