Together. Her feet brushed on and through the sand. Figure like air. We walked along the beach. Didn’t hold each other’s hands. We weren’t there yet. Still getting to know one another.
She wondered,
Where does the water go?
Over. Out. Past Nahant.
Have you been there?
Over?
No. Out.
Yes, I’ve been out.
And, Nahant? Have you been?
Mm’yes. I’ve been there, also.
I’d like to go there.
Now?
Not now. But, next time, maybe.
We can do that.
I’d like to be over the bay.
With some wings you could be.
She stopped walking. Dropped to a knee in the sand. Holding out her palm.
This will only take a moment.
She undid her blouse. Tossed it to the side. From behind her, wings, transparent, insectile, bloomed. They grew. Extended from her back. She stood. A vision, as if born of dragonflies.
I apologize.
Not necessary.
I should have told you –
– about the wings. Perhaps.
Yes. I feel like I can’t breathe when they’re tucked away.
And. Now?
You seem to know. And understand.
She kicked from the ground. Her wings, silent in their flight, took her away. Into the sky. Over the water. Out, and past Nahant Sound. How odd, utterly bizarre, the experience. This girl. Clothed only in black pants, black bra. Of dragonflies and flight, of fragile wing. I watched her become smaller, farther. She waved back to me, I think, I believe, I hope.
I thought.
I will see her, again.
Dreading and yearning. Fire throughout my insides. Burning my abdomen.
My eyes lost her in the sky. Or the sky swallowed her.
I continued on. Walking along the beach alone. My feet sifted through the sand, and I wished to have wings, as well.
seanpatrickwhiteley 