Side note: I wrote this a long time ago and it's no good, but I'm going to let it simmer before I revise it again. The end is a bit rushed, but I'll fix that too.
The Problem with Flying
The summer I turned 13 was the coldest in my life up until that point. It snowed not once, but three times over the course of the summer. My little sister, Daisy, who was 6 at the time, thought it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, but I hated it. The cold had always been unrelenting, quick to appear and slow to fade, and besides, I couldn’t see the bright side of an entire year I was to spend inside, which was a result of my mother- whom we all called Ma- not letting us outside without gloves and jackets unless it was over 60o, and what thirteen year old boy enjoyed that? However, that year taught me a lesson I’ll never forget.
It all started one gloomy morning in early June. Up until that point, I spent most of my time either pranking my sisters or sitting out in punishment, where I thought up most of my pranks. That morning, after I’d put pepper in my sister’s oatmeal for the third time in a row (causing her to sneeze violently), I was sent outside and ordered by my mother to think over my actions and pray that she let let me back in the house “without a sincere apology, young man.”
I sat on the marble bench in our miserable excuse for a side yard and kicked the ground. My little sister Daisy came outside, wearing a bright red jacket and the ugliest scarf known to man. She was carrying a stack of papers and walked over, setting them down next to me. “Hi Jack!” Daisy chirped and sat down, subconsciously twisting one of her dirty blonde plaits. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” She asked, inspecting my face.
“Why do you care?” I looked the other way to avoid my face being a display.
“I dunno.” Daisy said. “Ma said that these are some math papers. She told me to tell you to finish these up and then she can officially call you an eighth grader.”
I sighed. These weren’t any old math papers. If I didn’t finish it, I wouldn’t be able to go on from seventh grade to eighth. I’d already done my english papers. Those were fairly easy, especially compared to math. I hated math. It had no sense and barely any purpose. Sure, addition and subtraction and all that stuff was useful, but lately I’d been learning things that really had no purpose. Really, when was I ever going to use exponents?
“Well?” Daisy wondered aloud after a few moments of silence. I scowled. Daisy was so annoying.
“Well, what?” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Do you need me to dismiss you?”
“No. I’ll just stay right here and watch you do the math. Then I’ll be able to finally beat Tommy Robinson at math.” Tommy Robinson was her rival.
“No you won’t. I’m not doing the math right now.” I told her.
“When will you do the math?” Daisy asked curiously.
“I don’t know. Never?” I tried to look at anything but Daisy in order to discourage her from talking to me.
“Why won’t you do it now?” Gosh, could she not take a hint? I studied the tree about twenty feet in front of me. It’s leaves, though green, seemed dull and without any life at all. Even it’s branches looked droopy and disappointing, like it’d given up on being a tree entirely.
“Because,” I explained, “I’m not in the mood.” I bent down and picked up a small stone, turning it over and over in my hand. Daisy just scooted closer, looking expectantly at me, as if trying to read my mind through staring at me.
“When will you be in the mood to do math?” Daisy really couldn’t just go away. In fact, she picked up a stone and did the same thing as I did, examining a dark spot in the corner of the rock. Then, putting the rock in her jacket pocket, she picked up another one, looking at it for a few moments and then placed the stone in another pocket.
“Can’t you just stop talking?” I couldn’t help it. “Could you just shut up for once? Honestly, can’t you tell I don’t want to talk?” I guess she could, because there was silence. I paused, then apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood.” Daisy’s lower lip trembled and she got up and ran to the door, crying.
‘Great.” I mumbled. “ Now I’ve ruined both my sisters’ lives.” I looked at the stone in my hand and chucked it over the tree.
I never believed in luck, or coincidence, but I’ve never believed in fate either. But at the exact moment the rock began it’s crest over the tree, a small bird flew up from some unknown branch from inside the curtain of leaves that prevented me from seeing it. Time slowed down. I watched as the rock slowly hit the underside of the bird’s right wing and suddenly the bird was falling instead of flying. Down, down, down. An angel of feathers. I was so mesmerized by the graceful way it fell that it took me a moment to realize what I’d done.
The bird hit the ground softly.
Then time sped up again. I jumped up, walking cautiously toward the little bird. It squawked. It was a gorgeous bird. It’s underside was white and it’s back was a shimmering blue, brighter than the sky. The tips of its wings were black and it’s beak and eyes were black. On one side, the wing was bent weird and it’s feathers were all ruffled. It’s intricate feet were scrunched up in pain. My eyes went wide. I had just hit this bird. It was hit because of me. One minute, it had been flying. The next, it was on the ground.
“Jack!” I whipped around to find Daisy staring at me through the screen door. I put my hands up as if to say, “I’m innocent.”
“It was an accident!” I protested. “I really didn’t mean to!” Daisy glared and pushed the door open. She raced over to where I was and bent down. “Don’t touch it!” I said sharply.”I read somewhere that if you touch a baby bird, it’ll get abandoned.”
