I remember wind. I remember the taste of it as I parted my lips to laugh with it. I remember the feel of it, brushing against my skin in welcome. I remember how cold and harsh it could be and how warm and soft. I remember how I loved it.
I used to fly with it. I used to jump and not come down for hours. I used to follow it. I used to get lost in its embrace. I used to become part of it. I used to forget that I had a body. I used to have wings.
My fingers slid across my shoulder, under the fabric of my shirt. Straining to feel the touch of feathers, I pushed my fingers farther down, sliding down my back to my shoulder blade. Only rough scars scraped my fingers. Inside me welled an ocean of tears, pushing to break out of me, pushing toward my eyes. I squeezed them shut, not willing to let myself cry. Flying used to be my life, my spirit, my soul. Wind used to be the rhythm of my heart. Still I could feel it, that faint beat of wings, that faint pulse unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
Air slid across my skin, a gentle comforting breeze. It was all the wind was now, a comforting hand on my arm. No longer was it playful, tugging me up with it. No longer was it reprimanding, telling me off for not spending enough time with it. Only comforting, only consoling. I let my breath out, imagining I breathed myself out with and floated up and up until I was higher than I had ever been before.
Now my wings were cut, hacked off savagely while I had still been awake to scream and cry and beg. They’d let me go after hours, bleeding and dizzy. I’d had to run away from the group of men and women. I’d had to run. They were in jail now for battery, but the term was too kind to them. What they had committed hadn’t been a beating surged with fear. It had been murder.
My face turned toward the sky, my eyes closed, my cheeks wet, my fingers falling away from the scars. I could feel the wind. I could feel its comfort. I could feel its life. I could feel its breath. I could feel its heartbeat. I could feel its pulse…but I could not join it.