I See
Annie's mommy was sad.
Her mommy was trying not to cry, because her mommy hated crying.
But her daddy was packing his suitcase, and he was going to walk away.
He had said sorry and goodbye to Annie.
But words like sorry and goodbye were wrong words. Her daddy could not say those to her - not like this.
Tommy's daddy had left one day.
Tommy was still sad.
But this was different. Her daddy was different.
He was an Animorph. And that made the difference, because Animorphs were good. They didn't leave. They didn't run away.
'Let's do it!" her mommy had said when she was an Animorph.
But, 'let's do it' did not mean 'let's run away'. 'Let's do it' meant stay and fight! 'Let's do it' was a noble phrase, one which signified all that was good and right. 'Let's do it' meant that evil would always be defeated, that good would always win, and that nothing was hopeless.
But this was a different kind of evil.
This kind of evil could never be defeated fully, if at all. This kind of evil tore you apart - from the deepest inside first, and then grew, eventually, to the point where it consumed you entirely.
This was insanity.
Annie had felt this insanity, just barely, but she understood it with child's eyes - the only eyes that can ever truly understand matters this deep.
Her daddy wanted his wings.
That was what her mommy had said, the only explanation she had given.
And because he wanted his wings so much, he was leaving. And already Annie felt an emptiness inside that none but her daddy could ever fill.
Wings were made of feathers, right?
Annie had a feather.
It was old, from before she was born.
Her daddy had given it to her.
Was it from his wings?
Annie thinks about this.
Her daddy hasn't left yet - he is still packing.
Her mommy is yelling, "You're turning into Elfangor!"
"And your mother too, come to think of it!"
He just looks at Annie's mommy and sighs.
He's crying.
If he's sad, why is he leaving? Didn't daddies only leave when they were mad?
Annie runs into her room.
She looks in the top drawer of her dresser.
She takes out a brownish feather.
She looks at it. Tears streak down her face.
She collapses on her bed and sobs, quietly.
She is too much like her mother to weep loudly and make a display of herself.
She looks up, and a fire burns in her eyes.
See if she says goodbye! He can just leave! Let him go! She hates him, anywaaa . . .
She begins to cry again.
A few minutes later, she dries her tears and stands up, a solemn look on her face. She picks up the feather from when she threw it on the floor.
She walks out of her room, to her parents' bedroom.
No one is in there.
She runs down the stairs, sees her daddy walking out the door. Her mommy is still yelling.
She wishes her mommy would not yell.
Yelling has never made her daddy feel better.
It's not his fault. It's not her mommy's fault. It's not Annie's fault.
Annie understands this entirely. Her mommy made sure she knows.
"Daddy, daddy!" She yells, hurtling herself to him.
He doesn't turn around, doesn't acknowledge that she exists.
She runs around him, plants herself in front of him.
Her stubborn streak comes from both her mommy and her daddy. And now it holds her in good stead.
She holds out the feather to him.
This breaks his heart further. And, somewhere, in the deep corners of his heart, he wants to stay.
But he can't.
Because something is missing, has been since he stayed human.
That was an accident.
He hadn't meant to.
But he had lost his wings.
And wherever his wings were now, his sanity remains with them.
But as he looked into the sincere face of his daughter, the thought of sanity leaves his mind.
And he remembers, a long time ago . . . when another parent left.
He takes the feather gently from her hand.
And, maybe, he doesn't need full wings.
And maybe he does.
But maybe wings aren't always things that you can touch.
Maybe, sometimes, wings reside in the heart.