Wishes Enveloped In Paper Aeroplanes
Icarus, can't you forget your wings?
“A packet of Marlbolos, please.”
Nothing like some cigarettes to start the day off.
A pair of crinkly, overworked paws slap my guilty pleasures on the clear glass cabinet. Beady black eyes, as hardened and tired as the hands to which it was of the same entity, rake over and take in all gangly five foot ten inches of me.
It (well, him) does not need to ask me to know that this is illegal, but he also knows that I will not be the first or the last underage teenager to buy stuff that they shouldn’t be buying.
At least he’s not into crack. I can almost hear the rusty cogs whirring in its brain and forming this thought as it gives an imperceptible sigh. Passing the cash over (he snatches it, since it's probably worth more than his measly salary; and greedily counts the amount, the green reflecting in his long-gone eyes), I tip my head, grateful that he didn’t try to lecture me on things he knows that no-one can control.
And then I was out of the newsstand, its self-proclaimed automatic doors swinging close behind me.
Stuffing my cigarettes into the pack pocket of my worn-out jeans, I stare up at the murky morning skies that promised hours worth of entertainment sooner or later. That is, if you count being in the rain and dodging raindrops that were unwished for as being something “fun”.
Even thinking about the upcoming storm gave me shivers down my spine. Then where was I to go? I sure as hell am not going back to Aunt Matilda, not that I’ve finally had a damn day all to myself. The old diner down the street, with its thugs and ugly arguments, wouldn’t welcome me unless I had the tattoos to prove my worth. Starbucks and the new shopping mall aren’t the best places to relax undisturbed; nor did the kiddies’ playground hold any attraction for me.
And I have no intention to go back to the old cherry tree. Not with me and Will being so awkward. Hell, I don’t even think I want to see him right now.
I weigh my options. It is either shopping mall or kiddies’ playground, and since simpering girly-whirlies picking out perfect outfits for strange occasions just doesn’t do it for me, I set off for the playground, dragging my frozen feet along.
There is not a slight breeze to stir the sleepy town; the sun had decided it wanted a day off, sulking about its minimum wages and whatnot. It is me, and only me that still moves through the silent streets.
The realisation of this sends me tumbling, head over heels, hands outstretched, as if my long legs tangled and nestled against heaps of leaves once belonging to some tree (reminders of happier times, my mind whispers; I hush it---).
Like the times, it continues, blatantly betraying my wishes, when Will and you still sat on the branches of the cherry tree, pointing at Andromeda and Caelum and Draco and how they all connected to each other in some obscure way, fingers almost brushing and bodies leaning into each other; “Oliver, would you look at that man!”, shooting stars not quite as bright as the boy sitting next to you and grinning, your heart pumping and racing, fervently wishing for your wish to come true, Goddamn it---
That’s enough. Stop it, I told the secret part of me that spews nonsense metaphors and clichéd sentences, feet never stopping, carrying me to the playground.
Bent, drunken trees, all quiet and defeated, leer at me as I pass by. They know that they will have to survive another cruel winter without their usual green plumage and feathery companions to sing their sweet songs. I try my best to ignore the nagging melancholy that exudes from them, but their self-pitying sadness annoys me to no end.
“You think this is bad?” I tell them. There isn’t any reply; and I certainly did not expect them to answer me back. “You bastards. You’ve only got three months or so of loneliness until you blossom again, with even more of those leaves. If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”
I shake my mop of pathetic bristle that tried to pass off as normal human hair, disgusted at their evident wallowing. “You don’t even need leaves to survive, for Christ’s sake! If you truly knew what constitutes real loss, then I’ll be damned!
“You at least can have your lovely leaves back soon, you ungrateful idiots. You will never know how awful it is to be alone and unloved by those you love the most. Now straighten up and be a man!” I shout, noticing with detachment that my hands were clenched, fingernails digging painfully into old scars.
A stray dog derisively snorts at my over-dramatic insults, and shows a tree just what it thought of their species. I turn around, not wanting to see it do its business, and continued on my walk to the kiddies’ playground. The autumn wind howls like a beast in pain, but my feet continues to trudge onwards and onwards though places and sights that I haven’t seen in quite a while. Years, in fact.
Clovelly Primary, the unnamed ice cream parlour ‘round the bend, Jon’s Video Game Box and other shops all already forgotten stand silently, dreading the arrival of the chilly rain. Memories pop out of nowhere and drown me slowly but surely, and I know that I will degrade into nothing but that once-man slaving away in the newsstand if I keep on reminiscing of days spent and pennies spent on zonking zombies out of existence and licking ice creams and dirty fingers clean.