“He’s not a baby.” Daisy said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yeah well, maybe he won’t mate or something…” My voice trailed off. I ran my hands through my thick ash blonde hair, torn between the decision of either helping him or leaving him alone. This bird’s wing was obviously broken. He would die if we didn’t help him. “Okay, fine.” Daisy took off her scarf and then gently cradled the bird in her scarf.
“What should we name him, Jack?” Daisy asked as we headed back to the door. I shrugged. “What about…” Daisy’s lips puckered thoughtfully. “Jackwell.” My eyebrows went up. My real name was Jackwell. “ I mean, his back is the same blue as your eyes, don’t you think?” I shrugged.
“I don’t spend my time staring at my eye color, so I wouldn’t know.” In an effort to change the subject, I watched the bird inside that ugly scarf. He seemed at peace.
I made it my goal to have that bird flying by the end of the summer. It was my fault he was broken, and so I was going to fix him completely.
At first it seemed impossible. I found an old shoebox in the back of my closet and spent more than three hours perfecting it so it felt more like a nest rather than a cage. Ma said she hadn’t seen me so dedicated to something since fifth grade, and she was right. Three days after I hit the bird, I biked to the library, which I hadn’t voluntarily done since I was seven, and checked out six books on birds. From those I found out that Leo- which was the bird’s nickname for Leonardo Da Vinci, which I thought was appropriate because the guy was obsessed with birds- was most likely a tree swallow.
Every morning I ventured out to Bellberry Pond, a pond around three miles from our house, and caught as many mayflies, dragonflies, and moths as I could, as well as spiders and roundworms. Since tree swallows typically chase their prey in the air, I would hold Leo’s food in the air and wave it around before dropping it in his open mouth.
Leo’s wing was healed using a few small twigs and some wrapping bandages. Daisy and I tried to touch him as little as possible and would refrain ourselves from stroking him. Leo slowly got better and within 6 weeks, his bandage was off. He still couldn’t fly though. We figured it would take him a couple days for him to finally lift his wings and get outta there, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. There seemed to be some kind of fear stopping him. He’d lift his wings and flap them feebly but he never got off the ground for more than five seconds. If I was being honest, I was glad he didn’t leave us at the first chance. Over the weeks, I’d grown close to the little bird. I talked to him every day about everything I’d been thinking about. He didn’t laugh at me, like my older sister Margaret would any time I tried to act more mature. And he didn’t talk as much as Daisy did. But as time wore on, I got more and more worried that Leo would never be able to fly again. Days dragged on and before we knew it, it had been almost a week and a half after we’d taken the bandages off.
One morning, I sat in front of my desk, which is where Leo’s nest was and watched Leo hop around, picking at various pieces of string and straw with his beak.
“Hey little guy.” I muttered. Leo completely ignored me, but he chirped, and to me that seemed as if he was saying “I’m listening.” I picked up a stray piece of fishing string and put it back in the shoebox. “How is it in here, huh?” I paused, watching as he methodically pulled out a piece of hay and then inserted a different one. “ You trying to make it more like home, bud? How long will it be home for you?”
In response, Leo turned away from me.
I chuckled. “You don’t wan to talk about it? Okay, we can talk about something else then. Ma’s getting mad at me again.” I sighed. “It’s about the stupid math packet. I have to finish it before summer’s over so I can go on to eighth grade. But I don’t know what she’s so worried about. I mean, the summer’s barely halfway over.” I sighed again. I actually did understand why she was worried. If I didn’t even try now, who would ever believe that I would finish it later. “I guess I’m not really trying to do it though. Not like you and flying. You never give up. You’ve tried to fly every day. That’s the problem with flying though. You can’t just leap in the air like you used to. You have to work extra.”
As if to prove he was really listening, Leo jumped up, fluttering his wings frantically and squawking with frustration. I watched him for a few more minutes as he flew a few inches above the ground and dropped down a few seconds after. He finally rested back down.
“ I mean it, though. When are you finally gonna fly again?” I mumbled, mostly to myself. To my surprise, Leo turned around and looked at me straight in the eyes for the first time. He opened his beak and made a series of shrill shrieks and then stood up.
His wings spread out elegantly and beat against the air two or three times before leaping into the air… and then he fell. He made an indignant screech and then beat his wings four times.
And then Leo flew. He spun around the room before flying out the window. Before he was out of sight, he turned around and looked at me again. I knew this was his way of telling me, “Your only problem with flying is that you won’t even try.” I watched him fly into the distance, a little lopsidedly but still in the air nonetheless.
And then I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the dreaded math sheets.
I didn’t fall asleep that night. I poured my heart and soul into that math packet. I solved problem after problem, double checking all my answers and watching as the number of pages left became smaller and smaller. 15… 10… 5… 3… and then finally I finished. It was 4 in the morning. I’d been working for 17 hours straight. I was so tired I almost fell fast first into the desk. But I was done. The feeling of finally having finished it made me want to fly, just like Leo.
SO GOOD.
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