Wings

travel

I headed over to my closet, opening a rarely used trapdoor to the roof. It was a perk of living on the top floor. I climbed up to where I would be hidden from the street view by a chimney and spread my wings, impatient to feel the wind in my hair. Experimentally, I flapped my wings hard, once, and rose about ten feet into the air, much higher than I had expected. I grinned and pushed down on the air a few more times, rising to the point where I could barely see Josh waving to me from the roof. I waved back, stilled my wings in the air, and dropped like a stone, whooping excitedly as I did so. I heard Josh scream before I shot out my wings, feeling a painful tug on my back. I winced, making a mental note to never do that again.

I whistled sharply, causing Josh to look up. I pointed east, indicating that I would try to head in that direction, and fumbled a bit trying to turn that way. Josh whistled a Morse code message back to me, a method of communication we had worked out when I was sixteen. I head it loud and clear, translating in my head: One week then I look for you ok. I whistled back, call my mom and dad I’m heading trans Atlantic. He looked worried, but whistled his go-ahead. Ok Mel good luck one week. I understood. If I didn’t come back in a week, he would look for me. I wished I had international phone coverage, but I would try to get back on Wi-Fi if I was going to be longer than expected.

I nodded, turned, and headed south. England was gorgeous, but I might as well try to repair things with my parents first. They had practically disowned me, and paying for a plane ticket back to the States to see them hadn’t been worth it. They lived in Palo Alto, so I figured that I could fly straight south to Spain or Portugal, then go due east across the Atlantic. I had friends I could stay with in New York, and I was fairly sure that they would keep my secret. But first, I had to figure out what I could do. I found an empty farm about fifty miles from London, and began to experiment with my wings.

I stayed at the farm overnight, and before long I calculated that I could keep up a sustained pace of about 300 miles per hour, and that somehow I could go on autopilot. If I stayed in one direction and just let myself drift off, my wings moved almost subconsciously. Albatross could lock their wings and soar with minimally expended energy, and I supposed I could as well. I had two choices- get some sleep and potentially fall on autopilot or pull an all-nighter and go albatross.

I figured I might as well stay alive on my first flight, so the next morning I hitchhiked into the nearest town and bought the strongest coffee and chocolate I could find. After drinking it as quickly as I could without passing out from the adrenaline shot, I filled my water bottle, ate a granola bar, and took off south.

Apparently, I could fly pretty well, but landing needed some work. I crashed in a field a few minutes flight north of Lisbon and took a few bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. Thank Monet I didn’t get airsick. I spent the night in the field, and then hitchhiked into the capital to pick up some more coffee and chocolate, opting to save these for the flight to the US. I breathed deeply; savoring the sensation of a new city then spread my wings and aimed east, using the compass on my phone to point the way. Like I said, Internet junkie.

I settled into a comfortable rhythm, flapping my wings once every fifteen minutes or so to stay at a good altitude. I was moving quickly, at about three hundred miles an hour or so, and at this rate I would land in about 12 hours, longer if I wanted to find somewhere to stay from the air. With the wind currents, and if I could find a plane to drift behind, I might even be there sooner than expected.