The town bell clangs once, twice, three times, reminding me that I have already spent a whole hour wandering the streets while looking like the archetypical adolescent boy with his faded sneakers that suspiciously look like fake Converse.
I pick up my pace, passing toy shops and boutiques already populated with giggling girls this early in the morning. The too-vivid memories and figments of my imagination do not bother me, and I almost start whistling (who was it that taught you how to whistle? It slyly says. Damn, stop it---).
The gentle creaking of the swings greets my arrival, and the playground looks much shabbier than the one imprinted into my mind. It isn’t much; with only a roundabout, two swings, some slides and a seesaw that could barely fit two small children on it, even the playpen in the nursery-cum-kindergarten looked more fun.
But it is just right for someone like me; and I stood on the edge, feet standing in the very place I once stood a whole lifetime ago. From here, you can see the view pretty well; those unnamed hills still looms over the playground, casting shadows all around and giving the whole place a sense of melancholy, as if they knew once-children would defile and graffiti this place of innocence.
Shut up, brain.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
“You are going to live with some relatives in Clovelly, right after the funeral,” the woman from Child Welfare fixed her cold, uncaring eyes on you.
In retrospect, it was the best thing anyone could have done. There wasn’t much to bury anyway; your drunkard of a father made sure that both him and Mum would be enclosed in a casket instead of a normal coffin when he drove the car right off the cliff. Pretty much no-one was left on both sides of your family, and the responsibility of bringing up a somewhat troublesome boy naturally fell onto the frail shoulders of your Great-Aunt Matilda.
Of course, you did not appreciate being forced to spend the rest of what remained of your childhood and the beginning of my adolescence with a senile old bird who seemed not to understand the nature of young boys.
“I told you, I’m already eleven years old! I don’t play in playgrounds anymore, Aunt!” you insisted and sulked all the way to the supposed brand-new Clovelly Playground.
She peered at you through her half-moon spectacles, and said firmly, “It’s perfect for a small boy your age, dear. Beside, you’d get to know new friends!”
And there you two stood, on the edge of the crowded playground, mums and dads all watching on as their children frolicked in the lazy afternoon sunshine, looking more content and happy than the children themselves.
“Go on, Oliver,” Aunt Matilda gave you a gentle push, and you complied, though not willingly.
A boy, who looked around your age, boldly came up to you, his mousey hair tousled; curiously peering at the new boy in town. “Hullo! I’m William, Will for short,” he held out a hand and a grin that seemed to be stretched all over his face. “What’s your name?”
“Oliver.” you whispered, shyly looking at the ground, your face slowly flushing.
“So Oliver,” he laughed, clapping you on the back, “Would you like to fly?”
Your eyes bulged out of my eye sockets. “Fly? Really?”
You had always wanted to fly, especially after watching a documentary about the Wright brothers. Grown-ups had either implied or straight out told you that it was impossible, unless you study hard and become a pilot. But here it was, a boy you had just met offering me a chance to see the sky, and how could you refuse?
Will winked. “Course you can.” Turning serious, he said, “But can you figure out where the Evening Star is? My Pa’ says that we pilots have to figure out some constellation-thingamajigs to navigate or something.”
You immediately deflated. “No.”
“S’okay! I’ll teach you how,” and he grabbed your hand, pulling you down the streets to his “secret hideout” to teach you the secrets of the stars.
Will’s “secret hideout” turned out to be nothing than a big cherry tree with an alarmingly large rabbit-hole in the back. And as he pulled you up the tree, you were blushing like a ninny (as Will would describe it years from then), your skin tingling at the touch of his hand against yours.
That kicked off what seemed a close and everlasting friendship, with mornings at school kicking football, afternoons at Jon’s Video Game Box zapping ugly monsters and evenings up in your cherry tree, watching the stars turn.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
The once gaily painted swings looks even more dull under the gloomy sky, but it, in its decrepit state, still lull me forward to sit in its wings. I start rocking to and fro, not really caring whether my feet would leave the ground, and a hand sneaks my secret out of my back pocket.
The lighter ignites, and the bittersweet scent of menthol cigarettes fills the air. Puffs of smoke swirl towards the sky as I inhale and exhale, fingers tipping the dust onto the ground; I swing lower and lower, until my feet rests right on the dirt and ashes.
It does not matter to me as I stamp out the last embers of my cigarette. No-one would sweep the playground anyway; it was probably abandoned as children grew up and became the young, violent men and women of tomorrow.
As if reminding me of the childhood I had left behind, a paper aeroplane soars with the wind and does an emergency landing right at my feet.
Who was it that taught you to fold paper airplanes, Oliver?
This time, I didn’t bother to reply.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
“Oliver!” Will panted your name out loud as he raced up to walk with you after school, sending shivers down your spine in a very good way. “Do you remember what day it is?”
