As she stands near the ledge, the wind swirls and Airyel closes her eyes, flowing into one of those instances experienced but rarely acknowledged by all living things; a face to face meetup with her maker. Of course, she is seeing it in her own way, as the divine wears whatever mask suitable so that their child knows its them. If it had been someone without a God, perhaps it would have been a cluster of stars twinkling; if it had been a tree, it would simply be the sun, because the trees hold the sun in that regard and reach skyward for that very reason. One thing is certain; the creator is going to say something one way or another, at least if that's what one believes. In Airyel’s mind, she sees Eu Goode, her grandmother’s favorite talk show host and spiritual advisor, dressed in a flowing white robe, eyes sparkling, nails and toes painted with fire engine red acrylic, and hair ta-done-up, as they say on the west side. In Eu's left hand is a golden baton with a crown of jewels on one end; Big Ma's savior points the scepter in Airyel's direction and smiles; the sentiment of her expression surrounds her visage with an ebullient glow. There are no words from the usually verbose entity; but then again this is Airyel's version of Eu. Some folks don't fashion God as a voice in their head, more so just a vision or a sign; some don't even imagine any type of omnipotent persona attached. For others, it isn’t a vision- vision implies that it is a message from some external source; perchance it is a hallucination, a manifestation of all the fears and emotions jumbled up in some closet hidden in the depths of one's heart. Airy is past that now; she is clear on where she is and what is to be done, and the appearance of Eu in her mind is for her the final sign that she has reached her moment of letting the world know she has accepted ownership of her destiny. The gravity of her decision isn’t lost to her; to step off a ledge is stepping off a ledge, wings or not. That is certainly a choice that could conjure up extreme reactions from within or without. While wings lend to the moment the possibility that life is going to be exceedingly different and new and beautiful, the other option, the expectation of the figures who now pushed through the roof top door and closed in on her, is that she would lay sprawled on the street below, body twisted this way and that, while they hoot and record the debacle on their coms. Thus, the ledge and this moment offer two outcomes.
She glances back at Wink's people and thinks about their plight; Wink's obsession with her has rendered them no different than battalion of mindless soldiers. Yes they could enjoy the advantage of numbers and the kinship of the warrior energy that stirs up running the streets with your crew, but as part of an entourage, they live and die on the decisions of their leader. In this case, they are giving chase at the behest of an ego and libido run amok, an unsavory quest that the young woman in front of them had short circuited with her untimely appearance. The crew presses on, reflexively and performatively gathering their resolve to corner Airyel. “LOOK AT DIS BIRD! GIVE ME SOME HOT SAUCE!” bellows one of the gang, cutting through her introspection, and their menace grows into fear that wriggles its way into the edge of Airyel's heart; she finds herself gritting her teeth. Her mind spins into another tangent, as Airy had never thought of the bravery of birds until now. She thinks for a moment that birds are too feeble-minded to realize that despite being equipped with the contraptions which facilitate their freedom, they are stepping out on nothing more than air. Yet, even the smallest of birds takes that step. As she contemplates the inevitable, Airy thinks, what can a bird's prayer be other than, “Wings don't fail me now!”
How can she know what it is to ride the wind until she actually does it? In her mind's eye Eu Goode has been replaced by her Aunt Rita, drink in hand, gyrating her hips next to the bar, eyes closed, brow furrowed and sweating juxtaposed against a demure, tight lipped smile as the jukebox blared “Ain't nothing to it but to do it!” Airyel snaps back to the moment, glancing down to spy the haphazard skew of rooftops. They are topped by grids of slate, corrugated metallic channels, some rusting, some shining, spilling over into the narrow canyon of alleyways, currents of cars swimming up and down the maze of avenues in between the expanse of brick, glass and steel, all beckoning her to claim the space overhead. The scenery comes into focus for Airy as she realizes that her wings have involuntarily unfurled. The black iron tapestry of a fire escape juts out of the brick directly below her.
The breeze at this height... check that, this altitude, is crisp and Airy can no longer feel the sweat that had accumulated under her armpits or at the small of her back as she had rushed up the stairs to the roof. It has not even registered to her that she is not wearing her filter. Through the haze of her contemplation, she takes a couple of steps away from the ledge to give herself space to get a running start. Oh my god, I'm gonna jump, she thinks. There is quite a difference between this and her initial foray off of Latreese's second floor balcony or training in the gym with Bean. She no longer hears laughter and taunts behind her from Wink's crew, as the sight of her wings outstretched transmutes the roles of her would-be tormentor's presence from weapon to witness; and in this moment Airy realizes they can not touch her. She looks back and though they stand no more than a few yards away from her, none of Wink's crew moves forward. They all stand by with a look of anticipation in their eyes, seeming as hopeful about her leap as she, and when she meets their collective gaze, she smiles.
Taking all of this into account, it must be noted that despite the constant glut of cameras and movie crews, Charm City does not function by the rules of Hollywood; there will be no syncopated group applause to spur the hero forward. It is a city that grinds up the lives of its best to a nub. There is no sweeping sound of the orchestra's string section as the climax approaches. There is simply a scraping of metal as the door to the roof opens again, and Wink emerges, panting heavily and sweating. “This bitch ain't jump yet?” he wheezes as his crew looks back at him. Airyel's wings folded back in, and she stares through the crew at Wink.
“Naw nig, this shit here like X-men, she finna fuck 'roun an' fly fo' real!” Tyrique sounds giddy at the possibility.
Wink snorted and pushed through his crew closer to Airy. “No she ain't, that bitch ain't finna do nothing but fall, and I can't wait to see it. She got niggas fooled like she 'bout somethin'. I known this bitch for years, she ain't bout to do shit but bust her ass and get on the news.
