The trenchcoat hung long over
Sam’s arms, falling close to his fingertips and trailing close to his ankles.
Otherwise, it was tight on his person, making him look barrel-chested in spite
of his slight build. He was quietly grateful for the layers as he stood on the
cliffs alone with the nippy wind snapping at his face.
He had been coming there to that
same spot nearly every week for almost a year. He would pack an overnight bag
and drive from his home on Sandfield Park in Ennis, all the way down to the
Moher Cliffs. On reaching, he would park his car out on the grass, walk over
near the rock and stare out at the sky unmarred by any false light, where he could
see every star and constellation and feel the clean, cold wind rush through his
lungs and fill him with that strange euphoria that it had brought him all his
life. He would spend the night gazing at
the sky and the day standing on the cliff, staring out at the sea and stone
towers. And every time, he would pack his things and go back home with the same
refrain in his mind.
Not today.
He cursed his fears that clashed
so strongly with his desires, leaving him in a constant state of conflict. The
wind blew circles around him, clasping him and releasing him in loving embraces,
pulling him closer and closer to the edge. It sang in his ears and in his
heart, calling to him to just let go and feel, feel like he was born to for
once in his life.
Thirty years you have held back,
the wind would whisper to him. Now just let go.
But he never did.
He always made it to the very edge,
his shoes teetering half off the brink, when he would pause. He would think of
his mother who loved him, but smiled at him like he was a wild animal rearing
to bite; his father who enlisted multiple private doctors, none of whom had
been able to cure him. He would remember his sister, who cared for him, but
preferred to keep her own family away. He had enough friends to count on one
hand and a girl whom he loved with all his heart. She thought it odd, but
strangely endearing that he wore heavy coats all the time.
But today, it was different.
His mother had cried. His father
had bellowed. His sister had walked away. His friends had forgotten him.
And Anise was getting married.
Monster. Freak. Not my son. I have no brother. Goodbye, Sam.
He raised his eyes to the pale
heavens, feeling the sky’s song well up heavy in his heart. The world would not
hold him back. Not today, not ever again. For once in his life, he needed to be
real.
He undid the belt of his
trenchcoat and shrugged it off his person, letting it fall to the grass. Methodically,
he popped the buttons of his oxford shirt and peeled it off his shoulders,
leaving his thin torso naked to the cold wind. From his back, a pair of bronze
wings unfurled and glistened in the light like twin suns. Their tips rose high
above his head, the muscles in them stretching from their constant bondage,
basking in their freedom. The wind’s song grew louder, rustling through his
feathers and beckoning him.
Come to us, it called. Fly with us. We will love you as
you should be loved. As you should always be loved.
Sam listened. And Sam jumped.
