Gabriella Earns Her Wings
Flash Fiction
The sunlit morning broke Gabriella’s sleep. The light came surging through the curtains. Her eyes flinched — she rubbed them to gain a clearer vision. The snow outside was beginning to melt and she played with the idea of getting dressed and heading to her favorite local café. She wanted to see if the waitress with the gray eyes and bouncy hair was working.
She hopped up from the bed, called to the electronic device that would play an endless stream of music on command, and within seconds, Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi echoed throughout the bedroom. She flitted from one side of the room to the other and flirted with her reflection in the mirror. The new boxer-briefs fit just right.
She slept topless. Always topless.
A quick shower, dabs of moisturizer on her face, arms, and legs and a mist of the chosen perfume for the day sprayed into the air — she walked through it hurriedly. It landed on her back.
Smelling like new heaven, Gabriella skipped out the door and up the block to the café. Before she could walk through the entrance, Gabriella saw her. — the vixen with the gray eyes and bouncy hair. Her eyes sparkled and her hair bounced from side to side. She was a masterpiece, unveiled and briefly shared with Gabriella and the world. Gabriella wanted to consume her but savor every bite.
She felt her heart thump — the beats quicken. She was someone else whenever she saw the waitress, someone else entirely. Everything in her thawed — she wasn’t as frozen. She loved the way this version of her felt — warm and inviting instead of cold and awkward. She was not this tyrant of a woman, bent on hurting others whenever she saw the waitress. No, she was a teddy bear, longing to be held.
Should she talk to her today? Should she ask her out?
She patted her pockets, smoothed her pant legs, and slipped a piece of gum in her mouth. She’ll order her usual — 16 oz. decaf double mocha with extra whipped cream and a cinnamon roll.
The waitress strutted over to her table, her voice, as smooth as silk, and an accent that could lure sinners into sainthood. Gabriella would do anything to be one of her righteous disciples.
The words came spilling out sloppily — chopped and flawed. The waitress caught them and turned to enter the order in the kitchen. Gabriella touched her hand and for a split second, they were connected.
A clap of thunder sounded. The sky turned a deep midnight blue. Gabriella felt her spirit lift from her body. She watched herself float to the main window outside the café. The waitress came back to the table and Gabriella was gone. She yelled at the window, she banged it with her frozen hands, but the waitress did not hear her. She shook her head and placed the coffee and cinnamon roll on the table, certain that Gabriella must’ve gone to the bathroom.
“Please, God! Please! I don’t even know her name! If I could just know her name, you can have me!”
And as if on cue to Gabriella’s request, the waitress penned a short poem and signed it, leaving her phone number as well. Gabriella placed her hands firmly on the window, tilted her head at an angle closest to the piece of paper, and zoomed in on the note:
mystery woman,
decaf coffee and a sweet tooth,
you'd be too much
for me, but I
don't care.
I have a sweet tooth
too.
— Tessa 456.789.2345
Tessa. Tessa. Tessa . . . Gabriella smiled a relieving and appreciative smile. She closed her eyes and wings sprouted from her back. They kissed the cold air and basked in the faint sunlight. Slowly, she flapped the wings to test them, then faster while angling for the best direction. Without another thought, she floated upwards, fading from view.
“Thank you, God. Thank you.”
©2020 Tremaine L. Loadholt
This story is part of the Prism & Pen fiction challenge, hosted on Crossin(G)enres. This week’s theme is ‘Melting Snow, Thawing Hearts’
