To Wish For More

The small quelea bird flaps her wings, the others racing ahead. No matter how hard she flaps them, so hard it seems as if the feathers will tear away, she’s too slow. She flutters to a stop, clutching a leafy branch. She’ll only take a quick rest, just long enough to steal some air back from the sky, and then she’ll catch up.

***

The tiny bird, an impossibly soft ball of brown fluff, had always loved the nest. The nest was all she’d ever known. The nest and the sky. Until she wasn’t quite so tiny and was more feathers than fluff, because then she could see over the edge of the nest, could look out at the branches of the tree and down the trunk to the mystical blanket of grass below, and could see, right there in the middle of all that green, a miniature sky.

That small sky had somehow grabbed ahold of her heart when she first saw it, and every time she looked below its grip tightened, squeezing and squeezing until she felt she would die if she didn’t go down there.

She begged her mother to let her go.

“The pond is for fish,” her mother always said, “and you, my little Sesen, you’re a bird. The whole sky belongs to you!”

Sesen didn’t understand why the pond couldn’t belong to her as well. It was part of the sky, after all.

***

The day Sesen learned how to fly was the worst day of her life. Hanging there in the air with all that vastness opening up around her made her breath suddenly sticky, thick and viscous. It caught in her throat and she couldn't breathe, choking on the air, and she chirped in terror, falling, falling, falling.

“Flap your wings!” her mother called out.

Sesen flapped so hard she feared her bones would shatter. She flapped until she was back in the nest, her home solid beneath her feet, safe from the great big sky threatening to gobble her up.

***

The only time Sesen ever left the nest was to go to the pond. She knew her mother didn’t approve, so she snuck out while her mother collected food.

The other queleas her age swooped and dove and glided through the air. They were birds, after all; the sky belonged to them. Sesen did not want the sky. She watched the glittering fish jumping in the water, and she did not want to be a bird.

The other queleas called her names and laughed at her, ugly laughs bubbling out of their beaks and seeping into Sesen’s feathers like poison. She found that underneath the water sound was diluted, their poison unable to reach her.

***

Sesen submerged herself in the cold water. She kicked her spindly feet violently, trying to move gracefully across the pond, but to no avail. 

She lay onshore, coughing and spluttering, water glistening on her feathers, hot with frustration despite the chill of the pond. Laughter rang out behind her, filling up the air before she could get back in the water and protect herself. She stood up and slowly turned around.

“Do you actually think you’re ever going to swim?” sneered one of the birds.

“Yes. I am going to swim.” Sesen refused to let her voice waver.

“Oh really? You’re just too scared to fly.”

Sesen’s beak trembled but she held her head up high. “I’m going to swim,” she said fiercely.

“Sure you are.”

The birds flew away, red beaks pointed up infuriatingly smugly.

***

“Sesen, I’m worried about you.” Sesen knew her mother didn’t want her to spend so much time in the pond. She knew her mother wished she would fly. She knew her mother thought she was a disappointment.

“Why?” Sesen spat out the word, sharper than she had meant to.

“I don’t want you to be lonely.” Her mother looked so tired, and Sesen felt guilty for snapping at her.

She softened her voice. “I’m not lonely, mother.”

“I’m worried that if you waste so much time trying to swim, when you try to fly, you’ll be too slow and everyone will leave you behind.” She looked sad, feathers drooping, and for the first time Sesen realized her mother was old. She knew her mother cared about her, so she tried to not get angry. But caring about someone is different than loving someone, and deep down Sesen knew her mother didn’t love her, not really. Her mother didn’t understand how the sky despised Sesen, had tried to suck her out of the world. Her mother didn’t understand why Sesen couldn’t stop dreaming, why she couldn’t erase the pond from her heart. How could her mother love a quelea who couldn’t fly?

Sesen didn’t want to get angry, but hurt seeped through her bones and up into her throat, sharpening her words. “What do you mean, waste so much time?”

“I just meant—”

“I’m not wasting my time. I’m learning how to swim. I don’t care if every single bird in all of Africa is faster than me. I am going to swim!”

“But, Sesen, what if you can’t?”

Sesen fluttered back a few steps, hot, angry tears gathering in her eyes. “You’re just like everyone else. Why doesn’t anyone believe in me? I hate them! And I hate you! I’m going to swim and when I do, everyone will be sorry they ever tried to stop me!”

She flew away, hurt masking her fear of the sky. 

She didn’t come back.

***

Sesen had found an old tree to stay in. There was no pond beneath her, only the enormous sky overhead. It made her feel tiny and insignificant. It made her feel trapped.

One day, an old quelea that Sesen didn’t recognize settled on the dry branch beside her.

“What do you want?” said Sesen.

The old bird gazed at her sadly. “Your mother,” she chirped, sad and low, “said to tell you she loves you.”

And suddenly all the air left Sesen’s lungs.

***

Sesen was angry. Furious. Firecrackers exploded in her blood and liquid fire poured from her eyes. Her mother was gone, and she never got to say sorry. She never even got to say goodbye. 

She’d been trying to swim her entire life with nothing to show for it but waterlogged ears, wings weak from disuse, and an acid loneliness slowly eating away at her organs.

***

The little quelea sits on the branch, chest heaving with every breath. Her wings feel full of lead and her heart feels full of dust.

She’s only going to take a quick break. 

But she knows deep down that she’ll never catch up.