The Final Flight

The Final Flight

Darling, we’re all running out of time,

But now,

Now will never be too late.

Owl wings soared silent across a muted moon. The stars hung still, and feathers cast quiet shadows on worn paper. Satin curtains rustled in a breeze between, the sort people forget to feel until the night-clock chimes four. The hourglass told a dire tale. The sand used to crawl, as if stuck to the glass. Now, it flowed like a river, more water breaking past the dam with each passing day.

Dalia watched her face in the hourglass’ reflection. Her eye wanted to see the pouring sand, but her mind didn’t want to feel it. She didn’t like thinking about anything yet to pass. Dalia preferred to live in the present moment, so that each new wrinkle on her face was a surprise to her. She didn’t dally in the past, didn’t keep journals or old news clippings, and felt little attachment to a future. The future would not and never had been guaranteed to her. Why should she spend her days yearning for something that she may or may not have? It seemed to her that hoping for a future was something like cooking fish before the catch. No, she would rather stand still.

She remembered the friends who had passed her by, of course. They told her, “Dalia, if you don’t remember who you are and think of who you might be, there is no point in being alive!”. They worked, married, had children, and died in different places across time and space. Dalia laughed. After all, bones only found dust in the end. Her friends said she was missing out, but she had always been alright with that. She was the sum of her bones, and little more. Dalia missed just one friend. She remembered Brigid all too well.

They had met in school, so many years ago. Brigid, with all of her flaming hair tangled atop her head, in those charcoal robes made in some other life, holding that messy broom in fumbling hands. She excelled in every class, finding new uses for seemingly every herb and even invented a type of candle that never went out. Brigid seemed more alive than anyone had ever been, as if she might burn brighter than the sun itself. Even the flowers paled next to her. Dalia never understood why Brigid came to her. They knew each other only for a few short years, but Dalia held onto those memories as if they were the only notes from her past that mattered.

They first met on an ordinary day. Dalia sat alone, as she often did, and watched the ravens atop the fence. She liked ravens. They were the most ordinary type of magic, an everyday reminder that nothing is as it seems. Brigid approached from nowhere at all, and sat down next to her. Dalia said nothing, hoping the other girl might leave her be.

“You sit by yourself a lot,” Brigid said. “Why? Aren’t you lonely?”

“I like it fine. I watch the ravens here, and sometimes I wonder if the rabbits over there might be jackalopes instead. No one tells me which ways are up and down over here.” Dalia said. “I’d like it if you left me alone too. I can never be lonely if you leave me be.”

“Well, I say the rabbits are jackalopes if you think so.” Brigid said. She paused. “You know, I’d like to understand you. I think you’re really very interesting. I don’t think I could stand to be alone so much.”

“Really?” Dalia said. Despite herself, she was intrigued by this rude girl. “Why not?”

“Well, it’s simple,” Brigid said. “If you’re alone every day of your life, no one remembers the day you leave.”

“That’s okay,” Dalia said. “Because I won’t be around to care.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Brigid said, pausing again. “I suppose it’s the same if you’re never alone. You know, people get very used to me. They get so used to me that the memory of me, the idea of me, seems to be enough to replace me some days. Sometimes I miss people seeing me. Sometimes it feels like I’m more of a ghost than a girl. That’s okay, though. I’m happy anyway. It’s been very nice meeting you. I hope we can be friends.”

With that, Brigid smiled and ran off again to join the nearest crowd of students. She  started chattering to a lanky blond boy. Dalia didn’t know why, but she felt almost sad at Brigid’s departure.

The present-day Dalia smiled, leaving her reminiscing behind. She was so much different than she used to be, but all the same even so. She chuckled at the creases and crinkles around her forehead, and her silvery hair thinning under her hat. She wondered what color it used to be sometimes, but it didn’t matter. Her eyes were still the same shade of steel-worn blue. She walked to the open window and pushed the blush-colored curtains aside.

She looked down at the city below. It came to life with a thousand fireflies, lights still flickering in the windows. The trees on the street were more like obelisks. They reminded her that once upon a time, even the city had been alive.

Dalia’s eye found the broom in the corner of her little room. She used to believe that she might be able to soar to the moon atop its fragile frame, and then swim among the stars. Brigid thought much the same. Dalia remembered the time they became partners in a school project so long ago.

“Dalia, no, you’re not seeing the full picture. If we want to study wood fairies, we need to set up the bait trap in the eastern clearing. We can’t set it up in the south because that part of the forest has an evergreen goblin infestation,” Brigid said. “Come on, help me get these pieces together. The traps are so tiny, and I keep breaking twigs!”

