Where Are You Going, Chickadee: A Short Story

Where Are You Going, Chickadee?

The wind tore at me. Dragging, wrenching.

“Where are you going?” The tiny voice beside me was attached to a boy. I wanted him to leave. “Why are you on the wrong side of the road?” I faltered against the wind, pressing my foot hard into the ground, attempting in vain to control my footing. “I can see your wings. Why don’t you fly?”

I wanted to scream. Not only did I have to battle the wind, but I had that childish voice constantly biting at me. “They don’t work.” My words were small but testy.

“Have you even tried?” He moved easily behind me, looking at the wings poking out from behind. “They are quite beautiful. Why not give it a go.”

I pressed back the emotions that began to rise, the distraction causing

Failed. Period.” I took another halted step, choosing to ignore the rise of failure and shame that washed over me.

He looked at me wanting more.

“They weren’t strong enough. I let them expand, rising and falling with each breath. It was glorious, at first. Until a gust of wind hit me hard, thrusting me into the sky. I lost control and flew into the hydro wires. I messed up.”

“You didn’t fry!”

“Clearly, I’m still here.”

“Yes. With wings!”

“That don’t work! Nothing ever works.”

“They might if you took off your sweater.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to remove a sweater?” He eyed me like I was lacking some primary mental functions.

I had the sweater on for so long I just couldn’t take it off. It protected me. “Enough! Get it through your thick skull. I can’t fly. Period. Dreams don’t come true. Not for you or anyone else. It is all luck and who you know. The world will do nothing for you. It’s time you realized that.”

The boy continued walking without comment.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not. This is the way I have to go.”

“On the wrong side of the

But was I glad? Really glad somebody left me alone in the dirt? Why did I want to be alone so badly I would hurt a person to accomplish it? I wanted to cry, but nothing would come. Pain held tight like a fist.

“Where are you going, Chickadee?”

Nowhere. Anywhere. Here.

“I am Peter.”

Good for you.

“I am Peter, and you are you, and I’m here to rescue you.”

Oh may the rhyming continue, but before I could finish my inner critique I felt a tug and a steady ripping as Peter cut into my sweater. I pulled back in alarm. “What the hell?”

The cloth fell away. I could feel my wings starting to rise, aching from the constant restraint. The man was angry by my reaction. “You have a gift you hide. All I did was remove your comfort. Stretch through the pain. It will pass and your mind will turn to the next pain, a new pain to stretch through.”

“They don’t work.” As my words poured out in a panicked furry the wind picked up, filling my wings, expanding to their full span. “I can’t.” Fear overwhelmed me.

“You look like you’re doing all right.”

I was hovering on the spot. I pumped my wings letting the wind pull them, rising higher into the sky. I closed my eyes feeling the cool wind on my face, my old enemy. I heard a whoop from below. It was the boy jumping up and down in glee. I glided down and landed beside him. “I’m sorry I tried to take your gifts from you because I was