Michael’s Broken Wing
On my travels I’d always have my eye out for that special something. Her angels were all broken, having only one wing. Nothing could be, would be, more perfect than a new angel given with love by me. She would hang them on the Christmas tree or place them in her display cabinet and know I was thinking of her every time she looked at them.
The first crystal angel with wings trimmed in gold was truly beautiful and the perfect spontaneous gift of a lover fiancee. Her heart would know that she was never far from my thoughts. In less than a week I saw the sad figurine laying on its side with one broken wing. I felt terrible, but knew I couldn’t simply replace it. The crystal work was one of a kind. I endeavored to find another even more beautiful.
The second angel was indeed more beautiful and had many identical friends, so if that symbol of my love were damaged I could quietly replace it and no tears need fall. Within a day of my new gift I found it on its side with one broken wing. At this point I was proud of my foresight and quickly obtained its replacement. With luck she would never notice and that symbol would remain intact for all to see. I had it in place before she returned from work and went about making her favorite meal for supper. She was addicted to my pizza made from scratch - the sauce being the true secret ingredient.
When she returned home from work she stood before her glass cased curio cabinet seemingly transfixed, but her expression was dark and distant. A difficult day at work no doubt. Her favorite meal would cheer her up, but she picked at the food and spoke very little. I asked about her day and her expression lightened up. Her day had been wonderful and her appetite suddenly returned leaving no trace of the meal on her plate.
The following morning was a shock. The replaced angel lay on its side with one broken wing. Like all the others it was the left wing that was broken off. I noted something more disturbing. With all the angels old and new the left wing had been broken off in a manor that seemed rather expertly done. In each case the break was made so cleanly, leaving no trace of the cleaved wing. I began to fear this was a message meant for me to see. Her heart could be changing, or another man may have touched her soul. I picked up another angel and returned home at lunch to replace the broken one. I had a plan to find out the why/the what this series of odd events could mean.
That night I lay as if sleeping. I was determined not to fall asleep. Shortly past midnight she slipped out of our bed. Her motion was so subtle and graceful that if I had not been awake to see it I would never imagined the stealth and practiced care. Yes she was talented in the art of slipping out. My heart was beating fast fearing what I might find following her on this secret journey. The trip was a short one, at first to my relief, but more ominous the destination did become.
She stood before the curio cabinet naked. She made no effort to seek out a hidden stash of clothes or don a robe. I knew many men in our apartment building who would have her given the chance, but this was not some hidden affair. She simply stood there for more than twenty minutes. Like a human statue become catatonic. Then with that same subtle grace she opened the cabinet and took hold of the new angel. Without seeming effort or consideration she cleanly broke off the left wing and returned the angel to lay on its side inside the cabinet. I knew I would confront her. I had to know this hidden side of her as well. I couldn’t wed a stranger.
When she turned toward our bedroom she saw me standing there, no shock or remorse on her face, but the expression was completely foreign to me. It was as if the the woman before me was some other person. I asked her one simple question, “why?” She grinned a childlike grin and said, “they’re not perfect, they cant be perfect. I can’t have perfect.” Her voice was that of a little girl. There is no acting skill nor talent that could have taught her how to act like this child. She was truly a child before me. Within a moment there was a new expression also fully defined and different, “Hey asshole, hows it hanging?” I was completely speechless. Shock would have been a mild description of my state of mind at that moment.
I immediately knew what I was witnessing, but the physical shock held me a very long moment. My fiancee had more than one personality and a few had come out to play. Throughout that evening they each emerged and introduced themselves to me. 27 distinct personalities who all agreed that I was a lovely girl. Yes among her many eccentricities she couldn’t refer to me in the masculine. I learned that I was the only acceptable one, because I too, had one broken wing.
