Page 111 of Wings of Ebony
I hug his neck. The hug of a daughter to her dad.
His grasp slacks and he trembles. “Our time is about up,” he groans, hunching over in pain. “The cuffs… before the wind blows all the remnants away. It’s a tricky spell, but I think I can do it.” He lies back.
“N-not, yet, please. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t… didn’t forgive you sooner.” My voice cracks. “I-I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.” Tears dangle from my lashes and another tremor shakes his finger. “I-I’m scared. Underneath it all… I’m terrified. What if I screw this all up?”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Greatness… power… strength. H-hold my head up and don’t let go.” I cradle my father’s head in my lap. His chest rises and falls, slower each time. He pulls back his sleeves and raises his hands like he’s commanding the very sky to answer him. He twists one around the other and golden ash fills the air, flocking to his hands like a swarm of locusts. He twists harder. Another twist and pieces of gold gather in his hands. Veinsbulge from his arms as gold sweeps around us like a dust storm.
The curve of metal slowly reform in his grasp and I gape in utter disbelief. Little by little the cuff’s pieces forge themselves back together. His chest quivers and he inhales deeply, but he keeps twisting, groaning, as if it hurts him. I look away, wishing I could say stop. But I know this is the only way.
Why does life have to hurt so bad?
Why do we have to learn through pain?
Chimes fill the air as my bracelets crystallize fragment by fragment, piece by piece, back together before my eyes. I blink several more times and I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
My father’s hands tremble. Up and down, his chest still rises and falls, steadily, but slower—much slower. I cry harder, ripped to shreds, a hurricane of relief and agony. The air clears as the last piece of the cuffs snap in place.
His head falls limp.
Everything is foggy. I take the cuffs and holding them again is like fresh oxygen to my lungs. I know what the Ancestors wanted. I know when I put them on this time it’ll be different. I slip them on and warm all over.
“D-dad?” I feel his cheek and check his forehead. “T-talk to me…”
His head thrashes.The curse has set in.I show him the cuffs, shiny and undamaged. He smiles, but his eyelids hang low.
“O-one more thing,” he mumbles.
“Anything.” I sniffle.
He motions for my head, too weak to lift himself up. Confused, I lean over him. His breath is ragged, slow. He runs his fingersthrough the roots of my hair and latches on tight to my skull. Calm wraps around me like a fleece blanket on a chilly afternoon.
The world goes dark.
Cool drips pierce my skull like trickles of ice water, swelling behind my eyes as images—memories—flash like a slideshow in my mind.
I see a tree on Christmas morning next to a stocking with my name. A plate with cookies and both my mother and father shoving me toward a floor full of wrapped presents.
The scene dissolves and another appears.
I see my little hands holding tight to covers and my father stepping into my room, book in hand. He kneels beside my bed and I throw my arms around his neck, grinning.
And another.
Moms is dancing in the kitchen in her favorite yellow robe. I see Daddy holding her around the waist, belting a backup tune. There I am playing my guitar mini broom.
I see an auditorium of faces I don’t know and two I do. I’m dressed as Cleopatra and a camera flashes from the corner, my dad’s face behind it.
Memories of a life I never knew flood my mind and I weep uncontrollably.
He tightens his grip and I see him chase me around the room, waddling with kinky pigtails and a soggy diaper. He snatches me up and tickles me in the air. I see him fast asleep on the sofa with me wrapped up, drooling on his chest. I see him come home with a puppy. My eyes light up and Moms frowns. I see him teach me to drive and shoo boys away from the front step.
Thousands of memories of the life he would have given me crash in a tidal wave of grief.
He squeezes my hand. “I wish they could be real.”
“Th-they are to me.” I squeeze back. “Please, stay. Please, don’t go. There was the one time I lost my tooth and thought it was a seed, so I planted and watered it for weeks.” I sob, words gushing from my lips. “A-and this one time I aced a really important math test and got an award.” I cry harder. “Another time, Momma took me to ride a horse. A real live horse.” I shake his shoulders. “Dad, please!” I shout, beating his chest. It barely rises, almost still. “Please—don’t go. I have so much I never got to tell you.…”
“Alaya nah, ick e’bah,” he mumbles.
