“This is ridiculous.”

I was standing on top of the wood-and-metal playground equipment at a nearby park. Behind me was a wheel attached to the wall, one that didn’t seem to do anything. And in front of me was a five-foot drop, where a slide went down to the ground.

Jen stood beside it, grinning up at me. “Yeah, it is! So what’re you waiting for?”

“Um.” I looked down at the dirt of the playground, and out at the trees and the buildings beyond. “I don’t know.”

“Just think happy thoughts … ” Jen spun around in circles, her arms stretched out to each side, as though she were a child herself.

A woman was walking a dog, on the sidewalk, and trying her best to ignore us. “ … right,” I said, sideying Jen.

She didn’t say anything else, so I held my arms — my wings — out, and tried to prepare myself. Could this really be it? Did I just have some secret desire to fly, and if I took care of it then this problem would go away?

Only one way to find out, I thought. I closed my eyes, and jumped.

I landed in a heap, just past the slide. Jen laughed, and I jumped back to my feet and brushed the dirt off myself frantically. I felt like my wings were dirty, and the fact that I couldn’t see how dirty they were just made things worse. “Not funny,” I said, swiping my hand through the air and feeling it brush off my feathers.

“I know what you need to do.” Jen was giving me a coy look.

“Oh?”

She held out her arms again, and flapped.

I rolled my eyes, but she protested. “I’m serious!”

“Hawks soar,” I told her, still cleaning my wings. “They don’t flutter.”

“You have to flap your wings to gain altitude, though.” Jen folded her arms.

I sighed. “Fine,” I said, and climbed the stairs back up to the slide. I was careful not to bump my wings on the side of the playground equipment.

One embarrassing leap later, I was in a heap on the ground again, for the second it took me to get up to my feet. “Told you,” I said, brushing my wings off again.

“Maybe you really do need to think happy thoughts,” Jen mused, one hand to her chin.

I ignored her.

As I climbed back up, sniffling in the chill air, something occurred to me. “How does this even work?” I asked, holding my arms out. “I’m wearing a coat, for goodness’ sake. These aren’t invisible wings, they’re imaginary wings.”

“Sometimes the change is all in your head,” Jen told me. “People have been known to have ‘phantom limb’ sensations before. But in a yokai’s case, you might see and feel yourself for what you really are before the physical changes start. And sometimes you only start to realize what you are after you’ve already been an animal for awhile.”

My heart turned cold, and I started to sweat. “That’s impossible,” I said, trying my best to believe it. “I’m wearing clothes that I couldn’t if I were a hawk.”

“Or when you wake up and realize what you are, you might also realize you’ve got slits cut in them for your wings and tailfeathers. That you blocked out the act of making, because it wasn’t a part of your human life.”

I swallowed.

“Do you want me to take a picture of you with that app?”

I shook my head abruptly. “No. Please.” My heart was pounding. “I … can’t.”

“Okay, then.” She folded her arms, and watched me.

You know she’s right, my conscience told me. You know that there’s something to this.

“Then what should I do?” I asked myself, in my thoughts.

Just accept it. That’s the only way you’ll get through this.

My heart was still pounding, so hard that if those had been actual words I wouldn’t have heard them. It seemed to be going extremely fast, and for a second I wondered if I had a condition of some kind. Then I remembered that birds’ hearts beat much faster, and it jumped at that. I had to lean against the wall for support.

Oh man, I thought. Oh man.

“Are you okay?” Jen asked.

I nodded at her, with my eyes closed. Then I shook my head.

“Do you need any help?” She sounded worried.

I just shook my head again, quickly, trying to get myself through this. Whatever “myself” turned out to be.

I didn’t want to be a hawk. Not now, not in the real world. Not in college, not at my job, and not here in front of Jen. I wanted to be one in my world, the one that I dreamed about, where it was okay and not weird to be like this. Where it was just something you were, and not something you had to accept and accomodate. What was the point of being able to fly, when you had bills to pay and college loans stacked on top? And when you couldn’t actually fly anyplace without explaining how you’d gotten there?

What was the point of these wings at all? Where was the freedom? Where …

I slumped against the wall, clinging to it and sliding down to the floor. I felt trapped, shackled, claustrophobic all of a sudden. My wings brushed all up against the platform, but I could barely feel them.

Jen gasped. “Do we need to get you to the doctor?”

I shook my head, barely hearing her words. I knew how the hawk in me felt, now … I knew how I felt. I felt like I was in a cage. I felt like the whole world was a cage.

Just once, this new voice in me begged. Please, just once.

I nodded, slowly, rising to my feet. Holding onto the wall for support, and digging my claws into it. I didn’t look, but I brushed my hand over it afterwards, and I could feel the mark.

Jen said nothing as I stood there, holding my arms out, facing into the air with my eyes closed. I remembered what it looked like. I didn’t need to be able to see … it would just make this harder.

I imagined — I felt — the feathers on each wing, and the claws on my hands and feet. I felt them grip the wooden platform, and squeeze into my scaly palms. I could feel the wind rustle my headfeathers, and play over my beak. And my tailfeathers twitched, as I prepared to jump.

For an instant, I “knew” it would not work. But I set that aside. I chose to. I wasn’t jumping off of a cliff, or a second-story railing. I was only five feet off the ground. If this didn’t work I’d be embarrassed, not injured. So I could afford to keep my eyes closed, spread my wings out …

And fly.

It happened so fast. I was flapping my arms (my wings), and I realized I was supposed to be on the ground now but I wasn’t. And my heart was racing, and the wind was rushing past me, and I wasn’t touching anything, I was flying and I was in the air and it was only my wings that were holding me up. Then I realized it’d been a whole second and I was going to run into a tree, so I opened my eyes …

… and fell to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jen asked, running up to me. And I wasn’t; my knees had been skinned, through my pants, and I was wiping dirt and pine needles from my chin where I’d faceplanted. My hand came back with some blood on it, and I looked down and saw my hurt knees, and then they all started to sting.

I was still gasping for breath, still remembering the rush, still feeling the beat of my wings. Feeling my arms start to cramp. But I nodded to her anyway. “I’m okay,” I breathed … “I’m okay.”

And inside of me, my heart was still soaring.