“I’m not even sure wood fairies are real,” Dalia said. “I don’t know if any of this is. I’m not even sure why we’re doing this project. Maybe we should do something more practical.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s all real. Remember the jackalopes?” Brigid said. She smiled. “Come on, let’s get this done. Besides, wood fairies remember everything. Remember what we learned in class? They know as much as the trees do. I have a lot of questions for them.”

“My mother told me that trees don’t know anything either. Maybe none of it is real, and maybe none of it ever will be.” Dalia said. “I think I’m making a huge mistake.”

“Ha! No. You don’t make mistakes. I’ll slip a thousand-billion different ways before you even take a wrong step.” Brigid said. Then she became serious. “Listen, I want you to promise me something. One day, many years from now, maybe after you’ve already forgotten me, I want you to take the time to do it all again. All of the things that you don’t believe in, everything that you’ve stopped yourself from doing, please, do all of them one last time.”

“What are you going on about? You’re so dramatic,” Dalia said. She was flustered, uncertain how to respond. “Why would I ever do something I don’t believe in?”

“Dalia,” Brigid said, suddenly becoming serious. “One day I’m going to be gone, and you’ll still be here. I know this because you’re you, and I know you aren’t going anywhere until you learn. If I can teach you one thing, I want you to know that you can move your left foot forward.”

“I think the heat is getting to your head.” Dalia said. “I don’t care what happens tomorrow, and I’m not going to think about what happens when you’re gone.”

Brigid suddenly grabbed Dalia’s hand. She squeezed it once, and Dalia knew then that she could do nothing but make that promise. Brigid’s eyes burned with emerald flame. Dalia had never seen an expression like that on any human’s face before or since. In that moment, she wanted in equal measure to pull away and to move closer. She nodded and looked away instead.

Dalia looked back at the hourglass. She still hadn’t made good on that promise. She still remembered the look on Brigid’s face, the intensity in those once playful green eyes. She sighed. If nothing else, she could do one last thing for Brigid.

It had been so many years. After graduation, Dalia stood still. She took no steps forward or back. She didn’t look ahead or behind. She let the ravens fly away, and she didn’t watch for their return. The rabbits ceased to be jackalopes, and she never saw another fairy. She had never missed them. Only now, in that vision of Brigid’s gaze, Dalia found herself yearning for a fairy. She thought of herself as a jigsaw puzzle, sent out into the world with just one piece missing.

Can I have it back? Dalia wondered. Isn’t it far too late now?

The hourglass responded with grim silence. The sand flowed ever-faster.

Dalia still remembered the way Brigid weaved the old fairy traps. She had used willow branches, expertly twining them together so that light scattered inside them. She used little mirror fragments, bending and twisting that light, turning it into a million different shapes and shadows. Brigid made tiny worlds inside those traps. She captured every star in the sky and placed it in a basket. Dalia’s traps had never been quite as good, and she didn’t keep willow branches anymore. She had stopped several decades prior. Willow branches took up too much space on her desk, and she didn’t like the clutter. There was no room for such foolishness. She looked at the broom next to the window. For a moment, she remembered the wind in her hair and cold sweat on her brow as she plummeted from heaven to Earth, whooping and hollering and scaring the bats. Dalia shook her head. There would be no more of that for her. She dug through her drawers until she found her old letter opener. She cut bristles from her broom and wove them together, cursing at the way they cut her hands. She couldn’t see well in the moonlight. She had to weave primarily by feel. Once, she would have struggled only a little, but now arthritis made her fingers clumsy. She felt a pang of sadness at the forgetting. She tried to remember the old dance, the warp and weft, the flimsy branches coming together in song. The memories refused to fly back to her. Instead of dancing, Dalia walked.

She wrinkled her nose at the finished product. It was lopsided and ugly, or perhaps even childish. She wished it looked even half as nice as Brigid’s worst. Still, Dalia strung it up in the window with an embroidered red ribbon. The sewn-in runes seemed to ask why she had left them alone for so long. Dalia shivered and looked away. She tied a little bell to the trap so that she might hear the fairies’ arrival, if they came at all. As soon as Dalia settled into bed, she heard the bell chime twice. She sat up quickly, wincing at her aching back.

Fairies coated every surface near her desk, wings reflective in the pale moonlight. They perched on desk drawers and pens, clung to curtains and held onto her broom. There were too many to count. Dalia had never seen so many fairies. Strangely enough, not one rested within her trap. They watched her intently. Dalia realized she hadn’t expected a single fairy to come, and stood dumbstruck before them. She hardly remembered why she had called them at all.