Of course you remembered; he’d been going on and on about it a whole month ago. “It’s the summer solstice,” you obediently answered, smiling at the prospects of the special ceremony you two were going to do.
He showed you that (in)famous grin of his, a hand sneaking up into that unruly mess of chocolate hair which would last perpetually into his late teenage years. “Right as always!”
A bubble of happiness welled up in your throat. If only you could reach out and hold his hand once more --- then everything would be perfect. Even then, a F-minus on your book report didn’t pull you down; you practically bounced along with Will to your cherry tree.
You two had been preparing for days for Midsummer. Delicate paper lanterns, lit up with real candles, hung on each and every branch of the cherry tree; all depicting the day when you and Will would finally fly, with Leo saluting and leading the way. Your Aunt’s delicious cranberry tarts were securely sheltered in a hollow decorated with bits and pieces of crepe paper (stolen from the arts and crafts lessons at school). And last but not least, a set of crayons and some lined notepaper hastily torn from school notebooks waited for the both of you at the very top.
As soon as the sun set, you two crept out of the rabbit-hole, leaving your piles of homework behind (which could fit more than just two young boys inside).
“You sure this’ll work, Will?” you hesitantly ask while slinging a leg over a particularly prickly branch.
He pulled himself up and reached for the paper and crayons. “Course it will. If we wish hard enough,” he grunted, “Anything can and will happen.”
Your heart suddenly accelerated its pumping. “Anything? Anything I wish for?”
“Sure. Anything, even flying with the aeroplanes.”
What Will didn’t know, was that there was actually something that you wanted even more than flying. And as you drew the image of your deepest wish onto the paper, trying not to let Will see, you found yourself chanting out loud, “Please work, please work, please work,”.
Your best friend mistook it as a sign of how desperate you were for flying. “Careful there, mate!” he laughed, delighted at your enthusiasm, “Don’t over-do it, or else this wish’ll be jinxed.”
You gave him a hopeful smile. “I won’t.”
And two pairs of hands deftly folded the pieces of paper into Nakamura Locks, enveloping the supposedly twin wishes inside, hands already used to creasing and bending, manipulating plain paper into twin aeroplanes ready to carry dreams and wishes to whoever that would grant them.
Unfortunately, none of those wishes ever were granted.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
I fiddle with the paper aeroplane in my hands, suddenly not quite interested in my cigarettes. All it really did was calm my frazzled nerves, but the voice in my head slithers out, enticing me to take the apple from its scaly tail. Open your eyes, it hisses. Damn angels and how things have to go their way somehow.
On a whim, I open the crinkled piece of paper, making it bare all its dirty secrets to me. Yet it is not what I had expected; no swear words angrily scratched, no scribbled quadratic equation.
Two crayon matchstick figures held hands, their puckered-up mouths awkwardly touching. A red heart encircled the bright-eyed lovers, and beside the crude picture were words so eerily similar that they echoed wishes made long ago --- “Jim <3 Alexa forever and ever!”.
A cigarette falls from my curled talons.
Icarus, try your wings.
It is time.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
It was four years after that fateful Midsummer’s Day, four years since you’ve been gathering the courage, the thrift needed to push you up into the sky or down to the ground. Four years since you’ve known better. Four years since your wish had grown more and more desperate.
“Will?” You loved the sound of his name against your undeserving lips.
He looked at you. “What, man?”
God, how stunning he looked in the dimming sunlight. Those high cheekbones, so pale and fair; how you longed to brush your fingers across them, feel the gentle softness of his skin. His emerald eyes that drew you in, stunning boys and girls, so gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous---
“Oliver? Hello, Earth to Oliver?” A strong hand waved in front of your eyes, breaking your trance, forcing you to notice the red plumpness of his full lips, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he talked---
You were dazed like a damn lovesick fool, and all your senses focused on what made Will so…Will. “Damn this,” you muttered, and bent down and pressed your cracked lips to his flabbergasted ones.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
The sudden pain hits me like a punch to the gut; it sends me reeling, queasy, and all I want to do is to retch all my memories and paper aeroplanes down onto the alphabet-gravel ground.
Stop it, I beg the voice, it’s enough.
No-one replies, and I see with detachment that my hands are struggling to light the cigarette, but it fails anyway.
Stop this whining, it whispers, and face it like a man. Like those trees.
Fly like Icarus, and soar.
I am pulled back into the cesspool of broken hearts, snapshots and rabbit holes of my own will.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
It was like finally drinking water after eons of drought, and unlike what most pop songs claim, his lips did not taste like honey and milk, but rather of marshmellows and vanilla.
