hanne williams-baron

i wasn't always like this. [[i didn't always have wings]] [[i didn't always have horns]]

I was born with smooth shoulderblades like anyone else. My mother, Isabel, and my father, George, loved me a fine amount. They took me to school in a beat-up Honda and packed me lunch every day. I had friends. I was loved. My teachers remembered my name: [[Cynthia]]

They just showed up one day. At first, I thought it was acne, felt the skin on my scalp being pushed up by something from inside. I thought it was pus, didn't know it could be something firmer, less give than a fluid. [[it was stone]]

//Cynthia.// I was named after a freight ship that passed my parents by on their first date. They were at the Port of Oakland watching cargo come in off the bay. Those kinds of boats don't usually have names. But then Cynthia came along: rusted and the kind of orange you see in a paint swatch, not real life. My parents could just make out the lettering from under the chipped exterior: Cynthia, Sister of Winds. My father said it knocked the air right out of him. And then, 9 months later, came me. And I gave him breath again. [[1]]

1. As a child, I was difficult. My parents loved me as best they could but it didn't make me any easier to handle. I broke vases on purpose. I scuffed the floor with my tennis shoes. I pulled out my hair in clumps, left the strands in my mother's shoes. I pricked my skin with nettles and whimpered through the night. I put worms in the salad. I took very long drinks of water, so long my parents feared I would choke. I kicked the cat. I locked the back door while my mother was in the garden. It gave me pleasure to see her stuck outside in the dirt. At Christmas, I hid under the dining table, stole napkins off guests' laps, sliced the scrounged cloth with a miniature Swiss army knife. I used the shreds to tie my patchy hair into small buns. I was creative and miserable in my belligerence. [[2]]

as i grew up, my misbehavior did too. what was once provocative was now just sad. i skipped class just to sit on the sidewalk and hold my breath. i stole cars just to drive to the port and look for sister ships. [[3]]

there weren't just two. that's a common misconception. they were small, no longer than my thumb, and there had to be at least eight, maybe ten, equidistant from one another like seeds in a row. they separated my scalp into two hemispheres, looked almost like a snipped halo. ten. ten horns, that's it. their tips were yellow and brittle, and when they first popped through i was afraid they'd dissolved when touched. [[but they stayed.]]

i was fifteen when the horns grew in. i wondered if it was punishment for my first blood, a sign from earth that i didn't deserve my body. my body -- my beautiful body. i can't help the way my curves look in the light, the way moonbeams bounce from my hips back into the sky. my sister says it distracts the men in my family. says they can't get work done when i walk around the house like //that//, and i know what she means. walking around like i'm supposed to be seen. my sister tells me a lot of things. she says: [[don't go out alone]] [[don't wear those jeans]] [[don't read that book]] [[don't sing that song]]

//you'll distract the sky// i go [[anyway]]

//you'll distract the sidewalk// i walk [[anyway]]

//you'll distract the library// i read [[anyway]]

//you'll distract the birds// i sing [[anyway]]

the wings came in slowly. i was sleeping worse than usual, turning over like a record in a gramophone. i noticed little spots on my sheets, thought there were bed bugs. [[then i found the first feather.]]

it wasn't that i wanted to be disobedient, just free. i started sleeping in the day and working in the night. it was a simple calculation: walk under the sun and face a world sequined with eyes or, slink under the cosmos and face no one but myself. i picked [[myself.]]

soon after i became nocturnal, my body began to change faster than i was prepared for. my fingernails softened, leaving my hands scared of heat and cold. my collarbone enlarged, leaving my chest with ridges instead of plain. my temples turned red, leaving my face a boiling plate. and then, soon after, [[my horns.]]

like i said - they lined my scalp from ear to ear, crossed over my head like a railroad track. i tried hiding them at first, put my pillow over my head as i slept through the day, wrapped a towel around as i ran to the shower. but my sister had questions. [[she always had something to say.]]

sister said, //why don't you let me braid your hair anymore?// //i know you go out at night, go dancing, do god-knows-what with those god-knows-who men, those men that look at you, you know, sissy, you know they see you even in the dark, don't you, don't you want your hair to look sweet if they're going to look?// [[i said no braids please no touching please no looking please sister no thank you sister just let me be]]

sister touched my horns without asking she reached for my head when i wasn't looking she said LOOK she said MISHA I SEE YOU she said MISHA YOU HAVE HORNS i run i run [[i run]]

as i ran, my body shifted more and more. soft fingers turned to soft arms. ridged chest turned to ridged shoulders. red temples turned to red neck. horns grew longer and longer, like branches of a [[yellow stone tree.]]

my head was so heavy now it lolled on my reddened neck like a large bell my arms were so soft they could not hold me my chest was turning to steel my face was beginning to steam [[i was something greater than a girl]]

there is a freedom that comes with ugly there is a kind of running you can only do at night there is a tree you can only climb if you are made of its branches [[i climb myself and i get close to the sky]]

from up here my body's mystery unfurls like a long scroll i was never meant to be seen i was never meant to be heard my sister was right: i was a distraction to a violent world i was a song to distract the birds from eating their own eggs i was a book to distract the library from the fire starting in its courtyard i was a pair of jeans to distract the sidewalk from the way bodies fell against it like snow the horns a gift a sign the truth of the body piercing through [[under the right light]]

what is a girl if not a sharpness horned and unknowable

it was purple and irridescent, like royalty. then the second: a pale orange, like a tangerine starburst. [[they were so beautiful i nearly cried.]]

I took them to my parents. They thought I was playing a prank; I wasn't usually so forthcoming. [[I think I wanted them to be proud of me.]]

But George looked at me like he was seeing a ghost. Isabel opened her mouth but no words came out. //mama?// //poppa?// [[they ran from me]]

i tried to console myself by singing small songs and pulling at my hair i started coughing and feathers spat into the air i blinked and my eyelashes were feathers too my fingers feathers my mouth feathers with a tongue between [[when i said i grew wings, did you know what i meant?]]

my parents left and i turned into wings grief is a many feathered thing it flaps and flaps in the cold wind of memory [[my parents didn't come back]]

i flew towards the bay [[i flew towards Cynthia]]

when i landed, my feathers had turned from the bright purples and oranges i loved into seadrift grey [[i felt a beak forming]]

see: girl or sea: gull? maybe i misbehaved because i felt trapped in my womanskin maybe i was meant to follow Cynthia the whole time, hovering overhead, keeping watch, a whole flock pushing the women out to sea.