”They stand and silently review their paired history, Wink's recollection evoking a scowl and Airy smiling, realizing that no matter what happens her presence has saved a young girl and hopefully others from Wink. The tension seemingly stills the air on the roof until Airy turns back towards the ledge, decision made.
She prepared. She realizes she is prepared. She is grateful for being prepared. She acts on her preparedness, confident of the outcome, but is ready to challenge and extend her preparedness by embracing the unknown.
She spoke to him over her shoulder. “One way or another Wink, we all here to do our best. You a big man right, I can't front on that, you worked for it; but you never been a good person since I known you, and you never tried to be a good person, especially towards me and them young girls.”
Wink flinches but holds his ground as she continues.
“If you were as successful as a person as you are as a personality, you could change our block, or maybe even the whole city. No matter what happens with me, that's what you need to do. You need to be better as a person Wink, not just for yourself, but for your crew, for Big Ma, for those girls. For all of us.”
Wink's nostrils flare and his fists clench, but by the time he moves to throw a punch, Airy's wings are spread wide and moving; she takes two quick steps and with a shriek of joy and or fear (depending on who you got your information from...), Airy leaps.
First thing is the wind in her eyes. The leap sends her hurtling at a 30 degree angle that quickly nosedives downwards, the draft stinging her eyes and forcing her to squint. She knows that the neural paths have evolved to the point where she doesn’t have to move her arms to control her wings, but she flaps both sets of appendages nonetheless. She is afraid to stop flapping and reach for her air filter and goggles, so she instead focuses on leaning forward, arching her back and tucking her knees to center her weight closer to her wings. Tucking her knees further upset her already queasy stomach, and before she can stop it, she is vomiting, with saliva rolling down her chin and staining her top. She hopes no one is on the street below to be on the receiving end.
Airy leans left and shifts her wings so that the right wing is raised a bit, she begins to level out and banks around the corner of the building and begins to glide, no fly, west bound over rooftops through Walbrook, towards Gwynn falls and Home Hills. Of course, there is the inexorable urge to look down, but Steven (and everybody on the paragliding web sites) said that is a sure way to die. So she looks ahead and marvels at the fact that the buildings, telephone poles, trees and everything else are passing under her. After the frantic initial few seconds, she relaxes and can feel the rush of the air on her wings; she is flying with the wind, so she circles around overhead to attempt to ride into the wind to gain altitude, as Steven had taught her. The wind tunnel was a crude facsimile of what she is now experiencing, but it gives her some working knowledge, and after a few circles, she is able to climb. No nerves, just an occasional peek downward to make sure she is flying in the right direction, being that she doesn’t have all that natural GPS stuff like birds. The feeling though! It is beyond her thoughts, beyond the capacity of her heart to hold; the tears streaking her face are caused as much by joy as the wind. She wants to scream but she already had a gaggle of bugs collide with her face; swallowing one would be too much.
As she passes over the yards on Clifton Ave, Windsor Ave, North Hilton, and Denison, Airy is aware that her breath was getting shorter. The neural paths for her wings can transmit certain data, but the fatigue from flapping her wings is catching up to her quickly. She circles around again to get a bit more altitude after she crosses over Gwynns Falls; she can see the sign for Home Hills and she passed next to the spire of First Methodist Temple. Counting rooftops, she crosses over into tree tops into the middle of the road, losing altitude as her back muscles and arms are aflame with pain. There are kids from the block standing near Big Ma’s house, pointing in her direction. As she gets closer to the ground, she can now feel how fast she is flying. Gritting her teeth, she turns her wings upward so that the bottom of her wings are facing the wind, and she flaps and starts running, feet dangling 15, then ten, now five feet off the ground. She is in the middle of the street when her feet touch the ground, and the car that is coming towards her stops. All eyes are on her. She stumbles a bit and her wings scrape the street but she is able to slow down to a jog and then walks around the car in the street as her wings fold up behind her. She has been squinting since she jumped off the ledge, so she blinks as she looks at the cars in front of her. “Well, I didn't bust my ass.” she says breathlessly to no one in particular.
Her best friend Bean is in the street before Airyel can reach the curb, screaming. “Bitch, you flew!!! I knew you could do it!!! I love you!!!” Airy winces when Bean squeezes her.
“Girl don't hug me too tight, my arms hurt and I need some wipes.”
“Whatever girl, you flew, I don't care how you look.”
“I threw up though. It's on my shirt and I know my breath stink.”
A horn blows because it’s Baltimore and damn if you just flew and all, so Bean guides Airy out of the street and on to the sidewalk, where the young women are mobbed by children and their questions.
“How you do that?”
“Where you get them wings?”
“You a bird?”
“Can you fly me around?”
“How much they cost?”
Airyel chuckles and the searing fatigue of her maiden flight is muted by the excitement of being the center of attention. She answers each and every question from the youth, letting them touch her wings and gingerly stretching them out for them to see. The only request she turns down is to “do it again”. There would be no more flying today, but a new kind of seed had sprouted and this place was soil and witness to something new and beautiful and real. Tomorrow no longer seemed so far and bereft of promise, and this made Airyel exhale and smile for real, all the way, teeth showing cheek to cheek.
Jason Harris is a Baltimore based futurist, educator and cultural activist. He is the founder and facilitator of the BlkRobot Project, a long term educational art effort designed to place multi-functional art of scale in predominantly Black neighborhoods. Jason is a Yale Writers Conference participant and a 2015 Kimbilio Fiction fellow whose work has appeared in Black Enterprise magazine, Catalyst Literary journal, Voices of Haiti, BmoreArt.com and various anthologies. He self-published the speculative fiction anthology entitled, “Redlines: Baltimore 2028′′ in 2012.
