Light as a feather

973 word count

                                                 
                                                    Light as a feather

The first thing Julia noticed when she opened the envelope were the feathers. Soft, white, downy wisps, as though something hidden inside of a feather pillow had been pulled free and they followed.

It was hours before she could process the fact that he had sent her feathers.

She cooked dinner for her twin boys, bathed them and put them to bed with four stories instead of the usual one. They were thunderstruck by her generosity. She told them it was a birthday present. She neglected to tell them that it was her birthday. Bill hadn’t mentioned he was planning anything for her that evening and she thought it inconsiderate to tell the kids. They would rush around trying to do something nice for her and it would all go wrong.

“We’ll bake a cake,” they would have screamed. “And we’ll cook dinner.” She was so tired, she might have cried.

Julia ate dinner after the kids went to sleep. With a predisposition to indigestion and a spastic bowel, it was better for her to eat alone. She found herself dawdling. She wasn’t sure if she was prolonging the time before reading the card or savoring it. Although it was only paper and ink, the thought of opening it made her feel as though she were embarking on something immoral. At the same time, she couldn’t deny her curiosity.

Julia found the envelope in her mail box early that morning and tucked it into her underwear drawer;  moments later, she reconsidered and buried it with her socks.

Seeing his name on the envelope brought back a vivid memory of Sean holding a long, white wing-feather belonging to a swan. He traced it along the line of her neck. "This is as much air as it is matter,"

He was filled with wonder.

She hadn't responded.

Julia was exhausted and the house was a wreck. The kids and their play mates had transformed the entire living room into a tent city. Food and articles of clothing were scattered all over the house and she didn’t care. She would tackle it tomorrow. Her husband wouldn't comment about the mess when he arrived home; what he would do is let out a long sigh. She hated that. Sometimes she wished he would simply get mad. He would smile and tell her it was fine and he didn't mind, even thought she was sure it wasn't true. He came from a family that pushed through the pain, 'just do it' was their motto. ‘You’re never so tired that you can’t get up and get it done’. God she hated that attitude.

It was close to midnight before she was ready to slip into the warmth of her evening bath. She had decided to read the card there. Unfortunately, she hadn't considered the consequences. As she pulled the card free from the envelope, the feathers followed, drifting down onto the water and blanketing the surface. Scooping the feathers out of the bath proved to be an impossible task, all they did was stick to her naked flesh. She gave up.

It was a hand painted card. A water colour of two swans, one black and one white, moving in single file. Sean was a nature lover and he had a special affinity with birds.  The attraction made perfect sense; it never felt like he was completely on the ground. They spent almost every weekend together hiking.  It was usually a long trek to a mountain top, and at the end, she would flop down on the ground exhausted and he would set up his easel.

“It’s all about the light,” he would say.

The hiking boots he had given her for a birthday gift were hidden in the back of her closet. Dusty and unused, she didn't seem to be able to let them go or use them. She was heavier now, at least twenty-pounds worth, and she no longer had the cardiovascular capabilities of a mountain goat.

She opened the card. Inside it was stamped 'Happy Birthday'. He must be selling his own cards now, she thought, and she was happy for him. Below the stamp, handwritten in Sean’s spidery script, was simply his name.

She pulled the plug and watched the feathers escape down the drain one-by-one. Sean told her he found it an unfathomable error of nature that feathers wear out.

She had heard the front door open and close some time ago. She found Bill in the kid's bedroom. She watched from the doorway as he gazed down at the flushed, sleeping faces of their children. He kissed each of them on the head. Tears sprang to her eyes, and in that moment, she felt her feet firmly on the ground.

Julia was already in bed when Bill slid in beside her.

“You’re awake?” he kissed her. “You want your present now or tomorrow?” he asked, the emphasis on now.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“Come on,” Bill pleaded, “Don't you want to open it on your birthday?”

She sat up and he handed her a small, nicely wrapped package. Julia tore off the paper. Inside was a heavy bracelet, and dangling from it, were two perfect elephants. She noticed their eyes were tiny stones.

“They're us,” he said

Julia shifted closer to Bill and he placing it onto her wrist.

"Ouch, there's something..." Digging under the covers, she pulled a sharp ended down-feather from under her thigh.  Pinched between her fingers, she examined  it.  She wondered how something this small, and seemingly frail, could hurt her. She blew it free from her fingers.

She turned off the light and turned toward her husband.

Most birds lose their feathers quietly, in bits and piece, and they are relatively unaffected. Water birds lose all of their flight feathers at once, rendering them incapable of flying, and until their feathers grow back, vulnerable. Julia had always found it inconceivable that there was nothing they could do in that flightless state but wait. 

The End