green-binder-blog

[green-binder-blog]

Swing

She was seven years old when she found out how scary growing up was.

It was a quiet evening. She and her best friend were playing in the school’s playground, waiting to be picked up by their family. Her friend demanded her to push her on the swing, and she complied. She pushed the swing with all of her strength, laughing, as her friend soared higher and higher.

Her friend had a high-pitched voice. Her shrill laughter filled the mostly empty playground. Her pure white wings flapped tirelessly on her friend’s back, making her friend look like an angel. It was mesmerizing to watch, even for her still gullible eyes. Maybe that was why she never protested when her friend asked her to push her swing.

Someone called her name. She looked around to see who it was, them grinned and waved her hand when she spotted her big brother, who was tasked to walk her home. He was still in his uniform, as usual, since he went right to her school after his own let out.

Her big brother smiled at her, but something was clearly wrong. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked more tired than usual. His jaws clenched, her eyes darted from left to right as if he was making sure no one followed him. Also, there was something kind of unsettling about him, something her mind couldn’t put a finger on.

Her big brother walked to the swing with a gait in his steps. That’s when she realized what had had bothered her. She was so shocked she forget to push the swing when it swung back to her, almost knocking her out. Her friend yelled at her, but she barely heard it. Her eyes were fixed on her big brother’s wings.

Up until this morning, her big brother’s wings were the same shade as her now sulking friend’s, pure white without a single blemish. Now, her brother’s wings looked like someone had added a drop of black ink in a jar of white milk. The change was subtle, but she saw his wings every day. The difference was made evident when her friend hopped off from the swing and stood by her side. Her wings as white as the cloud.

“Let’s go home!” her brother said with a tight smile. She tilted her head, confused.

“But her mother hasn’t arrived yet!” she pointed out. Usually they wait until her friend’s mother showed up, just to be safe. Her friend’s mother was extremely grateful for that to the point she often brought them snacks as gratitude.

“I don’t care!” he snapped, making her and her friend recoiled in shock, fear painted on their faces. She watched his brother’s wings get slightly darker after the shout. He seemed to realize his mistake, because when he spoke next, his voice was much gentler.

“Just, let’s head out now, ok? I don’t feel well. I’m sure your friend won’t mind, right? It’s just for today. I’ll treat you both your favorite ice cream tomorrow, ok?” His wings color got slightly lighter.

She looked at her friend, unsure with her reaction. Her friend opened her mouth to reply, but they never found out if it was a rejection or not because her mother chose that moment to show up, much to everyone’s relief.

Five minute later, she found herself and his brother walking home. His brother’s grip on her hand tighter than usual.

***

Her brother’s wings kept on changing color. The change was subtle, and sometimes she didn’t realize until she paid the wings her full attention. Her brother became quieter, more thoughtful. He rarely laughed with her anymore. He stopped playing with her in favor of his homework.

Her parents said that he had grown up. She didn’t understand. She missed her old brother.

“Growing up is scary,” she murmured to her friend one day as they wait to be picked up. Her friend didn’t feel like playing with the swing that day, so they switched their usual role. The swing she was sitting in felt smaller than it used to be. Her butt too big for the seat, her legs bent awkwardly. She kicked the ground in frustration, making the swing rocked.

“But growing up is cool,” her friend retorted. “You can go anywhere you want without making mom and dad angry. You can eat all the ice cream you want. You can stay up late to watch TV.”

She threw up her hand in frustration. “I want to be a child forever! I want you to be a child forever! I don’t want your wings too change color!”

“But I don’t have wings! I’m a human, not a bird!”

She decided to ignore her friend’s comment. Instead, she kicked some pebbles in frustration. Silently, she vowed that she, along with her friend, will stay children forever.

Of course, the world didn’t work that way. The day where the swing became too small for them to play with came. Years later, she witnessed her friend’s wings changed their color for the first time when she ripped her test result in an anger fit.

At that moment, she rant her fingers on her own shoulders, wondering if her wings had changed color too.

That, if she had one.

[green-binder-blog]

Wings

“Long ago, my mother told me a story. She said that people were born with wings.”

Ever since she could remember, she had always been able to see the wings.

