I Remember Wind

A girl travels through life, listening to the innocence of the wind.

Arms flung wide, eyes closed, I spin. Wind races around me, going on about all kinds of ridiculous things. I laugh and relish the taste of sweet firework smoke. Aunt Sarah points me out to mum and I spin faster to show how good I can do it. The world tips and I fall to the grass cackling. Brushing against my skin, the wind urges me up. On my feet. Run. Jump. If I just go faster I can fly, I know it. Older children are throwing pops at each other’s feat. Adults are sitting around or carrying more fireworks out to the field. I wish they’d move out of the way. When it’s not the Fourth of July the Marrens’s farm is perfect for flying.

‘Hey,’ Dave catches my hand, his face flushed. ‘They’re bringing out more food.’

We run back together and I tell him to jump with me. To put all his effort into it. We kick off, reaching up, nearly touching the sky. Dave falls to the grass, breathing hard and I race on. My mother catches my hand and passes me two bowls of Jell-O and marshmallow salad, a large brownie perched on top. I bring one to Dave. We eat and mumble and watch as more fireworks shriek into the air. The first bursts into a brilliant gold and the second a shining green. If dad would let me stand under them I’m sure I could catch some.

One of the Marren boys calls for a coke but his brother just laughs at him. Sticky hands pulling at blades of grass, I watch them call to each other and wonder why he won’t do it. A piercing scream flies into the sky and shatters into red sparks. I scowl at the dark outline of my father. Mum hates the screaming ones.

 

Recess is inside today. It doesn’t look any colder than usual but the air is frigid six inches away from the window. Wind scatters snow across yesterday’s frozen crust and makes the gap between window and frame whistle. I whisper back, sending my breath through the cracks.

‘I can’t play today,’ I apologise. ‘I’ll come out after school.’

The wind talks back in a happier note. Turning away, I’m faced with a classroom of thirty-two other children. They build towers, do puzzles, flip through picture books. Mrs. Scott crouches beside a small group, colouring with them. Dave is out sick and I am alone.

A blue line in the carpet is a balance beam and I follow it carefully. One foot in front of the other, I walk a rectangle around the room. I’ve known everyone here my whole life but none are my best friend like Dave. On the seventh pass I pause by Ashley who leafs through a book, alone like me.

‘What are you doing?’ I plop down next to her.

‘Reading, duh,’ she snaps. What does ‘duh’ mean? Nothing good. With a tight stomach and sick heart, I continue my balancing. People can be mean and I wonder why.

 

Fifteen out of the thirty-four graduates in my class leave for college. The summer was filled with graduation parties and I’m sure I’ve put on my freshman ten before even starting classes. Without telling anyone a dozen people show up the day I pack the old red pickup. Each one has brought a mountain of food. It’s a cure-all for my mother’s separation sickness, my homesickness, and the high prices of the city.

‘You call me,’ I command Dave, hugging him so tight he can’t answer. When I release him he sucks in a breath, nodding.

‘You don’t forget us, city-girl. I expect you back for Thanksgiving.’

My sister hugs me, crooked so as to avoid squashing her pregnant belly. The show of affection starts my mother up again. She dabs at her eyes with a damp handkerchief and her friend pats her shoulder. Mrs. Small catches my hand and tells me again that I don’t need to bring the container back. Everything is so expensive in the city I’ll need it. Surely I’ll manage to pay rent just because she’s given me the container she’s had for ten years.

With a clap on the back from my father and a forceful hug from my mother, I get in the pickup. It’s one of the weirdest moments of my life, having a crowd stand there, waving at me, waiting for me to drive down the street. I go, full of relief and excitement. Windows down, wind roaring approval in my ears, I head down Main Street and out of town. An hour later I’ve passed through the closest excuse we have for a city and I’m farther than I’ve ever been away from home. The wind presses against my cheek and I know that it can’t be that bad, growing up.

Three states later I’m wishing there was a food to cure a stomach ache. I shove the offending container of rice crispy bars into the back. A red light, thank God. It’s the only time I dare blink, surrounded by this mad city traffic. It feels like an electric current is running through me. There’s little difference between night and day. Car lights, traffic lights, shop lights drown out the stars. Even at nine-thirty there’s a crowd on the street and everything is still open. The wind flits through my half open window, too hot for the end of August. How can it find somewhere to fly with all these achingly tall buildings? What is that smell? The reek brings nothing to mind. Regretfully, I roll up the car window, cutting the wind off from me.

