It isn’t the sky that bothers me, or the endless freedom it provides – it’s the possibility of falling. My son should never have to face that.
When I first realized that his wings were sprouting, like buds on a rose bush, I could have sheared them and crippled him then. That would have been kinder than allowing him to jump from a cloud, arms spread, intuition and hope the only things keeping him aloft. But I couldn’t. I let them grow, feathers forming perfectly.
My son is perfect.
His ten-year-old body gleams with health as he darts around the clouds, jumping from one dense blob to the next. Muscles pump in his arms and bunch in his legs, but it’s his laugh that proves how vital he is. His joy can’t be contained – even I cannot suppress a smile as his grin lights up the sky.
But today is his Jumping Day, his leap of faith. And it is now, as I stand on the precipice of his chosen cloud, waves dancing beneath me, that I regret.
I ache with remorse.
It would have been easy to clip the wispy down feathers from him, but now it’s too late. He is not the sweet cherub I had once thought to prune. My wings flex, revealing my nerves to the many eyes that flicker to catch the movement. Only my son and I have such bright wings, such vibrant colors. I don’t doubt that others expect me to cry, to mourn if the worst happens. Many children die on their Jumping Day, others never recover from the fall. My own wings are distinct, but useless. The clouds are my prison now, and I look at my child and fear only the worst: that my weakness passed to him.
But my fear does not fill him. It is with a bright, full, toothy grin that he looks at me, his excitement energizing the air, and leaps. His small body spirals downward and I am helpless. I cannot catch him…
But I don’t need to.
Faster than any child I’ve ever seen, he adapts. His glorious wings fling outward with a majestic power I will never personally know. His bright plumage glints in the sunlight. Cheers fill the air. He is flying, a child no longer. My baby no longer.
Even though remorse and sorrow had weighted me moments earlier, a stronger feeling rushes through me now. A feeling I’d had countless times since his birth. A feeling I will never grow tired of.
Pride.
Lovely, right? She made me an angel! Or something like one. And for that I'll always think she's a little nuts. Heh. But I appreciate people not unfollowing me in the meantime. You guys are the awesomest! I will strongly imply that new episodes are coming soon. And if you want my real excuses, I do have them. And they're good. If you want more fake artistic ones, let me know! Or if you want to write some for me, I will accept those as well.
Anyways, thanks for the patience. <3
Keep your pants on!
