He knew the time had come. Now that she was gone, nothing held him in this bare, cold city. He had lived in its cold embrace for too long. His body felt stiff, awkward as he climbed the stairs toward the roof. The moldering sheath he carried bumped against him rhythmically as he labored higher. He concentrated on the task, using it as an excuse to avoid thinking of her. It was a futile exercise; with each step, memories washed over him.
It was spring time, and he was sitting in the park studying the pigeons. He focused on the pattern of their feathers, and on the tiny motions they made in flight. He was sure that, if he concentrated hard enough, they would share their secrets with him. They had to. He was intently watching a fat gray pigeon waddle across the cold concrete when he became aware of the shadow. It stretched out next to his own, reaching toward the pigeon. Suddenly, the pigeons took flight, mocking his study as they gracefully flew away. The shadow gave a playful laugh, a sound reminiscent of a freshly melted brook. “I love to see the pigeons fly. When I watch them, I’m free, if only for a second.” And he loved her before he saw her face.
Now it was autumn, and leaves blew gently across the barren ground. He sketched the wing structure of a pale bird, attempting to capture its fragility and strength. The shadow was different now. Instead of standing, it sat next to him on the bench, merging with his. A baby’s soft cry broke the silence and the startled pigeons scattered, fleeing on the autumn breeze. And again he heard the laugh, “Your son longs for the freedom as much as you do.”
The harsh winter sun shone through the apartment window, but it lacked warmth. He looked at the shadows on the wall. His outline was dark, solid, but the other shadow was thin and faded. A pigeon landed on the ledge, claiming it as his own. His eyes rested on it, but he didn’t see it. A sharp cough from the bed alarmed the bird and it was quickly out of sight. The shadow spoke, softly and wistfully, “Soon I, too, will be free to fly like that.”
He opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped onto the roof. The sun struck his back, casting his shadow before him. It was dark, solid - and alone. He carefully lowered his burden to the roof, again using the motion to drive back the memories. He contemplated the sheath. It looked too small to encapsulate a lifetime of study. He slowly removed the apparatus. Thousands of gray feathers shimmered in the late afternoon sun. He strapped the wings to his back and moved toward the ledge. For the first time, he felt a twinge of uneasiness. His shadow stretched before him, distorted by folded wings. He carefully stepped onto the ledge.