A Window Story (I)

Two years ago I wrote this allegory-thing to try to make sense of my feelings and help me think through things. It was a progressive story about myself, the idea being that it was a "window" into my thoughts. I felt I should include it in my blog because it's a nice story and because it is definitely me. This is the first part I wrote, and you can tell that my voice as a writer has changed since then when you read the second part. Well actually this first part is split up into even more sub-parts that I wrote over a week or so, but it's pretty much all the same time. For the sake of preserving the "historical" and typo-ful aspects of the writing, I'm leaving the mistakes in it.

A Window Story

...The ability to see more out of a window has nothing to do with what angle you look at it, and everything to do with how close you are to it...

       There is a town, not far from your nose. See it's right...here!  Do you see the lake? The soft sandy beach with tall grass, the hills that surround it?  The grass is green now, because it's spring in the town. Which is a special time here, more than other places. You see, it's the time that the children can fly.

       The Wing Man is the oldest of all of the people. He has been here since before the town existed. All year he creates wings to give to any child who could want them. But every pair of wings is different. The young children often choose small delicate wings. These have to be repaired and do not hold the children in the air very long. Sometimes the children choose heavy wings. These are powerful, but only if you are strong enough to use them. Most children who choose these get hurt.  But the young children almost never keep their wings, they will usually give them back to the Wing Man.

       As the children of the town grow older their wings become more and more realistic. They have more profound flight feathers, and the young adults fly higher and higher, with each passing year. One day they will make a decision to leave the town with their wings.

       Do you see that lake over there? The big, blue one? Can you feel the wind, as it turns unpredictably from hot to cold? One day those young adults will, with their chosen pair of wings fly out over the lake. They hope that they will catch a warm breeze so they can fly all the way to the other side of the lake. Everyone knows that whatever is over there, it absolutely wonderful, because few people ever want to come back. They send messages about how blissful and beautiful it is there, and how it's just like it was before, only instead of flying, they go soaring!

...But if one was to catch a cold wind... and fall... the wings that would have carried you, could drown you. Some correct their false judgment of the winds before they get to far from shore, and are able to carry themselves to shore... some perish in the deep blue waters.

       This is what all of the children prepare for with their simple wings; the chance to fly, and then, to soar.  

       But in this town there is a strange girl. She sees herself as just a bit above all of this. Can you see her? In that house, the pretty stucco one, with red shutters. Yes, that's her. You see, she thinks that this is all just too dangerous. She thinks, 'Why, on earth, would someone want to be that high above the ground? How is that any fun at all?' She has it so nice here in her little cottage, by the sea. Where the gulls cry and the hills roll on and on into the sunset...why would you want to leave?

       Do you see her beautiful garden? She grows roses, every kind. There are red ones, white ones, pink ones, orange ones, green ones, and even a purplish-brown color. But her favorites are the almost black ones. She keeps these in the very back of her yard, next to her favorite sitting rock. Often she sits there and plays her flute for the birds that enjoy her flowers. She sketches pictures of her butterfly friends too. Their pictures cover the walls of her house.

       But one thing that she does.... that she never wants anyone to know about.... is when she stands in her tree and watches the other children. She watches them with their wings. How they swoop and dip, how they are always grinning. But then she watches them begin to fall... she watches their eyes get big and as they scramble for some hold on a cruel wind...they are dashed to the ground. She vows to herself that she will never fly.

 But inside... deep inside... she knows she will, and all she can do is hope that the wind will favor her wings.

  Years go by. The girl is often left behind by the other children. Even though they come to visit her garden, she doesn't fly with them, so they can't really understand each other. One day, the Wing Man comes to her door. She leads him in, through her house, to her beautiful garden. 'Why is he here?' she wonders. For some reason she decides to show him to her favorite sitting rock. They sit down.

 "Why don't you have a pair of wings yet?"

 "They scare me.." She can only whisper, because she knows that all she really wants is lying in the Wing Man's large burlap sack.

"There is nothing to be scared of. It is only a fear of change that makes you scared. You do not really feel fear about the actual wings. Is this not true?"

 The girl is silent.

 "Here."

 Out of his sack come the most beautiful wings she has ever seen. They are of the same almost-black-red rose color as the flowers that share the garden with her. Their softness startles her, and how smoothly they fit between her shoulders. They are not a burden at all. In fact... it's hard to describe. It's like there is nothing left in the world to be scared of, like whatever happens you, you will always have your wings, your freedom....your love.

 The girl looks at the Wing Man. ' Can I really fly?'

 'Only if you think you can.’ He smiles and limps out of her garden.

 The girl watches him go.

 As soon as he is gone, she runs to the hills around the lake. You can see them, there, with the tall green grass. She tells herself that she will be careful and that she won't let herself go too high. And she keeps her word. But, Oh! Is it ever amazing! To FLY!!!!

 She goes home. And comes again the next morning, and the next. Every morning she returns to spend her time rolling and turning under the sun's bright rays. Everyday she goes a little higher, and every day she forgets the ground.

       Her garden slowly fills with weeds. Her roses wilt, and thorns grow where roses were. Thistles fill the space where white roses once perfumed the air. And as the summer passes the colored roses wilt away. One rainy day she decides to sit in her garden again. She notices for the first time how bedraggled it looks. The rain mixes with her tears. She plucks up her last almost-black-red rose. She holds it too her chest and wishes with all her heart that she didn't have to choose. If only there was some way... but she has to fly. 

       Or does she... if after being free and happy for so long, would it be possible to give back her wings? Could she forget what it was like...to fly? Could she fix the damage to her roses?

 Or could she leave this all behind, and fly over the lake? What if the air turned cold? Would she survive? If the air were warm, would she ever come back? Would she ever see a rose again? She sits on the rock, there, in the rain. With her rose and her tears and tries to decide. But all she can think of is her broken heart; her broken heart with the pieces that don't fit together.

.             .              .

The girl looks up into the rain. The small drops look just like stars falling from the sky. Silly stars, what's wrong with being in the sky? Why not just stay up there where it's safe, and dark. And all you have to do is twinkle... the girl cries herself to sleep.

 She wakes up... and rises to a clear blue sky. She knows now, you can see the determination in her eyes. She will fly. Yes, and maybe she'll come back and grow her roses, or maybe there will be roses on the other side. She doesn't let her self think of a sandy grave. She still grasps the last rose to her heart and stands on unsteady feet. But with each step she gains confidence, and with each moment her eyes are drying. Why did she cry? She spreads her wings and airs them dry as she walks. She doesn't know how far it is to the other side of the lake, so she doesn't want to use her energy to fly now.

 Do you see her? Standing on the precipice? Looking down, down, at the dark black water, and then up, up, at the pale morning sky. She tries to feel the wind, but all she can fell is the smell of autumn, dried leaves, and mossy water. And with everything the smell of a fresh coat of rain. The birds can fly, why can't I? She spreads her wings...

 and leaps for the sky.

 .                .              .

 She isn't too far from shore now. And she is rising. Higher and higher. She can't remember why she was scared, or why she didn't try anything before. Flying is absolutely wonderful... how could she have ever doubted? And the wind is perfectly warm against her wings. In fact she doesn't even have to beat them at all, she just drifts, and dreams. The land falls behind her, and the gulls are far below. She turns to look one more time at the shore. And there stands the Wing Man. He is smiling, knowing that with her wings, and with her wind. She is another angel in the sky.

 He knew all along that to love is to fly.