Wings

difference

Melody

“Mel, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Kestrel asked for about the fiftieth time today. I sighed. I wasn’t really in the mood to deal with an anxious girlfriend at the moment, but I put on a smile and turned towards her anyways. “You know I’ve had this planned out for a year or so. And you approved. Three times! Hell, you even helped me sketch the design.” She groaned and slumped her shoulders. “I know. But aren’t you afraid of the pain?” Kestrel was a daredevil when it came to the plans, but when it turned to the action, she was a chicken.

            We were standing in front of a tattoo parlor, and the last three years of dreaming were finally coming to fruition. I had always been something of a rebel, and Kestrel was a willing accomplice. I had been into heights, flying, you name it, since I was nine, and my favorite books were the ones involving flight. I guess I just let the ground go at that point, and started daydreaming about wings, and it spilled over into my life. I had met Kestrel at an art convention, where my sketches of birds were selling well. She had her eye on a black-and-white sketch of a Nankeen kestrel, her namesake, and it all snowballed from there. Now, two years later, we were dating, and she had supported my tattoo idea from the start.

            I might have been a bit ambitious in the design of the tattoo. It was slightly gruesome, two black wingtips on my shoulder blades. The tips of the feathers were supposed to look like they were growing out of my skin, and there were two drops of blood running down from the slits the wings were supposedly growing out of.  I had already talked to an artist, and the design was finalized. Besides, it’s not like this was my first tattoo. I had two Egyptian symbols on the inside of both wrists, one for power and one for life. My parents had all but given up on me.

            I kissed Kestrel on the cheek, and then walked into the tattoo parlor, taking a deep breath as I did so.