To Have Wings
by Rainbooks
Chapter One
"Stories and Photographs"
"Poor little Peter Pan, he sat down and cried, and even then he did not know that, for a bird, he was sitting on his wrong part. It is a blessing that he did not know, for otherwise he would have lost faith in his power to fly, and the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it. The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings."
J.M. Barrie, The Little White Bird
Worst of all, Margaret thought, was the weather. Or the food, or the accents — God, she couldn't understand a word anyone was saying, especially the kid, who insisted on following her around all day.
Actually, that was the worst part, she decided. Her little cousin Danny who loved dinosaurs and rocket ships and was always around and saying in his tiny English voice: "Margaret, will you play with me?" The way he appeared around hallway corners and snuck up behind her made Margaret feel like she were in a horror movie.
The only time Danny was sure not to bother Margaret was when she was calling back home. His mother declared that she have privacy, then. This only made talking to her father even better.
London is eight hours ahead of Los Angeles, but Margaret's father, Mr. Vega, worked the graveyard shift as a security officer for the zoo. Ever since Margaret had gone to visit her aunt and cousin in the UK, he's called during his break around 3 am his time. Margaret took his calls in the garden, where Danny and his mother couldn't overhear.
"Prawn flavored chips?" Mr. Vega said one morning. "Like shrimp?" Margaret watched her father lean back in the wheely chair in his office. He made a face at her through the phone. "Yugh."
"Yeah," said Margaret. She sat on the porch swing at the back of the yard. Strips of light fell through wooden slats above her and onto her head and lap. "They've even ruined snacks out here."
"Well, did you try them?" said Mr. Vega, who could be rather agreeable at times. When Margaret shook her head he tsked and waved her away. "You can't say they don't have good snacks unless you try them, dummy."
Margaret swung at a butterfly that got too close to her face. "I'm good, but I can mail you a bag if you want."
"It's all you," said Mr. Vega, munching on a bag of original Lays. "But I don't like seafood! And you do, so it's different." Margaret smiled and Mr. Vega smiled back, but then, he tried to look stern. "Hey, I hope you're being nice out there. Open to new things. That's your family, you know."
Margaret stopped smiling and looked off at the fancy home her Aunt Laura lived in. There were wicker chairs on the patio and a toy jeep parked on the grass. Inside, past Danny's face pressed against the glass, Margaret could see the giant television mounted on the wall, and the big, plush couch.
This is where her mother's sister had been while Margaret and her father had been struggling for the past sixteen years. Not only financially, but with Mrs. Vega's death. Margaret had only met her Aunt Laura Goode once, nine years before, at her mother's funeral, and she hadn't heard from her since. Until now, when Laura suggested a summer's visit with the family.
Family. Margaret scoffed. "I know who my family is," she said.
Margaret held up her phone long after she finished talking to her father, pretending that he was still on the screen. When her arm got tired, she pocketed her phone. No longer bound by the privacy rule, Danny then slid open the glass door and ran up to her. "Margaret," he said, all ruddy cheeked. "Do you want to play video games?"
"We can play hide and seek," said Margaret. She adjusted herself and stretched her legs out on the bench, wiggling her toes in the strips of light as she swung. "I'll be It."
Danny frowned. "You're not very good at finding," he said. "No offense." He went behind the swing to push it. Margaret felt how he could barely move her with his little boy arms. She picked at a hole in the knee of her skinny jeans and ignored the staggering way the swing moved. "Will you tell me a story?" Danny asked.
"I don't know any stories," said Margaret.
Danny hung his arms over the back of the swing and leveraged his legs off the grass. The swing teetered and squeaked in response. "You just have to make it up," he said. "You can think of one and tell me later."
Margaret pulled out her phone again and checked all her social media accounts. "Okay, sounds good." she said. She had no notifications anywhere. She slipped her phone back in her pocket.
Mrs. Davis came out onto the porch. "Come in, you two," she called. "Laura has something to show you." Mrs. Davis was the old woman who watched after Danny while Aunt Laura was at work. Margaret was incredibly grateful for her. When she learned that Aunt Laura had a small son, she was worried she would be expected to babysit him on her visit. The idea had been abhorrent.