I swear I’ve gone down this street a half a dozen times but who’s to say? This time I manage to spot a sign pointing to the College, hidden among a dozen others. It leads to another and another and when at last I find the College it’s only another opportunity to get lost. It’s as big as my whole town and with three times as many people. Roads and buildings and pedestrians keep in the car another hour. At last I find the right car park. Grabbing a random container of food and an armful of bedding, I hurry into my dormitory building. Eight storeys. Taller than any building I’ve ever been in. I ride the elevator to the fifth and find my dorm. It’s empty, my roommate still not moved in. I dump my stuff on the nearest loft, climb up and drop into sleep.

In the morning I struggle down to my car alone, terrified at being constantly crammed besides dozens of other people. Young men and women who won’t make eye contact, have no idea of personal boundaries and smell of a hundred different perfumes. None of them introduce themselves, or ask how I am or offer to help me move in. The city is a different world entirely. I burst out of the building and gasp in a breath of air. City stench makes me cough. A tendril of wind brushes my cheek but has nothing comforting to say. I find my car among hundreds of others and stand in the road, stunned. Empty. I slide my key into the driver’s side door for the first time and lock it. Shock is giving way to tears and I wonder why someone would do something so hurtful.

 

I’ve got the hang of it. My second year of teaching is going great. The students are playing indoors today. Gluing and colouring and huddled around the computer to try and get a turn. Vivian from next door agrees to keep an eye on both of our classes for a few minutes so I can run to the bathroom. I pause, one hand on the bathroom door. At the end of the hallway a large window looks out onto the front of the school, to the parking lot where busses wait at the end of the day. A small silhouette is outlined by the bright blizzard outside.

Walking up quietly, I stand behind the unfamiliar girl. She whispers an apology, one hand on the freezing glass. Outside the wind howls. I cough. Guiltily, the girl turns around. A word from me and she hurries back to class. I half turn to go to the bathroom but a feeling nags at me. Frowning at the window, I try to tell what it is. Nothing. I shake it off. Hopefully that wind will die off. I don’t want to be scraping ice off the windshield in that.

 

Two weeks and I’m still in the hospital. Today’s paper headlines an appeal for witnesses in a murder, a cop in critical condition after being shot and a ‘people smuggler’ jailed. None of it surprises me. I finger the edge of the paper with a frown and wondered when I became so disillusioned with the world. The neighbouring building blocks most the view but smaller buildings are stacked behind it. How terribly tall I thought all the buildings when I first came to the city. What if I hadn’t come? What if I’d stayed behind with Dave in the small town and always believed the world was good. That people didn’t steal, or put each other down or refuse to help.

Unhooking the tangle of wires, I pushed the blankets from me. Drawn by the tattling wail of the machine, a nurse hurries in. I want to go outside? Oh, heaven forbid I use my body while I can. Alright, a wheelchair and an orderly. He’s a middle-aged man who tucks a blanket around me. I laugh at the thought of his hands straying. If I were fifty years younger I’d have slapped him away.

It’s late August and the chill makes me grin. Dried leaves scatter across the lawn and pathways and I tell the orderly to drive over as many as he can. He laughs with me and I remember running and jumping, flying with Dave. I remember wind. It’s joyous, scattering leaves into my way, tugging at my blanket, nipping at my fingers. Remember those times? It asks me. Remember when you were not afraid to talk to me? When you whispered to me through windows? When you let me mess your hair while you drove? Where have you been, little one? Young one? Innocent one?

It moves on, flying across the grass to where a girl spins. Her arms flung wide and her head thrown back. She laughs as her long hair is caught up and thrown across her face and the wind tells her nonsense. If only she could spin forever and never know harm. My crooked fingers tug at my hair tie. The orderly gently touches my hand and I nod. He slides the tie off and combs out my braid so grey hair falls past my shoulders. The wind catches it, tickles my face. It doesn’t know about murders and guns and human trafficking. Instead it tells me of bright fireworks, marshmallow salads, and dancing snow. I sigh and lean back in my chair, smiling as the wind kisses my eyelids.  

Author's Note

I'd really love to hear any comments, good and bad, on anything. However, I'm especially interested to know what you take away from the story, what it's about for you.