Whale Song

Time slows to a crawl when you're falling 200 feet from the ground, flying birds are still, wings locked in mid-flight, the floating clouds become frozen tufts of cotton in the sky watching as your body becomes closer and closer to pavement. The sun casts you in its rays for the last time, like the final kiss from the loved one before they lower your body six feet under, or a final cradle in your mother's arms as she kisses you goodbye for the very last time. And then…

Jackson had always wondered what it would be like to get his heart broken, to feel his pumping valves constrict his cardiac chambers, to feel his organs twist and turn and send a wave of nausea and pain coursing through his body. His older sister had said that's how it felt, why she'd locked herself in her room for four days when her boyfriend of two years broke up with her right before heading off to college.

"If I knew what getting stabbed in the gut felt like it would resemble that," she told him, her nose red and stuffed as she sniffed back the residual tears that threatened to escape her ducts. Jackson just sat there, wondering if that's how it'd be for him, wondering if he'd ever be so emotionally invested in another being that the very idea of being apart from them would hurt him to his very core.

He wondered so much that not after a week after his sister's stint of depression and anguish, he got his first girlfriend. They were in the same year, had the same birth month and rode the same bus route home. He figured that commonality would help him feel something for her other than curiosity.

It didn't.

She talked, he listened, but it was like listening to her voice through a static radio. She touched his skin and it was like being touched through three pairs of woolen gloves. He tried to touch her but instead of three gloves he felt five. They shared a kiss behind the school and it felt like he was kissing through drywall.

She broke up with him three days after they made it official, but all he felt was disappointment. Disappointment because he felt absolutely nothing.

He spent the next decade like that; jumping in and out of relationships—men included. It all felt like there was a steel wall erected between him and his partners.

"You're so empty," one of his boyfriends had said to him after they had both gotten off. He was left alone in his college dorm room by a single man after that, but as much as he wished for the stinging in his eyes, the burning in his chest, all he was left with was the ire of frustration and anger. He longed for that ache, that unmitigated pain of loving and losing, that feeling of a string snapping from being pulled taut and falling away into two halves of a whole. He wants to hurt.

He's experienced the physical, there's scars that litter his body to prove it, but he can't stop chasing that one hurt that only exists on the inside.

He'd seen a therapist, gotten an MRI, went to someone who called themselves a "chakra specialist", hell, he'd even tried experimental shock therapy, but no. It always ended the same.

Until…

He laid in a field thousands of miles from home. Alone. He figured solitude would do him some good for a few years or maybe for the rest of his life. He still kept in touch with his sister, asking after his nieces and nephew and dodging the question of when he was coming back knowing he'd probably never have an answer. Being alone with himself just feels right; this solitude, this oneness, the 'me, myself and I' of it all…

He took in a deep breath and watched the night sky as wisps of clouds danced with the twinkling stars. You could see them better out here in this vast emptiness.

The night was cool but cold, a full moon illuminated the landscape. A slight breeze in the late spring air and rustle of trees threatened to lull him to sleep. His eyes began to blink slowly and he knew he was going to make the grave mistake of waking up with a sunburn until his eyes caught a shining streak right next to the moon. He sat up on his elbows, no doubt getting grass stains on his sleeves. There! A beam of silver cut across the sky like a knife through softened butter; swift and smooth. It was fast, unnaturally so that Jackson thought he might be hallucinating it. But he accepted that what his eyes were seeing was, in fact, real.

The bout of silver kept swinging past his vision, back and forth, back and forth, getting closer and closer with each pass. The shape of it was coming into view and what he thought was going to be the first discovery of a real-life ufo was actually… Well, he didn't know exactly. As it became closer he could see a humanoid shape flanked on their side by a pair of bright, silver wings. This thing was tiny. He reached out with a pointer finger, the twinkling, silver thing still unfocused in his view as its wings began to slow as he went to touch it. It was three times larger than any bug that was native to these parts and it looked nothing like a bird, but could probably be mistaken for a hummingbird for its size and speed.

Its body came into focus, its feet landed on Jackson's outstretched finger, they were warm and he could feel its skin, like really feel it. His heart lurched in his chest.

"You were crying." It spoke. It's mouth moved and words–human, English words–came out. He recognized the look of sympathy on its ethereal face which resembled a lamb yet retained human-like features. Its ears were long and came to a point, boney appendages protruded from the skin in its forehead and its eyes were a sad shade of blue.