Margaret and Danny went inside, going barefoot across the grass. Danny skipped ahead of her.
Aunt Laura was inside, on a break from work and still in a pencil skirt and blouse. She held a photograph and seemed very excited. She lifted up Danny when he barreled in to meet her, even though she was almost as small as he was.
"I've been looking all over," said Aunt Laura. She plopped onto the big, plush couch with Danny squirming in her lap. "And I've finally found this photo in a box in storage. Take a look." She handed Margaret the photograph, smiling. "Do you recognize anyone?" It was a portrait of a family in front of a foggy, gray background. "That's from 1988," said Aunt Laura, which was clear by the atrocious outfits and hairstyles — giant sideburns on the dark haired father, the mother with hair that flared out in curls. And there were three girls, one younger than the other two, who looked like twins.
Heart sinking, Margaret ran a finger over the face of one of the twins girls, with blonde pigtails and a red birthmark on her neck. "Mom," she murmured. She expected to be reminded of the late Mrs. Vega at some point on the trip, but she didn't think it would make her so sad.
Danny jumped off his mother's lap. "Let me see!" he said. Margaret let him take the photo and sat on the couch with her hands pressed between her knees. "Oh, I know this!" cried Danny. He handed the copy back to his mother, then ran off toward his room.
Aunt Laura scooted closer to Margaret on the couch and Mrs. Davis looked on over their shoulders. "How darling!" said Mrs. Davis. "Are you that little one, Laura?"
"Yes," Aunt Laura said. "I was six at the time, and the twins were eight." She pointed at the other twin girl, who would have been, Margaret knew, her Aunt Karen. "That's the year we lost our other sister. We were never quite the same after that. Certainly no more family photos."
Margaret looked off toward the garden again, feeling rather uncomfortable. She yearned to go back out to the porch swing, alone.
Aunt Laura placed a hand on Margaret's knee and Margaret offered her a brief smile, trying to be nice, like her father said.
"It is difficult, I know," said Aunt Laura. "Ours is a family defined by loss. My dear husband, Henry, Karen, and your mother." Aunt Laura looked wistfully at the photograph. "Her, I lost twice. When she died, of course, but also, years before that, when she left — pregnant with you. Loss like that makes it makes it difficult to become close with other people, but I'd like to try."
Margaret looked at her aunt, and couldn't find it in her to smile again. This, she thought, was really the worst thing about being shipped off to the UK. The way Laura looked just like Mrs. Vega used to, with blonde hair and nervous hands. Laura had the same green eyes Margaret remembered on her mother, only Laura's were kinder. And she wanted to be close. The prospect seemed unlikely and offensive.
Aunt Laura checked her watch. "I have to get back to the office," she said, and rubbed Margaret's shoulder before she stood. "Rebecca, please make sure Danny eats all his veggies before he gets any sweets, tonight. I found carrots hidden in his pockets, again."
"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Davis, handing Aunt Laura her blazer. The photo was left on the coffee table and when no one was looking, Margaret took it.
She brought it up to the guest room upstairs and laid on top of the covers with the curtains closed. She looked at the tiny version of her mother in the dark. Margaret looked little like Mrs. Vega had, inheriting, instead, her father's warmer complexion and dark hair. She did have the Goodes' green eyes, though. She wondered whether hers were kind like Laura's or shrewd as Mrs. Vega's had been.
But had they really been shrewd? Or is that just how Margaret saw her mother in her memory: strict and overprotective.
She wished she had a more current photo of Mrs. Vega so she could remember — perhaps a family shot like this one, in a studio, with herself and both of her parents standing behind her. They'd have less ridiculous hairstyles, maybe. Margaret hardly even remembered how her mother wore her hair.
Long after Margaret wondered what was keeping Danny from bothering her for so long, he barged into the room. The sun had set by then, and the hallway outside the guest room was dark as well. Margaret hadn't realized it had gotten so late — she missed lunch and dinner.
Danny flicked on the light. "Look," he said, coming forward with something. "When I was very small, a pirate came into my room through the window. He left this here."
Intrigued, Margaret sat up from her bed. She took the thing Danny held. It was a ripped and worn photograph — an exact copy of the one she'd spent the day looking at, only it was just the lower half, with her grandparent's heads torn off.
