I flew north over the parkway, avoiding the rush-hour traffic. The intersection there is a chore, and I’d needed to make some time. Flying would be easiest. No one would notice me. No one ever did. Who looks up anyway?
I flew out past the city before I had to take a break. The breeze was helpful, but still, flying is no joke. Stamina is critical. Arms do get tired. Looking for a quiet place to rest, I spotted a bench bounded on one side by six large oaks and on the other by a stream. From my vantage above, no one would witness my arrival. Except for the squirrels, some wayward deer, and the trout. That’s good because I’m not too graceful at the whole landing thing.
I wasn’t able to direct my landing to the bench itself, but I did manage to avoid the stream. Nice, since the water was probably cold, and I do hate cold water. The bench was old, decorated artfully with that standard urban palette—bird poop and graffiti—and jagged with splinters. Not really a good place to rest. Disappointed, I sat down on the grass. Damp and cold on my bare skin, but better than the bench. I wouldn’t be staying long anyway.
I got a late start on flying. Not this morning. No, I mean overall. Didn’t even learn to fly until I went away to college. Even there it took a while. A full load of classes didn’t give me much time to practice flying. Something had to give, so I stopped going to class. So yeah, I am entirely self-taught, and so far, accident free. Not many people can say that.
I looked at my watch. Already fifteen minutes had passed. Time to move on. I stood, stretched, and took off without a single step forward. The breeze had kicked up a bit, but I made a few adjustments to keep a steady pace.
The wind carried me like a wave. Comforted me. Cradled me in its arms. Safe. Finally. I filtered out the street noises from below and enjoyed the near silence. The movement of the air sounded like a hum. No, more like a whistle, but with a smooth, pleasant tone. Not tinny at all. The sound, coupled with the gentle rocking motion of the wind, was exactly what I needed.
I made sure not to fly too high. Something about the air pressure, I figured. I wasn’t sure. I tried to stay near the clouds. I’d always liked clouds. All the different types. Cirrus. Stratus. Cumulus. I always watched them I was young. How fast they’d travel across the sky on a windy day. I’d only dreamt then of catching a ride.
I glanced again at my watch, calculating my speed. It was hard to do the math up here, and frankly, my flight speed wasn’t entirely in my control. Again, I was at the mercy of the wind. Even though I had nowhere to be, I did what I could to pick up the pace. That feeling of being prey came back with a vengeance, and I’d already lost track of time, trying to get away.
The feeling of being chased was the worst part of flying. Checking behind. The slightest sound. Footsteps. A broken leaf. Coins jangling in a pocket. A twig snapping. A dog’s bark in the distance. The rub of life’s endless tiny noises. That’s why I’m up here, bathing in near silence. Swaddled in a cloud blanket.
*
Time passed. I didn’t listen to my body. My own fault. Flying faster and faster, always trying to escape, I worried that the growing soreness in my muscles could become serious. But I didn’t want to be caught. That’s all. It all shouldn’t be so hard. But it was. Overcome, I looked for a clean, comfortable place to sleep. Not a dirty, splintered bench. I needed more. Both my body and my mind were by now spent.
The sun became the moon. And light became dark. I scanned the forest below and found a spot on the sole remaining branch of an old giant oak. My guess, it was an osprey nest. Their nests tend to be impressively large. And this one was about six feet in diameter. Plenty of space for me. I nudged aside the sleeping chicks. Carefully. I didn’t want to cause any harm. I was the guest here. And I slept. Naked and cold. But hidden. Curled up in a ball. Poked by twigs and sticks. In a nest. On top of a tree. A million miles from home. No one would notice me. No one ever did. Who looks up anyway?
I woke as if from a dream to the harsh morning sunlight. The nest was wet with frost. Thru squinted eyes, I peered over the edge. For the first time, I felt a dizzying panic. The ground was so far below. I’d never even noticed heights before. I inched back closer to the other birds in the nest, desperate now for comfort and warmth. My aching muscles torn from yesterday’s flight, I sensed I’d never fly again.
The osprey had returned to its nest, seemingly unsurprised by my presence, breakfast trout dangling from its mouth. Its babies devoured their share of the trout first. There was plenty left for me though, as if the osprey knew I was coming. I gratefully ate next, mimicking their movements. I had a lot to learn.
#
author bio:
Elisa Subin is a writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Scryptic, Not One of Us, Little Rose, La Scrittrice, and Hevria, among others.