"I wasn't crying," Jackson responded. He hasn't shed a tear since he was a child who scraped his knees.

"Your soul," it said, its lips drooped in a frown. "It's screaming."

He blinked. Maybe he was hallucinating. But that warmth. If it was a hallucination he was going to hold on to it for as long as he could.

"I didn't know souls existed," he said. "What does it sound like?"

"Like you're in pain," it said. It walked along his index finger towards the rest of his digits that were curled together. It sat on them like they were a stool made just for it. It folded its wings against its back and nestled into his hand, crossing all of its arms—four of them—and resting them in the space where his thumb connected to his index.

"The moon weeped for you and I was born from your sorrow."

Jackson raised his eyes to the full moon, it wasn't as bright as it was a few minutes ago as if… His eyes went back to the creature that had finally settled in a comfortable position. The little thing radiated a heat that spread through Jackson's whole body.

It yawned, its eyes drooped sagged like it had been sapped of all its energy. It laid its head upon its crossed arms and slept.

Jackson walked back to his cabin that stood a few yards from the field, closed in by trees; isolated and hidden. He kept his steps steady as he transported the thing in his hand through the threshold. He lit a candle which was a lot more difficult with a single hand and sat in the cushioned chair stationed at the foot of his bed.

He stared.

He stared until his eyes burned and his eyelids felt like bowling balls and his head ached with exhaustion. He was going to fight sleep until he lost and he was already against the ropes. He watched the rise and fall of its back and the intermittent twitching of its silver wings. In the candlelight he can see its skin better; covered in swirling patterns of blues and purples as if etched with a tiny paintbrush. He couldn't see what was underneath and realized those swirling patterns are its skin. His eyes became lost in the labyrinth of swirls, no longer able to tap back into the ring, losing the fight to sleep.

It wasn't a hallucination, he quickly learned. That thing was there the next day and the day after and the after. It revealed to him that its name was Cafziel. Jackson called if Caf. They didn't usually exchange words and most times it was easy to forget the thing existed. It was quiet when it wasn't flying and it observed in silence. He moved often, taking Caf with him and he realized that no one else could see it.

"It's your sorrow and yours alone," was all Caf said when he asked. He tried not to scoff at that.

It was that warmth that kept him from dismissing the creature. It was the first time he touched another being and felt skin and not a six in barrier, but that was all it offered.

He became used to its statue-like presence. Ever since that first night it didn't speak unless spoken to and it didn't offer information unless asked. Any other time if just sat still or beat it silver wings while hovered in place or slept. It didn't eat, it didn't laugh, it didn't cry. Caf was all but stone.

During one of the holidays Jackson decided to visit his sister and her family. She cried when she opened the door to him, Caf had perked up from where it sat on his shoulder.

"She loves you a lot," Caf had said. "Her soul is very loud." Jackson ignored it.

"Are you ever going to settle down?" His sister asked passing him a plate to dry. His sister had put together an impromptu dinner as she didn't know he was coming and he ended up getting roped into dish duty. He didn't mind.

"Maybe," was all he gave as he wiped the dishcloth along the ceramic. He could see his and Caf's reflection staring back at him. Silence followed.

Time kept moving and so did Jackson; he didn't stick around places long as they reminded him of what he was missing, but it was mostly so he wouldn't try to crawl next to someone and subsequently not get his heart broken. It wasn't worth the effort or the frustration. He's resigned himself to never understanding that pain. He snapped at a rubber band on his wrist.

"You're screaming," Caf said to him one night in a hotel room. It sat on the dresser next to the muted television set, legs crossed, eyes staring.

Jackson ignored it as he'd become accustomed to the constant updates on the sounds his soul makes. The two sat in silence for a few beats longer.

"Would you like to hear it?" Caf asked. It's the first time it'd ever asked a question let alone offered something.

Jackson thought about it for a few seconds and then, "okay."

The room filled with an ear splitting screech that made Jackson's eyes bug out of his head. His hands went to shield his ears but it was no use blocking out that high-pitched wailing resembling a whale song–a devastatingly desperate whale song, begging, pleading with the sea for a tune in return.

It was over just as soon as it began, but it took hours for Jackson's ears to stop ringing.

That's what his soul sounded like. That's what Caf meant when it said his soul was "loud" and Caf had notified him of the volume of his soul multiple times. No wonder Caf is always stone faced and quiet, the weight of that ear-splitting noise being projected to them over and over would leave anyone catatonic even a creature birthed from the moon.