It did not upset you when he finally pushed you away; you were in this dreamy, kaleidoscope world with only you and him and Oliver and Will and no one else.
“What the hell, Oliver---“ he started to protest, but you shushed him, determined to tell him the very thing you knew so long ago, on that playground.
“I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me, but I just want you to know this, Will.” You took a deep breath, mustering all that was left in your soul, and said those three words. Never before had you bared your soul, with its lurid fantasies and dark nightmares, to someone so openly; much less declare a confession that felt like a death note stuck to the back of your throat.
Things went downhill soon after that.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
I swear I could have heard something break inside me when those translucent salty (unmanly) tears finally slid out of my eyes and onto my cheeks, blurring both my sight and the two matchstick lovers’ kiss.
Hands shaking and crumpling the damned paper, I gulp down howls and watch my claws clench onto the former paper aeroplane.
Fly, Icarus; this is not yet the end.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
Days passed with him not caring and you so ashamed. Nothing happen between you and him; at least, that’s how Will wanted it to be. Of course you cowered and obeyed his will, because you were afraid that he would turn his back on you and then--- what then?
“Can you see Orion's Belt?” Will said nonchalantly, handing the binoculars over. He hadn’t said your name out loud ever since last time.
There was absolutely nothing in the sky. “Sure I can,” you said.
He did not ask where like he always used to, with freckles stretching all over his face, but what else could you do? All you wanted was to recover a tenth of your lost friendship. It was your fault, your fault, your fault. If you hadn’t kissed him, if only you hadn’t fell for him, if only you’d never met him --- and that thought torments you even more.
As you drifted off in your head, an oh-so-familiar but now so strange voice broke you out of your reverie. “I’m seeing Ashleigh right now,” Will said, flipping through one of the many books about constellations. “She sure is a hot babe, just like you said.”
He threw his head back and laughed, laughed in that special way only William Rossi could. You cherished the jingling sound of it once, but now it was the ugly death knell.
You knew that he could see the tears sliding down your face, but it was way past the times when you could buy him an ice-cream and give him one of your most treasured trading cards and sit together in the afternoon without thinking of his lips against yours.
Despondent, you let yourself slide down the tree, and Will lets you go anyways. Nothing was left after that damn kiss; you and him knew it as clearly as the mocking grey sky.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
I once heard from some teachers at school that a man can only truly know what kind of man he is through enduring pain and strife. Funny how they ended up teaching a bunch of kids that couldn’t understand, sneaking the odd cigarette in the teachers’ lounge without the principal knowing. Their hands shake each and every time they take their precious drug out of their back pockets, just like how my hands are now.
This is it, I told myself, no more walking down that damned memory lane. Icarus has flown and fell. The curtain has fallen, the play has ended and Eve has eaten her apple.
Distraught tremors quiver under my skin, and I lift up the lighter, knowing what my final task here in this closed playground would be. The cogs turn and wheels push against each other, but the voice comes to me a last time.
Icarus, you are not finished yet.
A final memory awaits.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
It is still Midsummer, a whole lifetime away. You swing your bare legs along to the rhythm of the tune that Will is humming, and you ask him, “What is love, anyways?”
He stops whistling and gives you a bug-eyed look. “Love is love, idiot. There’s no explanation. It was and is and always will be, existing even before Time. Not even the Evening Star can stop it from happening. In a sense it’s kinda like fate, I guess. You can't get to the bottom of it, you know what I mean?”
Just like the way the sun always shines in his hair, you think to yourself. Just like the way he grins and makes a distant ball of swirling gas only a small spot on the vast expanse of blue canvas dotted with millions of stars.
It doesn't make any damn sense.
ஜ♠♥♣♦ஜ
The first few drops of rain splatter on my hoodie, but I ignore their wretched dampness as I fold the paper aeroplane as neatly as I can, even though it was just crushed and squashed to bits mere moments ago. “Goodbye,” I whisper, and with all the strength I could, I throw the Nakamura Lock into the murky sky, with wishes so many I doubt the aeroplane can hold it in.
It sort of drops to the ground as I let it go, but the breeze catches its wings, setting it off shakily, reminding the aeroplane that it still has a long way to go until it finally completes its sacred mission.
I am comforted by the fact that this plain, quickly fashioned messenger is not alone; the accompanying rain will send it on its way, and with a bit of luck, the paper aeroplane will soar long enough to reach the horizon and perhaps, the end of a rainbow.
Spoiler! :
I'm a sucker for heartbreak, and the story was just so well-crafted. Your imagery is vivid and your writing style is fresh and exciting. All in all, this is amazing. 
>
As I've said, I'll be taking this part by part because it's so long; before I give you an overall opinion. 
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