My wings look good today. Not that it matters. No one else can see them.
I turn around, stretching my neck to examine my wings, it's hard to get a good look at them because they are so large that they drag on the floor. I twist and turn, trying to see their golden brown feathers, the same colour as my hair. They are soft, like a brand new blanket, and just as fluffy as a pomeranian puppy. It's like having a bed permanently attached to my back.
They are quite strange, they are always there, but not there at all. I can see them, and I can feel them, but when I put a shirt on, it goes straight through my wings, or when I'm in a spot that they shouldn't be able to sit in, they just seem to vanish, as if they were never there. As if they are ghosts.
I've told my parents about it, but they think it's concerning that I'm still into "Make Believe" as they say. I'm 18 and they have sent me to a specialist for the past two years to "get this behavior out of my system". I'm not lying, and I'm not crazy, my wings are real, and so are theirs.
I'm not the only one with wings, everyone has them, each one different, depending on who that person is. I've come to learn that each person's wings, correspond to their personality, or the troubles of their lives. I've seen people with the most gorgeous wings, ones that are larger and more striking than others, those people are more often the happiest, I've seen some homeless people with wings like that.
There are also people with wings that are almost bald, they are the selfish ones. They are the people, who spend hours grooming themselves because they have to look perfect, they groom so much, that the feathers have fallen out.
Then there are the ones with broken wings. They are the ones who have known pain, maybe from physical abuse, they've had their wings stomped on so many times that they hurt them. They try their hardest to cover the pain, but they can't cover their wings. They betray them, showing their true state of mind.
But I can tell, I can see their wings.
My wings aren't perfect either, they have been broken before. Broken, by a broken family, by a mom that has cheated many times, and a father that refuses to leave her. From all the fights that they had and the shouting that they never meant for me to hear. Each harsh word would be like a hammer to my wings, slowly mangling them, tearing off feathers and ripping me apart. I spent months like that, the sound of shouting finding its way to my room, like a ghost coming to haunt me, and my happiness. Soon my wings were just another thing dragging me down.
They aren't broken anymore, it took a long time for them to heal, but with some therapy, they are better. They are still a bit deformed, but I like them like that. It helps me to remember that it's possible to get better.
I let out a sigh of relief as I see my boyfriend walk through the cafe door. I start to get anxious when I think about what has happened in my life.
"You alright babe?" He asked as soon as he walked up to me, as if he could see my wings, and how deformed they were.
"I was just thinking about the past." I answered. He reached his hand across the table and grabbed mine. I looked into his chestnut eyes, and they soothed me. He gave me a reassuring smile that showed off his dimples, and flashed his perfectly straight teeth at me.
"I know it's hard, but it doesn't define, or control you."
"I know Ben." I smiled weakly at him.
We talked like we do every other Sunday morning, in this little cafe, with wood covered walls, and black couches to snuggle into, alongside small circular tables. We go to different universities, so this is the only time that we can see each other.
As we talked, I started looking at his wings. They were larger than mine and were blonde to match his hair. He has never had them broken, they're fluffier than mine, and they look like they are almost perfect. Almost.
He has lost some fathers, there are times when bald patches show up. I try to ask him if he's okay, but sometimes he refuses to talk, and I can't do anything about it.
He agrees with my parents, he thinks I'm hallucinating the wings, but I know that he still loves me. He just wants the best for me.
I hope some day they can see what I see, I hope they can see the wings.
After we finished our "cafe catch up" as we call it, we both leave to return to our houses.
I spend the rest of the day as I would usually spend a Sunday, working on assignments as I watch Netflix.
I decide to go to sleep at twelve, unaware of what will happen the next day.
Rubbing my eyes, I stand up from my bed, I feel slightly off balanced, but I often am in the mornings. I walk to my closet, looking for the right outfit to wear today. I pull off my pj shirt and start to slide on the white long sleeve I chose, but it got caught on my back, like there was something there that was blocking it. I turned in my mirror, to see that it was my wings, to see that they were real.
Suddenly there was screaming from the other room. I rushed in to see my roomate Jan staring in horror at her back, like she could see her wings. Then it dawned on me,
"You can see them? The wings?" I asked, astounded.
"What? The giant wings on my back!?" She screamed at me.
I ignored her panic and ran to a window, outside I saw people in a frenzy, they were yelling about wings.
On my dresser, my phone vibrated. The name said "Ben". I put the phone to my ear and a loud voice said,
"You were right. About everything"
I laughed at his reaction.
"I will never doubt you again."
I sat down, I couldn't believe it, my wish came true. At some point last night everybody got their wings. At last, everyone can see them, everyone can see me.
