Wings of Wax

Russ grimaced as the bark of the pear tree dug into his soft palms. He could climb a tree as well as anyone, but right then he didn’t know if his movements were awkward and jerky because of the burden on his back or the audience. The kids gathered on the ground threw insults at him like rocks, attempting to dislodge his precarious hold on the trunk.

“I bet you’ll wuss out on us!”

“Yeah, he’s never gonna make it up there!”

“I bet the baby is cwying wight now.”

Russ clenched his teeth and continued to climb higher. He just had to make it to the larger branches two feet above him, then the climbing would be easier.

He was younger than most of the kids and small for his age, to boot. He’d been at the bottom of the pack since he and his mom had moved to this small town early in the spring. A new start, she’d told him, but new starts weren’t always better.

He may be young, but he understood that a new start to his mom meant a place without the memories. But just because they’d moved to a place where the memories weren’t on full display, playing out in all the rooms of the house, didn’t mean they hadn’t followed. The memories trailed them, packed in suitcases, and were now hidden in dark corners and caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. Memories were ghosts and you could deny them but you could never outrun them.

Russ’s hand grasped the first limb and he smiled. The kids below were still jeering, but their words faded into each other and became static, an annoying buzz in the background and nothing more. All that mattered was getting to the top of the tree and then he’d show them what he could do.

He’d show them he could fly.

He knew he could, he did it in dreams all the time, jumped up into the air and left his sad home and his sad mother behind. He knew he could fly because his dad had. His mom said he’d launched himself into the air one day and never returned. Flying was in his blood.

He continued higher, swimming in a sea of leaves. The gentle rustle of the wind played through the foliage and drowned out the taunts from below and Russ basked in the peace. Every breath brought the heady smell of pears dancing in his nose. The higher he went, the larger the fruit, ripe and heavy and begging to be plucked.

The branches become thinner at the top and the sunlight peeked through the leaves in a gentle trickle. Soon, he reached branches that no longer supported his weight and bowed under his feet. He cleared the top of the tree and stood there, balancing precariously twenty feet in the air. He looked down and saw the kids still gathered at the base, now quiet and watching and waiting. He still wanted to prove them wrong but, more importantly, he wanted to prove himself right.

He looked around, on top of the world and able to see forever. The sun shone above, its golden glow impossible to look at for too long, and Russ smiled. He was sure he could fly as high as the sun. He might do just that.

He reached behind his back and grabbed the straps he’d attached just that morning. He pulled the cardboard wings wide and got ready, hearing the high-pitched yelling of his mom in the distance. He looked over his shoulder and saw her running toward the tree. She’s scared, he realized. Scared he’d fly off and leave her like dad. Maybe he would, or maybe the freedom of knowing he could fly away at any moment would be enough.

Russ shook his head—he’d figure it out later. He raised his arms, readying himself as fear and excitement fought and swirled in his belly.

And leapt.