Between the Fall and the Feather

A continuation of Swallows in Opposite Skies.

I never had many certainties in life. I knew very little and doubted almost everything most of the time. But in that moment, I was almost certain I was in free fall. My body was completely tense, the wind pushing me further and further down, and I was terrified, even as I tried to search somewhere inside myself for what it felt like to be a feather. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be when we fall? I had always imagined that when I came face to face with death, God might have some mercy on me, and I wouldn’t feel anything as I passed through the gates of heaven, or hell, judging by my actions.

As I plummeted, I tried to imagine where I would land, and whether I would land at all. It would be a great irony if I fell into the sea, like Icarus. But not a surprise. After all, that was the fate of those who believed they could fly too close to the sun without consequences.

While I was busy forming my theories, I finally landed somewhere, and this time I did feel like a feather, my feet touching the grass almost majestically. The wind stopped, turning into nothing more than a gentle breeze brushing against my face and lifting my curls. The scent of damp earth and apples filled my lungs, making me smile as every trace of fear drained from my veins.

“Who are you lying to today, love? Me, yourself, or the liars?” The voice, thick with a foreign accent, made me turn my head, still smiling, perhaps even more at the sound of him. “That was a different entrance this time.”

“It’s sunny here.” I said, as if stating a simple fact, glancing around the farm before meeting his eyes, which held a different kind of expectation under the daylight.

“I know." he replied, offering the faintest smile before walking toward the porch. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt beneath a pair of overalls, his boots as always stained with soil. “Come in. I made coffee.”

“You don’t like coffee.” I said, narrowing my eyes before following him onto the porch. He picked up the kettle waiting there and poured a cup as if everything had been set in place for me.

“You haven’t shown up in days, and suddenly the sun comes out. Something told me you would.” He handed me the cup. He seemed calmer than the last time. “What’s troubling you?”

I wrapped both hands around the cup and let out a heavy sigh, leaning against one of the wooden beams. I took a sip of the black, strong coffee, just the way I liked it, trying to gather my thoughts and remember what I had been thinking about before I fell.

“Have you ever loved someone?” I asked suddenly, as though it were a light, ordinary subject for a morning like that.

“I love my family. My daughter. I love those noisy animals over there.” He gestured toward the chickens running wildly across the yard, trying to ease the tension between us.

“You know what I mean.” I said, almost rolling my eyes, though I wanted to laugh at how foolish he could be. “I ran into a ghost I thought I had buried a long time ago. And it made me question how close to the sun I flew, how stubborn I was to place someone at the center of my world, only to end up burned in the end.”

“And do you think it was love?” he asked, half skeptical, though genuinely curious. He leaned against the railing beside me, arms crossed, giving me space to stare down at the wooden floorboards.

“No.” The answer came out like a thread, but I didn’t need to think long to know it came from somewhere true.

“We’re more alike than you’re willing to admit." he said, letting out a quiet, ironic little laugh. “We’re always chasing freedom, wanting to fly as far as possible. But at the end of the day, all we really want is somewhere to rest, somewhere we can feel exhausted without guilt. Have you ever thought about that? Maybe you didn’t fall today because of some moral failure, or because you were too stubborn. Maybe you collapsed. Maybe you just needed to rest.”

His words weighed more than I wanted them to, and I took another sip of coffee just to avoid answering. But that only made him continue, as if compensating for a lifetime of swallowed truths.

“It was inevitable, love. When we make someone the sun, of course we burn. The fall is inevitable.” His voice was low. “The question is whether you choose to drown like Icarus, or learn how to swim.”

“You talk like you’ve lived a thousand lives,” I said. He had once said the same about me, but in that moment he seemed far more emotionally intelligent than I was. For the first time, I didn’t have to pretend to be strong, and he didn’t have to be afraid of being perceptive.

“I’ve had falls like yours,” he said, turning slightly, his hip resting against the beam, his hazel eyes fixed on mine. “I once thought loving someone meant exactly that, placing them at the center of my universe. Now, when I’m not here with you, I’m very skeptical. Love doesn’t exist out there. And if it does, it’s very hard to find, and even harder to keep.”

I nodded faintly. He was right. He thought the same way I did.

“And here?” I asked. “It’s easy, isn’t it? Because we don’t have to try. We’ll wake up and everything will disappear. There won’t be the smell of freshly brewed coffee, or the apples, or those crazy chickens you adore. And I’m sure you don’t wear those ridiculous overalls in front of other people.”

“Hey, my overalls are very stylish.” he protested in mock offense, and we both burst into laughter. Two different laughs, mine a little louder, the kind that brings tears to my eyes; his rough and low, wrinkling the corners of his. The sound echoed across the farm before fading into nothing.

“It’s harder, actually. Much harder than anything in real life,” he said. “I try to convince myself I’m building stronger wings, so they won’t burn when I touch you. But every time you look at me, I feel foolish for trying.”

“I don’t feel that way out there. It’s frightening,” I admitted, placing the cup on the railing. “But if every time I fly too close to the sun I fall here, then the burns don’t matter. They’re worth it.”

“So that means you’re going to learn to swim?” he teased, lifting his hands to touch my curls, his fingers tangling gently in them.

“This intensity doesn’t have to end in tragedy,” I whispered, leaning into his touch as his hand moved to my cheek, his warmth in sharp contrast to my cold skin, chilled by the wind of the fall.

In those exact five seconds of feeling him, I thought it didn’t matter how many times I would have to wake up afterward. Every second was worth it. It was inevitable, anyway. We couldn’t stay apart, but we burned when we came too close. And still, we returned to the same place every time, because there was nothing better than falling and resting in each other.