She Never Could Fly

She never could fly but not for lack of trying. She insists that she’s terrible at it, but whether she ends up floating or falling, she still does it better than I do. She gets a running start. She cuts through the air with her determined chin and her Cleopatra nose. Then she jumps and lifts her knees to her chest as she turns her hips to her target. Then the punching bag swings before I even see her foot touch it. She is a blur of white with three black tails trailing behind her: one from her head and two from her waist. Then she’s on the ground again. No matter how many times she jumps, she always lands- usually on her feet with feline grace but sometimes not. No matter how many times she jumps, she hopes that this time she’ll stay in the air, maybe sprout wings.

She had wings at a party once. She darted in and hovered at the bar. I talked to her for a while about all the places she’d been since I’d last seen her. She’s flown around the world at least twice, but she keeps coming back. She has a habit of appearing in doorways when she’s least expected and then disappearing into the night. I hear her engine rev long after she’s gone.

Then there is silence for me to fill with poetry and daydreams. I remember her laugh, her smell, and the shape of her shoulders until she struts back into the room. Maybe next time I see her she’ll be bruised and sweaty but with a certain determined smile. Maybe next time I see her she’ll be balanced perfectly on her stilettos with an empty shot glass. She will look everyone straight in the eye except for me; I never really could figure out why. She will look at me, but then she will look away and start cooing over her sister’s babies.

She does that a lot, as if her maternal instincts are starting to kick in, but I don’t know if I can picture her as a mother. Sure she’s loving, but she can barely keep a pet fish alive. She moves too fast for a baby to keep up; she moves too fast for me to keep up, and I’ve been trying for years. Maybe if she keeping darting from place to place, maybe if she keeps jumping and turning her hips just right, she’ll stay in the air. If she ever does, I’ll be the first one she teaches like she taught to turn my hips just right.