There were dirty fingerprints on the photo, and some glitter smeared on that made it shimmer. She flipped it over and found the word "Lily" scribbled on the back. Strangest of all, there was a circle drawn around her mother's little face.
"Why did you do this?" Margaret asked. She couldn't understand what game Danny was trying to play. He had defaced a photo of their family, drew a creepy circle around her mother, and what was that about pirates?
"I didn't do it!" said Danny. "The pirates did. See?" He ran his hand across the photo and showed Margaret his shimmering fingertips. "That's fairy dust."
Margaret was becoming annoyed. The photo was meaningful to her, and Danny had destroyed one of what she supposed were the only two copies. She handed the photo back and stood. "What did Mrs. Davis make for dinner?" she asked.
"I mean it!" Danny followed her out into the hall. "I was going to tell Mum, but I couldn't talk very good back then, so I hid it in my closet for later. And then I forgot until only just today!"
Margaret didn't respond, hurrying down the steps and going into the kitchen. She found a covered plate of pasta in the fridge and put it in the microwave.
"Margaret, dear!" cried Mrs. Davis from the living room. "There's dinner for you in the fridge."
"Got it, thank you!" Margaret yelled back.
Danny climbed onto the counter. "Anyway, did you think of a story yet?"
"No," said Margaret, focusing on the countdown of the microwave.
"But Margaret," Danny whined. "You said you would."
Margaret sighed, pressing her hands into her closed eyes. "Danny," she warned.
"You said that you were going to think of a story to tell me later, so now you have to or else that's a fib and fibbing is very naughty," said Danny.
"Why don't you go ask Mrs. Davis to tell you a story?" said Margaret.
"I've heard all of Mrs. Davis' stories, Margaret, please." Danny threw himself back onto the ground and stomped his foot.
"Danny, I really need you to go away," said Margaret. There were just thirty seconds left and then she would take her food in the bathroom where she could lock the door. "I'll tell you a story tomorrow."
Danny's face scrunched up like he was going to cry. Margaret wanted to shove her hand into his little face. "You're lying! You always lie! You don't ever want to play with me!" Margaret sighed again. Twenty more seconds. "Tell me a story, Margaret! You have to! You have to tell me a story. Margaret, you-"
"Okay!" cried Margaret, and squatted to his height. She looked him right in his wavering green eyes and told him, "There was once a very annoying, very irritating little boy, who bothered everyone so much that they all moved away from him while he was asleep. When he woke up, he was all alone, and he had to play by himself for once, and his family was happy because they never had to see him again."
The microwave beeped.
As soon as Danny had begun his first wail, Margaret stood, took her plate from the microwave, and slipped out of the kitchen. She could hear Mrs. Davis coming in to comfort him behind her, but she kept going, back up the stairs and into the guest room, slamming the door behind her.
Oh, so furious and terribly lonely, Margaret cried so hard she almost couldn't finish her pasta.
—
Margaret awoke during the quietest part of night. She had fallen asleep in jeans over the covers.
She pulled the hairs stuck to her face into a fresh bun and changed into sweats and a tank top. She then got properly into bed, ready for a deeper sleep, but there was something else wrong.
The curtains across the room fluttered in a breeze and Margaret furrowed her brows. She had kept that window closed since she'd arrived. She'd always preferred to sleep that way — something her mother had imposed on her when she was young.
Sure that she wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise, Margaret went across the room to shut the window. She pulled open the curtains to reach it, and saw several things at once that did not make sense.
First, there were a group of men outside of her window — impossible because she was on the second floor. But they were there, several feet above the ground with their boots planted in a dingy below them, floating, as if in water.
And they were surprised to see her, those big, dirty men (and one boy, Margaret noticed) floating outside her window, looked shocked to see her there. And something about the way they were adorned with beads and dirty shirts made Margaret think something odd: These are the pirates Danny was talking about, she thought.
But oddest of all was that their faces were lit, glowing in the light of a little being the size of Margaret's fist, and it tinkled at her, and Margaret was able to murmur the word, "Fairy," before she was snatched from the room.
