Feathers

I light a cigarette and look him straight in the eye. From behind the curtain of eyelashes, above the overflowing ashtrays and empty beer bottles, for a moment we see each other the way we really are. For a moment we are completely honest, vulnerable; we are made out of china: so white and so fragile. If either of us could say something at that moment, I don’t think we would survive it. So we sit quietly and in silence we tell each other all of that, which neither of us can tell in normal circumstances. I hide my naked smile behind the smoke screen.

Suddenly his hands take off from the table, just like a startled bird, and the moment passes. Noise once again enters the space between us and now, in my peripheral vision, I see him talking to some redhead. I light another cigarette and make my way to the kitchen. I lean on the wall, just next to the refrigerator, and feel under my back, the uneven surface of my wings. I close my eyes and dive into the sounds and commotion that surround me. All that racket and turmoil wrap around me, it tingles my fingertips and braids into my hair. Single feathers become loose and in slow-motion fall to my feet – at least this is how I picture it, as my eyes are still shut – and there is only noise, hum, distant roar and someone’s laugh. Somebody touches my arm, the left one, the one which ends with five fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. I open my eyes. It’s L. But L. isn’t really there, this much I know. And yet – he stands there and looks at me from above. He tries to smile and lights a cigarette for me.

- You are terribly creased – he says and takes out few of the bobby pins from my hair. A dark wave falls upon my face and covers one of my eyes. He strokes my cheek with his finger and for a moment I really want to cry. It’s OK, let the half of my face cry, the half no-one sees, the half only he knows about.

“I miss you”, I think and move a little bit to the left, so our arms nearly touch.

- I know – says L. and his voice is clearer than any other sound around. We stand still and in silence watch people at the kitchen table. There is someone completely covered in green body paint, and there is a sheep. There is also a devil and a pirate. Sheep holds hands with the pirate, yet – there are plenty of green handprints all over her back. After a while L. gestures for me to follow him. We are back at my starting point. There is a table with overflowing ashtrays and empty bottles. We sit on the sofa; on the way I lose even more feathers and pins. For a moment I don’t know whether L. is still here but I’m afraid to check. I sit still and I don’t cry. Then suddenly he arrives and sits on my other side. He passes a cigarette to me and picks up one of the feathers from the floor:

- I think this belongs to you – For a brief moment we stare at his hand that hangs in front of us. He breaks the silence once again – What are you supposed to be anyway?

- A dead bird – I say without thinking and I hear L. smiling. I can move again. I shake my head and my hair falls on my neck – And you?

- A visible Invisible Man.

L. puts his arm around me and, as if this would matter, as if anyone except me could hear him, whispers into my ear:

- Swell, so you are sitting right now between the invisible Visible Man and visible Invisible Man. There has to be some kind of poetry hidden in that…

I nod the way only L. can see it. Before I manage to say anything, redhead appears again. I tilt my head backwards and listen to L.’s non-existent heartbeat. For a moment only this matters, this thump – so close to my ear. I reach for a cigarette behind my ear. From both sides they pass the light to me. They also say, very quietly, while lighting their own cigarettes, nearly in unison:

- You smoke too much.

- I know – I reply to both of them and allow smoke to exit through my nose.

We stand in front of the door to the roof. L. holds my hand gently and doesn’t say anything. He is semi-transparent. The other one stands exactly step away and it seems that both of us put in a lot of effort not to touch each other. I push the bar and we go outside. The city spreads around us. It shines and pulses in the far, just as a reflection of the starry night-sky. I start walking towards the ledge, but L. squeezes my hand a bit harder and I stop – just few steps from the verge. Both of them are now a little bit to the back and a little bit to the left of me. If I tilt my head they nearly become one. All of the similarities burn my eyes, all of the differences allow me to breathe.

- What now? – I say into the empty space between them and me. We stand in silence and each of us remains speechless: a little bit alike, somewhat different. Wind pulls my wings and there is a small whirlwind full of dark feathers above my head. For a moment I think that maybe I am the one that doesn’t exist, only it slipped my mind and I have forgotten about it. But – no, probably not – both of them still look at me with their dark eyes and dirty shadows under them, with their messy hair and blue fingernails on cold hands. He reaches out and strokes my face, almost exactly how L. used to do it. I bite my lips and wish I could say so much; I wish I could tell multiple stories at the same time; I wish I could make sounds and build words and then sentences out of them. But I can’t and the only thing I can feel is how skin on my face tenses and it costs so much not to make a step backward. When my lips can finally move, they move only to form a cruel and calculated sentence:

- No need for all of that – you won’t take me home tonight…

I turn around and go towards the staircase. When I am sure none of them can see me, I start to run. On the first floor I trip and with the flutter of my wings I land on the floor. Fine – this is where I will build my nest. I wrap my arms around my legs and don’t have enough strength to even lie to myself that everything is OK.

- What happened? – L. sits on the first step and looks at me from under his eyebrows.

- Exactly – what happened? – I repeat in whisper.

- Why did you run away?

- Because that’s the only thing I know how to do.

Moment of silence. He takes a long breathe (as if he would really need to do that):

- How bad is it?

- And what do you think? – I raise my head and can’t stop the smirk – It’s been already several hours that I speak to you. You are not here. I know it and so do you – I wave my finger in his direction and I really want to stay angry and full of spite but suddenly I feel very tired, so I only add very quietly – You know, sometimes it’s really hard to remember what is and what isn’t. And even harder and more horrible to know it exactly…

- I know, darling – he reaches out to me but half way through his hand stops. After a while he just drops it to the floor and thinks very loudly: “I know”.

There are steps on the stairs, uneven, probably a bit drunk. I turn around and see the redhead. She stops just next to me and for a moment doesn’t say anything. She is holding a bottle of sparkling wine in her hand. I extend my hand for it. After she gives it to me, I say:

- On the roof.

That’s all. She starts a wobbly but determined climb up the stairs. I unwrap the foil and aim the cork at the ceiling. I take a long sip and allow the bubbles to burst on my tongue and throat. From far away we can hear muffled music and people screaming. Probably they are just singing. I turn to L. He is still there and looks me straight into the eye. He doesn’t look away so I don’t look away as well.

- It’s time to go back – he frowns.

“I know”, I think. I light a cigarette and when I get up there is a rain of feathers around me. I start to climb and with the fingertips of my left hand I taste the coldness of the wall and read all of the forgotten stories that once have been put on them in Braille. The door to the flat is ajar. I push myself through the wall of people only to stop for a moment on the doorstep to the bathroom. He sits on the verge of the bathtub and with blank expression holds red hair in one of his hands. It’s almost a still nature, except for the convulsions that shake girl’s body. Our eyes meet. And all of that, that I was supposed to say so long ago, is being said. Just to be sure, I add out-loud:

- I am sorry.

He nods and there is a shadow of a smile on his face:

- I know, darling.

It’s only L. and I on the balcony. He tugs my hair behind the ear and he does it so gently that if I didn’t see him in front of me, if I couldn’t feel his cold fingers, I would think it was just a wind. He puts his lips next to my ear, as if he would like to say something but he stays silent. Together we watch the horizon line that gets paler with every minute. There is a whirlwind of feathers around us.