"Why do you want your heart broken?" Caf asked from Jackson's lap. They were on a train with very few passengers, and Jackson was staring out over the passing landscape replaying the sound of his soul in his head over and over and over again.

This is the second question Caf has ever asked him. He looked around the train, he practically had a whole cart to himself aside from a lone, older woman sitting a few rows ahead.

"The pain," he answered simply. "I've never felt it before."

"I thought humans hated pain, did everything they could to avoid it?" Caf question, fluttering its wings to perch on the window sill.

"Maybe I'm not human."

A woman approached him at a diner, sliding in the seat across from him. She greeted him with a smile and said her friend in the booth across the restaurant was shy but thought he was really cute. It was juvenile, but Jackson entertained it. He hasn't pursued anyone since the genesis of his excursion across the continent aside from a few bed warmers here and there. Anything to keep him from replaying that whale song.

They talked, Jackson and the shy friend, in short clipped sentences coupled with awkward glances. Jackson wasn't bashful, but he was rusty and he was trying to keep his hopes to a minimum.

Caf is sitting on his shoulder; warm, still, quiet as it always is. And watching.

Their name is Ace. Ace is only a few years younger than Jackson, a native to this area and wants to travel but is too afraid to leave home. Stuck.

Jackson tells them how much fun traveling is, how freeing. He explains the vast plains of the west and crowded cities in the east, the art of the north and the food in the south. He waxes poetics of all the places he's seen and all the things he's learned and Ace hangs on to every word, eyes shining like stars in a country night sky. Jackson finds himself soaking up the attention, finding himself wanting to try just one more time.

Ace is like glue or maybe like velcro the way Jackson is utterly stuck to them. He hasn't left yet and usually doesn't stick around in one place for long. No, instead he takes daily walks with them, talking while they listen and sitting in silence while waiting for them to chime in. Caf is always there, flitting around, buzzing off when there's flowers or flying circles around Jackson and Ace's heads. It's the most movement he'd ever seen from it and he wonders if that's a good thing.

"It's quiet," Caf says when they get back to the motel room.

Jackson's heart thumps in his chest. "That's a first," he says, bewildered.

"Since I was born all I could hear was your pain."

"And now?" Jackson cocks an eyebrow.

"It's quiet!" Caf smiles, and it's the first time Jackson sees all of its teeth on display; sharp daggers line the outer corners of its mouth before they taper into a softer, squared edge closer to the front.

Bizarre creature.

Jackson tries not to allow hope to rise in his chest, but he can't help it as a bubbling light rises from the pits of his gut and plants itself right in his sternum.

This has to be it.

It's been months and Jackson finally rents an apartment. Ace comes by the first night to cook a meal for him, but the night ends with a burnt pan and take out.

"You could've just said you didn't know how to cook," Jackson laughs.

"It always looks so easy when my friends do it," Ace admits, embarrassed.

Jackson's hand reaches for theirs and he stops. He's been adamant about not touching, too afraid to relive the truth, to feel that barrier, to know that it won't work once again, but Ace takes the initiative and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers through his.

He feels their warmth.

Caf disappears.

He brings Ace home to meet his sister, takes them on trips around the continent and holds their hand through a hike up a large hill near some rapids. There's no barrier, no static, no steel wall. Just them.

But the wind is blowing too hard and the ground isn't as stable as promised and Jackson finds himself teetering over the end of a cliff, his foot braced on shifting soil and Ace is staring at him, their eyes wide with fear and anguish as their strength reaches its limit and their hold gives.

Jackson felt it as his body floated in the air, the beginning tendrils of a crack in his chest, the constriction, the knotting in his gut and shattering of his heart. He smiles at the pain, knowing he felt something, knowing he was just as human. His heart wasn't breaking because he was about to be consumed by rushing waves and rocks and earth, it wasn't because he was about to lose his life, but because he loved every moment he spent stuck to Ace's side, loved their shy smile and meek nature, loved the warmth of their skin, loved them. And now as he tumbles to his fate and the birds and the clouds and the world freezes in place as if to give him the gift of pain; the pain he's longed for, he's begged the heavens for. He watches the tears fall from Ace's eyes as they peer over the cliff's edge and begins to wonder how loud of cry their soul makes and just in that moment, right before his skull is shattered against the rocks he thinks he hears a loud whale song.