Flight

Flight

She was small, bird-like. The word wren came up in conversation,
although we didn't know what a wren really looked like. Her nose was
sharp. Her eyes rested just above it small and close. Her irises were
so dark they blended in with her pupils, the orbs white as cream in
contrast. Her arms were short and bent by her side, the elbows
seemingly attached to her hips, like inefficient wings. They would flap
as she chirped on. Her words spilled out in shrill undisciplined notes
that pecked at her audience. Her name was Abigail. Abigail
Schloss.

She came to our school in the seventh grade. The bird resemblance was
obvious even to the prepubescent males who immediately began to tweet
as she bounced down the halls. Abigail didn't seem to hear the
imitations that flew with her wherever she went. She didn't flinch at
the uncreative names they yelled after her - "Polly Want a Cracker?"
"Hey cockatoo". She moved on point, her heels not grazing the ground,
her entire body ready to spring forward on it's way to Algebra class. A
smile sat on her face undyingly and her head bobbed as if a beat played
internally.

Abigail had a twin. A fraternal one. Abe. His hair was frizzy and black
like Abigail's. His eyes were dark like hers too. But his legs lacked
the bounce of his sister's. Abe came to school in a motorized
wheelchair that zoomed around the corridors. His legs hung unnaturally,
bent outward from the knee.

The wheelchair looked fun, but Abe wouldn't let us try it. He said he
wasn't allowed to share it, that his mom would get mad. The boys didn't
like this answer. They'd surround the chair and alternately pepper him
with charm and harassment. Abe still refused. He simply revved up his
engine and shot down the hall. When she was available, Abigail stood
guard by Abe's chair. The boys brushed right by her skinny body as if
it were a feather.

The twins sat together in the lunchroom, always at the same table - the
round one in the middle of the room. Abigail smiled at her brother as
her mouth whirred along in conversation. In between words, she slurped
Yoo Hoo from a red twisty straw and ate fig newtons. You could see the
bits of mashed cookie tossing about in her mouth like socks in a dryer
as she spoke. But Abigail chatted on, oblivious to the stares and jokes
that floated in the air around her. Abe, on the other hand, glanced
around constantly. His eyes probed and darted, collecting information,
storing it. He kept his open Yoo Hoo in a holder in the arm of his
wheel chair, never drinking it. Sometimes it would remain there all
day. We wondered if it was still full when he got home.

It happened after first period one day. We came out of Social Studies
and almost got hit by Billy Fatland zooming around the corner in a
wheelchair -- Abe's wheelchair.
Billy shot down the hall, the chair at full speed, the wheels
squealing.

We looked around for the wheelchair's owner. Abe was propped against
the red lockers, his head wedged between two locks. His helpless legs
were splayed before him. We murmured amongst each other, glancing
around for the authority who would correct this situation. Abe didn't
look at us. For once his eyes ceased to search. His head hung towards
his chest as if in shame.

It was then that Abigail came round the corner on pointed toe, her head
towards the ceiling, her inner song on high. She almost walked into the
group of us. When she realized there was a crowd, she fluttered behind,
sashaying from side to side to get a glimpse.

Then she saw him. A screeching sound flew from her mouth. We all turned
around to look at her. She glared at the bunch of us with scorn that
scorched our skin.

Billy Fatland was zipping back from his journey straight towards the
crowd. He was grinning, basking in the attention of what he thought was
a gathering in his honor. Billy's smile straightened as his eyes caught
Abigail's. She was standing at the end of the hall, waiting for him.
Her arms slowly rose from her sides, suddenly long and majestic.
Billy's lips turned a pale white. He got out of the chair and swiftly
walked it to Abigail. She took it without a sound and pushed it to her
brother.

Then Abigail flew into action. We watched as she leaned down to Abe,
placing her two hands beneath him. We shook our heads at the wasted
gesture. She was too feeble to pick him up. But then we stared in awe
as Abigail lifted her twin brother up in a smooth motion and placed him
in his chair, her skinny limbs now those of a superhero. Abe's body
surrendered to the chair, settling in lopsided. Abigail shrieked at the
crowd - a supernatural piercing sound -- as she grabbed hold of the
chair's handlebars and swung it around. Then she started forward,
picking up speed. We backed up against the lockers. She swooped down
the hallways with the chair gliding before her, and brought her brother
safely home to the nest.

The End