WINGS ~ Lachambers

The beginning, the middle, and the end

The day had gradually slowed to nightfall--where the darkness Vern Tessio, Teddy Duchamp and Gordie Lachance occupied deepened, and crickets rumbled in Castle Rock like there would never be a tomorrow.

But midnight.

Midnight curved into a daily ritual for the three boys to unite together. Under a small bridge where the walls rusted, and as it was built solely for the purpose not to lallygag, have a good time, splash in the water that god knows what's been in it; Gordie would gather big, wide glass jars with holes peeping out on tops to catch fireflies. This was an every day occasion--considering one week of summer was just left--and at the end of the week Castle Rock would be back to it's vile and cruel town again.

"Look! Look guys, I found one!"

Teddy triumphed his fist in the air, a huge grin fabricated wrinkles on his face, and the boy almost hopped to Vern's call because when he tripped, mud fluttered the outlines that made of his appearance. In the morning, the mud would turn into a dry, crackling clay plastered over Teddy's hair and cheeks.

Gordie, on the other hand, was trying to trap more fireflies for an explicit glow of the night.

He beckoned the small, yellow, blue and green sparks of bugs would surely be the same perception of memory like every other affair.

But the irises of his eyes would dim with the view of tiny blue lightning bulbs, and the essence of his gut would glitter with euphoria.....the bugs frizzling and popping in the glass lightning-bug cage, and as air releases it's summer heat, the insects would run cold before the sun seeps back into it's jellied light with the white beams of moon displaced.

So as the trees ushered out their long whispers and rocked from side to side, Gordie's eyes quivered over to the forest.

Teddy and Vern hastily stopped fiddling with the lightning bug jar, scrutinizing him with their jaws cracked open.

"Cmon Gordo, you're not really gonna go in there are you?" Teddy replied with a question to Gordie's stance--although the two must've been standing at least five feet apart because Gordie couldn't hear a single thing that squealed from their mouths.

"I'll be back," he says, and the entrance of Castle Rock's forest strives over Gordie's eyes, with Vern and Teddy calling him to come back. The countless number of twigs and sticks on nature's floor grounds under his feet.

Gordo stands up straight with a symbol of bravery. The darkness that engulfed his figure was not scary--that there was nothing to fear, but something in the forest cracked and fluttered and the boy almost shocked out a horror fitted cry. Naturally, his throat clogs and sweat pearls down his temple how water scarcely drips from a faucet.

Gordie finds that it was just a hawk that made the rude clamor of noise when his head snaps around, and it's glaring at him with it's wild yellowish eyes and clicks of the beak.

The wings the hawk holds nestles to its side, with burnt umber and creamy browns that's sculpted like ocean waves. Gordie can imagine it; where the patterns then look like seashells with its wings stretched and sprigged wide. And there's almost no distance from the closeness.

But It's radiating a scent just like Chris's cologne.

In the moment, Gordie is alarmed, frightened with his shoulders slumped. There's a sense of safety though--what the aroma of the wild animal is heating, because it's comforting. It reminds him of his best friend. Chris Chambers--the one piece that's needed to complete the puzzle.

It's nearly.....funny. Ever since Chris had spat out about how nice it would be to one day be able to fly freely, they no longer had been able to reach him during the night, and knocking on his door sure wouldn't be safe at all. His old man was an abusive douchebag of an alcoholic. The fella sure could give a beating.

"What are you doing here?" Gordie questions, throat gurgling because it's absolutely dumb and foolish talking to an animal that can't talk.

Then the hawk tilts its head like it's replying....like it's saying:

"Because I wanted to see you again."

The hawk's casting Gordie its eyes that are wrinkled into a glare, blended smoothly with an almost grin. The boy swears, swears he heard what he figured, and Gordie shatters. Steps back with the snap of a twig.

One flash of the eyes would be a drain, pooling. Droplets of salty water strutting over his chin--like tea does, gently rolling into Rose Bone China Cups with it's saucer flowers giving its contrast, hand grilled firmly on the burning teakettle. There are colors that are fermented, with pink and green.....And the tea flows with a soft, drowned out noise as his tears would have. It's so sudden, the break.

But Gordie's jaw rammed tight for a good sore and varying goods of a bruise, and with a racing mind.....Set on those tears he's coughed back in....The hawk's wings snaps, buckles to an awed Gordie with a flap of the wings, cuddling to his side. Comforting, Gordie repeats for the second time that day.

The hawk follows Gordie all throughout the darkness, even to the campfire, where Teddy and Vern are rolling and clawing each other and shouting:

"You're really funny looking right now, you stupid fat bag!

"Oh shut up! like your face is any better. I almost throw up every time I spare a glance, I swear!"

"And then your mother comes around and licks. It. Up." Gordie replies with acknowledgment of this nonsense and was shaking his head vigorously. Getting tired of nothings these two did on a regular basis was old and regular.

Vern and Teddy are looking at him bluntly now. In the background, fire was giving a little choir of sputtering and snapping, the twigs dying out while the burning ashes eats them. The reddish, orange hues sizzle.

Vern's face is pale and looks shaken up at the creature that sat on Gordie's arm, the arm that widened like a spring and gave access to its talons.

"I-I-It's a.....It's a h-h..."

Gordie gave a show with the roll of his eyes while Vern, all ready to pass out, had his ears flushed out from Teddy laughing his ass off wildly to his dog tag getting caught up in his mouth.

"For god's sake, Vern," Teddy laughs and clicks his tongue, "You're an absolute pussy!"

And Teddy and Gordie both begin chanting: "Pussy! pussy! PUSSY!" The bird rolls and cackles, beating its wings together with the boys, and Vern pouts over to his sleeping bag while Teddy and Gordo shake hands, whooping around the campfire, spewing more lines that would've ended in wus wus wus!.

When the night eventually calms down Teddy and Vern sleep, snuggled under puffed sleeping bags that capture them close. Wings vibrated over the fracture of Gordie's face, touching him ever so gently, and a real and authentic smile lightened his face for a long, long time.

Everything was alright and fine. A happy bubble.

The hawk followed him all throughout the night, and in the morning, it was gone.

One of its feathers was left sitting on the bed, the tip still curled up and slicing the air, rising and falling, rising and falling, slowed to relax like the chest that made of Gordie's breathing.

When Gordie nudges his head over to the spot the Hawk had nestled into last night, a silently snoring Chris laid over to his side, face to face, eyelashes clashing over his tan and bare skin.

A second feather seemed to lay on his nose and bloomed, ever so gently.