Page 11 of Scars Like Wings

There, at the door, was Mom.

Alive.

Here.

But also very clearly not.

Her color was all wrong. She was devoid of it. She was a black-and-white caricature of what she once was. But her hair was as I remembered it was this morning. A long, voluminous afro as long as it was wide. She was still in a dress and all dolled up for her job as a Reading and Language Arts Teacher at the local middle school. She came into the house, shutting and locking the door behind her. No sounds came from her as she took off her heels, hung her purse up, grabbed her house shoes, and stepped into the laundry room. I saw her exhale as she passed by me, but no sound came from her lips as she did. I couldn’t smell her sweet, woodsy smell in the air, either. She changed quickly into a tank that flattered her boobs nicely and a long skirt where her tail tattoo peeked from the long slit.Her bare feet made no pitter-patter noise as she stepped on the hardwood and then the tile.

Her presence was silent, but her life had been so loud.

She started to take things out for dinner. Chicken and vegetables. My stomach plummeted. This… This can’t be what I think it is.

Mom took out the chicken and sat it on the counter. She laid out seasonings, washed the vegetables, and cut them into the perfect bite-size servings for dinner. Then she preheated the oven and poured oil into a cast-iron skillet. She snapped her fingers—a still soundless action—before she went to the fireplace. Why was I here? How was I here? What was going on?—?

A knock at the door reverberated through the house. It sounded more like a pounding than a knock, causing me to jump. As loud as it was to me, it must have been normal volume for Mom. She said something to the door before she wiped her hands from the wood, rose to her feet, and went to answer. Opening the door, I watched as more color drained from her colorless face. I followed Mom to the door.

Standing there were the hunters. Masked. Armed. Lethal.

Mom turned to run. Everything played out in slow motion. Mom raced past me, determination clear on her face. Despite the black and white coloring, I could see the beginnings of Mom’s shift take hold in living color. Her skin hardened, thickened, and tightened into brilliant red scales. Her wing and tail tattoos pulsed and moved with the beginnings of reality. Her body was stretching, changing to become the beautiful spectacle that I long looked forward to becoming myself.

But this would be the last way I would see my mom.

My last image of her…

“Mom, no!” I cried out, my voice cutting through the quiet world. Tears spilled down my face. I knew how this would end.

And I hated it.

I had to do something to change this.

As if she heard me, Mom turned her head to face me in the middle of running mid-stride. Our eyes met. For a moment, color blossomed throughout her face, so my dirt brown eyes met her almost-black ones.

Mom smiled at me. Her eyes twinkled enough to dazzle a whole room, and her smile was just as bright. “I did this for you. Everything has always been for you, baby Byrd.”

“Wait. For me? Did you know you were going to—? How did you know—? Mom, please. Please don’t go! I love you! Mom, don’t do this. Don’t leave me. Don’tdie!” I pleaded. I reached out for her, begging to touch her.

“I love you more than all the stars in the sky, baby Byrd. Never forget. It’s always been for you. Even this. Live happily, my darling. Do whatever it takes to live happily and safely.”

For me? All of this because of me? Why would she say that? How was losing her going to help me in any way?

For me? Does that mean this is my fault? No, it couldn’t be. I didn’t want this. I never wanted any of this. I just wanted her.

For me? She promised she would always keep me safe. She said she would always be there for me. And now?

For me? Live happily? How could I do that without her? How could I do anything without her?

For me! Now she was dead. She wasmurdered.

For me! She was gone because of me. She was gone.Gone. The hunters almost killed me because she wasn’t there to protect me. No one was. And if she couldn’t keep me safe… if she couldn’t protect me… If no one could protect me again…

No.

Never again.

The memory of Mom ran out the back door and the hunters followed behind. They aimed their weapons: their guns,crossbows, and rifles. The leader, the one I saw talking in the meadow before with a deep, commanding voice, took aim with his large pistol.

Then he fired.