The wings sprouted proudly from humans’ shoulder blades, extending as long as their arms could reach. They were covered in feathers that seemed to move gracefully as if invisible wind breezed pass them. The feathers itself were thick and soft-looking. They looked so soft it made her wanted to feel them.

Yet, every time she raised her hand in amazement to touch it, her fingers passed right through it.  

***

“They were invisible to most human. Some animals could see them, cats for example. Only a few gifted people could see it, though, she used to said.”

***

When she was little, she would babble on and on about the wings. She ranted about how soft her mother wings looked. She ran after her father, little hands grasping on empty air to catch the invisible feathers. She cooed about how her big brother’s wings were as white as the clouds. She screamed when she saw criminals on TV, terrified by how black and menacing their wings were.

Her parents indulged her at first. After all, her mother was the one who told her the story. They though the wings were just the product of her childish imagination. They laughed and played along when she reached behind their back when they carried her as she scowled because she was unable to touch the “floofeh feechers”. They said her brother’s wings were white because he was a good kid. They agreed with her about the criminals, saying that they were “bad men, stay away from them, kids”.

The first and last time they snapped at her was when she refused to come to school because her new teacher had pitch black wings.

“The wings aren’t real, darling!” they chided. “It’s just a story, not a real thing. You imagined too much. Imagination is good, dear, but you must learn to differentiate between imagination and reality. Your teacher is such a sweetheart. Look, they left encouraging notes in your homework!”

From that day on, she learnt how to keep her mouth shut.

A month later, her new teacher was caught for molesting one of her classmate. Her parents, wrecked by guilt, apologized to her for doubting her. Being a good child, she forgave them. Her father had taught her well that adults sometimes made mistake too. But she never talked about the wings again. Not to her parents. Not to her beloved brother. Not to her friends, who started to whisper weird, mean things about her.

***

“You know how white represents good and black represents bad? How gray is the mix of those two sides? Well, the same concept applied to the wings.”

***

As she grew up, she learnt more about the wing. She realized that even though the wings literally grew from shoulders, they never tore the clothes their owner wore. The fabric seemed to melt around the wings whenever people put their clothes on (or was it the wings who passed through the fabric, she wasn’t sure). The wings didn’t seem to mess with their owner ability to move, nor grant their owner the ability to fly. They didn’t cast their own shadow. Mirror didn’t reflect them.

The wings weren’t inanimate. They couldn’t be touched, but somehow they never passed anything else. They moved up and down, folding and unfolding to avoid any obstacles in their path without touching them. One time she throw an eraser to one of her friends back to see how the wings would react. The wings simply dodged it, as if they have their own consciousness.

Sometimes, they moved according to their owner’s mood. They cocooned around their owner’s body when they felt nervous. They flapped excitedly when their owner was feeling happy. The feathers fluffed up when they were surprised.  

The wings grew parallel with their wielder. A newborn baby looked like a cherub, with wings so small it could easily fit in her palms. An adult wings could easily span over two meter when unfolded. Her best friend, who was somehow unable to grow another inch after her last year in middle school, had a pair of wings that were just the right size of her.

But, the most important things she learned was about their colors.

Her brother’s wings remained white until he was in his second year of middle school, when he came home with slightly grayer wings. Her parents’ wings’ colors changed from one shade of gray to another in a matter of days, sometimes darker and sometimes lighter. Most adults have slightly different shade of gray every time she saw them. She saw a bully’s wings immediately turned darker when he kicked a helpless boy. She witnessed a passing woman’s wings brightened after she yelled at said bully and helped the boy. She argued with an officer to defend a teen pickpocket because she witnessed the scene and his wings didn’t change, he was clearly forced to do it dammit.

***

“Everyone said that people wear their hearts in their sleeves. I disagree. I think people wear their heart in their shoulder. It helped you to predict people, the wings. There are down sides too, unfortunately...”

***

The wings helped her in predicting people. They told her about their owner’s moods, feelings, whether they do good things often or not. She could easily decide if it was safe to walk in an alley with a man behind her or if she should start running. She could told a fake beggar and someone who truly needed help apart with just a single glance on their wings.

Yet, no matter how far she spun her neck, her eyes were unable to see her own wings.

***

“No one can see their own hearts, after all.”