Tonight We Fly

Tonight We Fly
@aladreth
copyright 2014

I remember clearly the early evening he said to me, "Tonight we fly."  I trusted he was telling me the truth; that above the housetops we would see dogs barking below, the lovers strolling their last walk before bedding down together, and the last throw out by the old mother of compost to bin.

I believed we would fly and we would see the stars so clear we could touch them.

I fell for the raggedy haired boy.  He would argue about his hair. All of his features, really; for he was a trickster, a magician with the looks and so innocent seeming.  To tell someone you are shy and reserved does not make it so.  He knew what his charms were. He made me fall for him and I could not let go.

One day I confessed I was a thief.  He did not balk at the idea.  I repeated it, for I believed there were only two ways he would accept such absurdity.  Either he was a thief himself or he didn't really believe me.  He replied, "I heard you the first time.  I know you are a thief, silly girl, for you stole my heart."  So, he was cheeky.  He did not care, it seemed, that I was a morose snotty dragon sitting on my nest of shiny things in a lair in the basement. So, he passed a tiny test.  Then he passed a few more.  

He wrote out words of old ancient manuscripts on crisp blue paper and handed them to me for a present.  It was only paper.  But, he knew of my love for paper.  A compulsive hoarder of paper, I was.

With thick English accent he would say to me, "It took a lot of work printing that for you."  Like I should know of his love when he didn't say it.  Like I didn't need to be reminded with "I love you." Blue paper words would suffice.

He gave me Toni.  I did not tell him about her.  At first I teased, "Your twins were born," after he returned to England. Nine months later I had it planned to write him no matter, if we were still speaking or not, to tell him about the twin girls I had imagined and what I would name them.  He was angry when he received the mail. He told me he crumpled it up and threw it on a bonfire.  I knew he did not, but his words didn't hurt any less. 

I did not have twins.  It was only a joke.  Toni, however, was serious, I kept her secret and hidden from him because I would more than likely not raise her as reckless as he would have liked. 

I was going to raise her where she would not be hurt by her heart.  I was going to raise her where she was confident and self-assured, like he had believed me to be at the beginning when he first fell for me.  Then he learned I was like every other girl.  I had a heart as big as an ocean and could fit tons of little scraps of people in it.  All of a sudden I seemed vulnerable and weak and that is not what he signed up for.  

Toni would never be that way.  I didn't care what it took, but she would not be hurt by love.  

She would not remember every single male she had ever come in contact with, like I could rehearse in my brain decades of smiles, clever winks, and words.  Oh, the words.  

I threatened to raise her in an Amish community.  It didn't seem any of them were weak or wounded by their hearts.  But, I could not handle the dress.  I wanted her to grow up to be the head of a company, a CEO, not wear long dresses with her hair in a bun.   

I thought to raise her in a feminist commune.  I believed they would protect her, give her a healthy dose of hate for men.  Just enough so she would never believe she could fly.  Just enough to never fall for being held down and hypnotized by the gentle fingertip touch of a man.  Just enough so she would not be like her mother who loved men.

Instead, I used Toni as my little balm, a burn medication made from silver, a salve ...where she wrapped her little self around the knot of pain which was me. Then as I had tried so hard to protect her, Toni was hurt.  Hurt by her love for me.   

A Buddhist teacher once said we should never underestimate the urge to bolt.  I had repeated it various times, thinking of myself, "One more thing, and I will go." I would tell myself, "One more heart pang, one more tear, one more worry, and I will go."  I was convinced I would leave.  I would bolt.

I had forgot the saying did not just apply to myself.  It applied to others.  They could leave as well. 

Toni left.

Now, I cannot tell anyone.  I am not sure if it is my pride keeping me from it. I will not accept charity until there is no other way.  I will go without things for years before asking for help.  No one must know she has left me.  

Now, I only ask for kindness.  The world is full of such quackery. None of it brings healing.  I only want kindness.  Oh, to wrap myself in a soft foam form envelope of strawberry scented kindness.  I can imagine it.  It is the only thing that brings me hope. That there will be kindness.

No one seems to meditate laying on their side.  They think Buddha laying on his side was merely a death statue instead of a lovely prop up on elbow, thinking of nothing and nothing in between.  I did not know how to do any of it.  But, once again, a man with lovely hands, touched my wrist, told me, "Tonight we fly."