A Wish For Wings (1) Sometimes I wish that I can fly. Sometimes I wish that I can be free. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I think it is pointless. Mostly, I think I am right. --------------------------------------------- The light from the sun filters through my thin curtains. The veiled windows have cracks and little holes. It is cold in the winter. The wind sneaks by the cracks in the window, blows the curtains open, which are as light a feather, and jolts me awake. I never fall back to sleep. My mother is mostly drunk, and does not, in her words, give a crap whether I sleep or not. She does not have a job, and relies on Frank to provide the money. Frank is not a good man. He bounces from job to job, never settling down and always bringing home a meagre amount of money. Frank is my mother's boyfriend. My father lives alone at te countryside. He still loves my mother, and sends money sometimes. It makes #life bearable. Frank is different. He smokes in the house all the time, swears a lot, and does not care whether I exist. I am but a shadow to him.Now I creep out of my room silently. Swear words flow from the kitchen. Banging sounds follow. Frank is banging on the toaster. The toaster is old, and does not work well. I silently enter the kitchen. Wordlessly I walk to the toaster. Frank watches me. I avoid eye contact and get the toaster working easily. Frank forgot to switch it on. "You think you're so good?" he snarls. Spittle files from his lips and I smell the stench of alcohol. My heart sinks. Frank is drunk in the morning. Quick as a flash I zip to my room, slamming the door shut. Frank lets loose a long line of curses, turning the air blue with his foul language. I slap my hands over my ears. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," I chant to myself, drowning out Frank's voice. Frank will not remember this after he sobers up. Sure enough he clomps to his room soon after. The snoring is loud to my ears. I step out of my room apprehensively. The empty kitchen meets me and I immediately grab a sandwich I hid in the back of the fridge last night. I always go out for lunch and dinner. Quickly i head to the dining table. I freeze. My mother is sitting on the sofa beside the table, a bottle of wine in her hand. I watch as she gulps down the liquid. She slams the bottle on the table, and wine splashes out, adding to the already accumulated circle pf alcohol on the table. On the sofa's other side is the exit. Slowly I creep behind the sofa and bolt for the door. I'm out in seconds. My mother dosen't notice. I chew on my sandwich as I walk down the street, my other hand stuffed in my pocket. I must look weird. A 14 year old walking along with tattered old jeans and a faded shirt. My mother and Frank will not notice the lack of my presence. Coins jangle in the pocket my hand is in. I do not feel bad taking them from Frank. We still have enough money to live. He will not notice anyway. He never notices anything. When ny stomach gets hungry I eat lunch. Following that is dinner. I am at the library between meals. Then I sneak back into the house, head to the living room and sit on the sofa, softly beside my mother, who is drunk as usual. She looks at me and I stare back at her. I see a sliver of her old self in those pale blue eyes. Then it is gone as her head lolls back and she sags down, enveloped at last in sleep. ---------------------------------------- Sometimes I wish my father is still with me. Sometimes I wish my mother never got to know Frank. Mostly I wish Frank never existed.