Last year, since I don't know when - not so long, two single hairs grew on my back, one on each shoulder blade. They were both the same length, about an inch, and the rest was smooth skin in every direction. My entire back, there wasn't another hair on it (except sparse sycronized clumps on my neck just below the hairline, but that doesn't count of course), and it was silky smooth like a seal, like baby's skin.
Girls would say, "Ew, what is that?" and pluck them both out, one at a time.
"Those are my angel wings! How'm I supposed to get back to heaven now?"
She'd laugh and I'd bite her soft on the neck so as not to leave a mark, and we'd make an afternoon of it.
I never cried. I was never sad or mad when they were plucked. They always grew back.
Then I went to Bali. A girl with a tender accent plucked them one by one. "These are like angel wings," she said, "on such a smooth back."
"How'm I supposed to get back to heaven now?"
"To heaven?" She laughed and bit me soft on the neck so as not to leave a mark and we made a night and a morning of it.
Heaven...
It was a small room in Bali. One bed, one bathroom, one fan. One desk with a chair and a mirror.
"Heaven..." she whispered in my ear. Then she turned and bent at the waist, both elbows on the desk, her breasts kissed the wood. She smiled at me in the mirror and said, "You're too bad to be from heaven." I held her in a tight grip, hard, just above the hips and she made a chorus sing in Argentine.
I've been back a month now and still have no wings on my shoulders. They won't grow back.
It's on a swingset I realize that it's not two wings I have now, but two angels to lead me, one on each side swinging with me. My two halves, I have.
Save a Capricorn.
See Aquarius.
I had, I had.
I follow them now, I just hope they don't lose me. Not ever.