One fairy gestured to her, and flew out the window. It seemed to want her to follow. Dalia laughed.

“I am too old for that, my friend.” She said. “You should have asked me fifty years ago, in another life and another time. Then I would have flown with you.”

The fairy continued to insist, and others joined in. They flocked to her, tugging at her sleeves and hair. Dalia resisted at first, but before she could do much more, she found herself reaching for her old broom. The fairies hummed with excitement.

“If this kills me, all of you are at fault.” She said sternly.

Dalia perched on the window sill, broom between her legs, heart leaping up into her throat. She swallowed hard. Below, she saw peaked roofs and swirling chimney smoke. When had she flown last? She didn’t remember. This is foolish, she thought. She tried to take a step back, but a firm hand clasped her shoulder.

“One more flight,” a tender voice said. “If not for you, do it for me.”

Dalia instead took one step forward. The broom dove down, racing towards the Earth, the wood aching for the moment gravity might reunite tree and dirt once more. For a moment, Dalia regretted everything. For a moment, she wished she were still on the window ledge. For a moment, she closed her eyes and waited for an ending. In the next moment, she felt gentle hands over hers. The nose of the broom slowly tipped up, and she went racing heavenward. The stars welcomed her with open arms, inviting her into their silvery glow. The years left her bones as she soared. Red and brown roofs raced away below her feet. They grew smaller and smaller, until they reminded her of doll furniture. She reached down as if to grab a little cathedral, and the broom wobbled. Dalia froze, unable to correct herself. Somehow, the broom righted itself beneath her.

The fairies caught up, surrounding her in golden glow. They chittered amongst themselves and circled her, like dolphins alongside a boat. They reminded Dalia of a thousand tiny fireworks, flickering in and out in the inky night.

For the first time in years, Dalia wished for a future She wished for nights spent weaving through the stars on a broom. She wished for something beyond the pale curtains, someone to beckon her from the wings to center stage, for something she didn’t understand. She knew it wasn’t to be. She could already feel the sand running out, and knew it wouldn’t be long now. The first rays of sun were already peeking over the horizon.

She looked at the fairies, and knew that they understood. The fairies were more somber heading home, but Dalia wasn’t afraid. She held her head high, and stepped onto the windowsill with dignity. She sat down on the floor before her hourglass. For the first time in her life, she watched the moments of her future scattering, falling from the before to the after. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to the glass, remembering the last day she ever saw Brigid. If I must have one last memory, let it be this one, Dalia thought.

“I’m going away tomorrow.” Brigid said. She looked uneasy. “I’m sorry. I want you to remember me, okay?”

“What do you mean you’re going away?” Dalia said, looking up from her book. The library was so pretty in the evenings. Brigid looked like a painting, all of her bold features at home on her face. She had never looked so complete, so delicately human, as she did in that moment. “We’re only a couple months away from graduating. You’re pranking me again, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to see you again sometime, but I don’t think I will.” Brigid continued. She was still hesitating. “Promise me that you won't stop being you. All of the things that make you who you are. Even if I’m not here to see you, I’ll know if you stop. I’ll know.”

“You can’t leave!” Dalia said, stammering and growing upset. A nearby teacher gave her a dirty look. “So many people need you here! Alex, and Maude, they need you! I-I need you. We all love you. Can’t you at least give me a reason?”

Brigid shook her head and said nothing. The silence was suffocating. Dalia felt a coldness spreading within her. She turned away, eyes burning from the betrayal. Brigid hesitated one more moment. She approached Dalia with her head down and shoulders hunched. They stood like that, uncertain of what to do. Brigid looked up at Dalia and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment too long.

“Please tell me I’ll see you again.” Dalia said, choking back tears.

The last grains of sand slipped through the hour glass. Dalia counted them. She laid flat on her back and wondered what could have been, what would have been, in another life. She thought of fairies and dreams she forgot to have, and all the little things she never did. Even so, Dalia was happy. She touched the wrinkles on her face and closed her eyes.

Dalia didn’t see it, but a raven found her windowsill at long last. When the last grain of sand trickled down through the hourglass, the sun lit up the raven’s feathers in shades of crimson and gold. It went to her side to wait.

Dalia’s spirit flooded forth from her bones, and filled the room with the wishes she never had. She joined the raven in a dance outside her window, fading from bone to ash to a tired flame, and at last, Dalia found her final flight.