Chapter 21 Wings
Wings
Sticky sweet marmalade drips from my palm all the way down my elbow, leaving in its path the golden deliciousness that looks and tastes like liquid summer.
I had a few jars of this stuff stashed away.
It’s provided every once in a while with my rations to keep me from getting scurvy, but today we are using it for celebration.
Today, Little Bird is getting the makeshift cast off her wing.
The gooey canned sunlight squeezes out between two stale crackers as I quickly throw it back before it can ooze out more.
Lir watches in delight as I suck the little coated crumbs off my fingertips.
I offer for him to try some, but before I can dip the butter knife back in the jar, he juts his torso out of the water and catches a drop of the syrup from my arm into his mouth.
“I hate to see anything go to waste.” He licks his lips, the lips I’m now very familiar with.
“Oh,” I say in more of a breathless sigh than a word.
“Yes, of course.” I look at him wide-eyed, as if I’d accidentally gotten into glue.
My hands are sticky, but I don't want to offend him now washing them in the tide pool. Nor do I want to be feathered and tarred as Little Bird hops around me attempting to jump into my arms. Seeing my conundrum, with a quick move, hooking just one of his fingers into my belt loop he pulls my whole body weight with ease towards him to lick the marmalade off of my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at him. I tell myself he doesn’t realize what he’s doing but that would be too degrading to this cunning water sprite.
No, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Every day that he closes the gap between us, I am more sure there wasn’t much of one to begin with.
I think he’s known what he was doing since the beginning, since the very first time he grasped my hand, or licked it.
His tongue trails from my elbow up across the sensitive veins at my wrist and then between my fingers.
He seems fascinated about the lack of webbing between them, just as it seems he’s going to start sucking on them I blurt out, “Not in front of the children!”
He pauses and we both slowly turn towards Little Bird who squeaks, watching us shaking her little splinted wing.
I can only imagine her saying, “Get a room—get a tide pool, you losers!” Ugh!
How I've come to see so many silly emotions in her beady black eyes. It’s given me a bit of softness for all the gulls—until one swoops down and steals the cracker I’m holding.
Never mind, fuck all these guys except Little Bird.
I smear a cracker for my perfect-little-angel and start to tear up. “Don’t forget me when you’re all grown up and don't be a jerk just ‘cause you can fly circles around me!”
“She will be able to swim circles around you too.” He exclaims proudly.
I splash Lir and clean off my sticky hand.
He didn't make it clean with his fervent licking, just messy. What a weirdo. I “punish” him with a few more splashes, not much of a punishment for someone who breathes water anyways. I turn my attention back to Little Bird after Lir feigns remorse. She waddles over to me, squeaking and rubbing that little wing to my kneeled thigh as if there’s an itch she needs me to scratch.
In long winding tangles I unwrap the linen like material Lir had woven for her, heavy strands that are each unique and silky.
I’m so amazed at his handiwork that I make sure to run the gauze slowly through my fingers feeling its sublime texture.
He’s been weaving little things for me from the kelp of his pond; little pouches, nets and such to make my day easier.
I think it also helps him pass the time.
I run my hands over the sweater he wove me, so grateful for its softness and surprising warmth.
Smiling, I slip the fabric into my pocket after removing it from her wing, to me it’s finer than any silk ribbon I had when I was on land.
Little Bird’s wing moves awkwardly, stretching stiffly not quite sure of the new motion.
She’s grown a lot since we first found her, but the wrapped wing is ever so slightly smaller than the other one she’s been flapping around.
After a few minutes of the wind and salt air moving between her feathers, they begin to fluff, then smooth out, looking like a normal wing.
Each individual feather adjusting like the rudders on an aeroplane, automatically making microscopic calculations against the air.
She waddles over, hopping with both feet atop a barnacle covered rock to stand shakily with her wings outstretched.
The sun reflects off her bright white color, she is a cloud shining through with the Sun’s rays, a silver-lining around all her edges and form.
I didn't know a seagull could look so proud, so angelic.
All her feathers move simultaneously almost like the wick of a firecracker moving up her body and then my brave Little Bird—jumps.
She catches the air at first tumbling down towards the rocks from her miniature cliff. I jut my hands out to catch her, but Lir clasps them pulling them in towards us. Pushing them against his warm chest, I can feel his heart is pounding just as quickly as mine.
Her little wing finally catches up with the rest of her body and she glides.
She flies. I want to cry, I am so doubled over in emotion my stomach twists into knots, my hands anxiously interwoven into Lir’s.
We sit there in silence as she climbs higher and higher, spiraling up into the air and clouds, looping around the lighthouse.
At first, I can pick her out from the crowds of other gulls.
Of course thinking mine is much shinier and prettier, but then she slowly begins to fade away into their flock.
Goodbye, my Little Bird.
My whole body feels light, as if I could fly away too.
Lir lifts and twirls me as I hold my arms outstretched, just my toes dipping into the cool water as my knees are embraced against his chest. We laugh together, a chorus of my sharp tone and his deep warm cadence, together they make a pretty enough song.