Learning to Fly

Chapter 1—A Ribbon of Black

Into the distance, a ribbon of black—Pink Floyd, “Learning to Fly”


She was floating. Drifting in the light that surrounded her, and all was peaceful. All was good. Love shimmered in the air around her, and she wallowed in its purity. She was loved, not for being what she was or what was expected of her, but for just herself. She never realized how many strictures were placed on her, how many sacrifices she made, until now.

She was touched, and touched others around her. It made her feel good that she could be known for who she was.

Another came close, and she was enveloped in the warmth of mother’s love. She wanted to cry, but there was no pain, just the knowing, and she reached for the first time to touch a soul nearby. She sent her love into the touch, and they drifted together for a time, watching the scenes of life unfold before them.

She missed them. All of them. Especially him. But there was no place for feelings like that here. No room for regret. There was only peace, love, joy, and she couldn’t help but feel a little smothered by all the good. There was more to it than good and bad, she thought rebelliously, but there was nobody to hear her thoughts. There was only her.

There was no boredom, but somehow it seemed too placid and peaceful here. She questioned becoming a higher being, and it seemed that she was thought to be too young, too new for the job. She acquiesced, because there was no fighting here. There was only peace.

Her mind kept drifting back to where she left and the people she left behind. The rebel in her wanted to be back there, fighting the good fight, but there was no room for that here in a place of goodness and light.

They were allowed to watch the happenings of where they’d been, but most didn’t. It was all she did. She watched the people she loved fall apart, relying on alcohol and sex to numb them from reality. She watched her sister as she tried to reconcile the sacrifice. She watched the Watcher as he first tried to crawl into the bottle in Sunnydale, then left for England to crawl in the bottle there.

She watched the soulless one, as he cared for her home, her sister, her friends, and all she left behind. She watched him closely. After a while, she only watched him and her sister. The others…they just didn’t. Didn’t keep promises made, didn’t care, and didn’t seem to miss her. She didn’t dwell on it.

It made her happy, seeing him like that. Loving, caring. Good. She never thought of him as good, until she could see him. Really see him. She saw inside his heart, and saw the love and goodness there, and she wanted to cry for her loss, but there were no tears here.

Life went on without her, and she didn’t have any choice. She was here. Life was there. It didn’t feel right, but it was, and that was her only balm.

But even in the mist and cushion of the ultimate reward, she wasn’t at peace. She could never be at peace. There was too much left undone, and too much she’d left unsaid.

It didn’t surprise her in the least to feel a tug from the other side. The tug turned into a strong, magical pull, and she would have panicked, but there was no place in this realm for panic, either. It pulled her out of the peace and love, and yanked her back to the plain she came from; back to the people who said they loved her.

She almost hated them, but that wasn’t possible here either. She settled for indifference to them.

Her soul was pulled and yanked and tugged toward the thin ribbon of darkness that had appeared in the mist, and she let herself go. Tired of fighting, tired of conflict, tired of everything, she let herself be dragged along toward what waited for her on the other side.