Letters from Little Rock, Postcards from New Albany

Looking out the window, with Colorado gliding past and underneath her, she followed the progress of a plane, a glint in the distance, jet wake bright beneath the stars, descending towards Denver, plunging into the cumulus, like the faithful into a dream. She watched clouds describe snowdrifts on the moon, smiled as she spun an image in her mind’s eye: The elf-queen thrust her wings behind her as Bradlien, shot through with the goblin’s arrow, fell away, into the shimmering fog. She sped towards her wounded love, hope and despair billowing behind her.

She would make a fine elf. Something to think about if accounting wasn’t exciting her after a few years – and what are the odds of that? She imagined showing up to the Monday 10 o’clock in a black pantsuit and a pair of small, tasteful, but obviously powerful, translucent wings. With matching pale lavender eye shadow. Just a hint. Tasteful. She snickered quietly. The adolescent sitting next to her prayed to God she wasn’t laughing at the small erection he’d been trying to hide since he’d boarded, and he shifted his backpack up onto his lap nervously, fumbling for headphones.

Would hat-head be a decent trade-off for the power of flight? Because you’d need a hat. The laughter that followed caused a dull ache to creep into her temples. She groaned quietly. I bet elves don’t worry about hangovers. I bet elves booze up and careen around the sky and wake up underneath a tree, or passed out in the upper branches, covered in pixie dust and puke, sporting tattoos of mysterious origin, whooping in anticipation of their next airborne bender.

She asked for some water, and caught a nervous glance from her rowmate as he handed it down. “Thanks,” she said, trying a small smile. The tightening in his pants lessened suddenly. He stopped drumming the lid of the CD case perched on his tray table. He glanced sideways at her, incredulous. He pulled his hands down, gripped the armrests his rowmates had surrendered early in the flight. She smiled again, and toyed with the possibility of torturing this boy for the last 2 1/2 hours to San Francisco. He closed his eyes carefully and forced himself to think of cold, wet, uncomfortable places.

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