paper has wings
Bats don’t fly at the day for they don’t have the courage to be seen. With the inch worth of space, Sal peeked at the little creature flying about by the gardens with only their strange silhouettes giving away their form and presence. Perhaps it was not a bird, but a bat that will be her messenger for this moment.
The sun had long bid its goodbye and shadows danced in the moonlight, flitting towards the room. A dim lamplight sat on the floor, its light hidden from the window and the door through the angle her bed had stood. Sal curled up to the little space she could afford herself, under the bed. As she set down the ink and proceeded to write a letter, she reviewed all the obscure and technical documents she chanced upon her readings.
It is my request to your good office that my son be excused from his studies-
My son. It did not roll well in the mouth. The Signor always called people by their title first, name second. Sal cringed at the words. How unfamiliar they were. She slapped the paper away and picked up another sheet from her under her bed and proceeded to repeat everything from the beginning.
It is my request to your good office that the student, Napoleon Felix Cuorre, be excused from his studies…
Sal proceeded to finish the letter, but she couldn’t bring herself to write the Signor’s signature. How foolish it was. She scrawled in the air, a vague recalling of an almost undecipherable name. She set down to write, but cannot come to st it down to paper.
A shadow passed by the corner of Sal’s eye and the first instinct was to hide. However, she stayed put and waited in her place, only to see that the shadow was a bat that had just flown too close to the window,a hapless creature like that scaring her. Harmless it was, like a bird. Bats are creatures of cowardice but at least they had wings to fly.
Sal scrawled the Signor’s signature. Turning off the lamp, she marched by the windows, moonlight shining in her steps. She placed the letter in the slit just under the bintanillas. Will it be found? Ah, yes. Choices are only for the brave, for the blessed, but for now it was nice to delude herself.
Sal stood by the window and willed herself to open the windows an inch wider than she used to. A strip of green and blue peeked from the window, a view that she has seen and can fully imagine before. Sal traced a finger on the sight, from the blue of the skies to the green of the gardens. She set her hands on the windowsill and breathed in the slight breeze standing exactly like the illustration of a waiting princess in the woodblock print of a fairy tale.
“I will see my brother again.” She whispered into the air. She glanced at the view outside and the airiness left her words. At the sound of wheels whirring, Sal collapsed to the ground at reflex. But no, who knows who was in that carriage? Oleon would not want to see her curled up like a child with her hands on her ears like a child afraid of thunder.
Sal stood tall, as she peeked to the garden. Slowly, suited and top hatted figures emerged from the carriage. Sal gripped the windowsill, leaning ever so closely to get a look. Soon, the ruckus died down.
Sal sat by the table by the window, sitting upright like how a proper lady should be and her hand clasped on top of the table. She imitated pictures she’s seen and sometimes, how the maid carries herself with her unusually elegant aura. Three knocks came by the door. The key turned. Sal held her breath in anticipation.
A long wooden cane hit her arm as soon as the door opened. Sal turned to see the Signor, holding himself up on the cane with that grim, sharp look. She has never seen his face properly, until now. It actually stung harder than the pain in her arm.
The Signor placed Sal’s veil by the table and she quickly donned it on herself, trying to displace the image she had seen of his face. By the half of her sight, she could see the man holding a crumpled paper by his left hand.
“What did you do?”he said. It was low, whispered, as if said through gritted teeth.
Sal kept her head down. Respect your elders. Do not talk back. They know what’s right. She was only a girl.
“Interfering in a man’s business is never your right. He had a path set for him and you do not aid him in his folly. A man’s business is left to a man alone.”
“I am duly sorry.” The words came out blank, monotone. No choking of words or sobs like true sadness would entail, but something weighed down on her chest
“I will not let you continue shaming the Cuorre name.”
No sorrow, no sadness. No tears. Wood met wood as the Signor tapped his cane and turned.
“The good Lord Castiglione must be informed that there would be no wedding to take place. His nephew would be very much relieved.”
Everything dissolved into a blur. All the noises melding together as the weight pounded on her chest. At the door’s close, Sal looked at her hands. They were not trembling as she thought they would. Red nail marks glared on her arm as it felt like itching to get ahold of something. This is not sadness or guilt. Surely, it was not.