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The wind picks up. Helena has to hold her hat down as she moves towards the source, stepping up the hill with a little more force, her cane pressing deep into the dirt. Her scarf flaps against her chest, tickles her neck playfully. It’s a good day to be out. When she breathes in deep, she holds her breath— and for a moment, feels the world extending much farther than she can reach.
In the distance, the ocean cries. Somewhere along the coast, fishermen, and dockworkers pace the pier with quick steps and work with calloused hands. They’re preparing for a storm. The sky will darken and speak in tongues; the sea will take those brave enough to try to listen.
The air smells of soil and grass when Helena breathes. She exhales into the realization, her voice a whisper. “It’s going to rain.”
“What?” Martha, her company this afternoon, turns towards her quickly. Her brows furrow as she points upwards. “There’s not a cloud in the sky!”
“Is that so?”
“Well, that’s…” Martha reluctantly looks up at the sky. “I guess there are a few clouds.”
Helena makes a noise of acknowledgement. She can hear Martha rocking on her feet, the rhythmic shuffle of grass beneath them. “Come on then,” Helena beckons, “You said you wanted to see everything.”
“Yes! Thank you!”
Helena laughs. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re bound to get soaked soon, after all. I’m afraid I won’t get to show you a clear view of the sky like you requested.”
“No problem! I’m a soldier, you know. I can hold my own against some rain.”
“You make that clear enough. What I mean is as your guide here, I didn’t want there to be any issues, considering this is your first time here.”
“Any journey comes with its own surprises and hiccups. Really, it’s alright! I still want to do this with you.”
Helena’s pace slows while the implications of 'with you' bounce around in her head. “Forgive me for asking this so late, but… Why did you approach me? I mean, why did it have to be me of all people?”
“Um… It wasn't that serious. At the time our force was just stationed here I was feeling like I should take more advantage of my down time. See the sights on the ground, while I can, I guess. I noticed you since you looked my age, and the rest is history,” Martha concludes with a wave.
“How curious.”
“Is that weird?”
“No. It’s not as though I’ve never been approached, but truthfully, the nature of your request still confuses me. It isn’t exactly common sense to ask a blind girl for a tour of the town you just arrived in.”
“But you can see, can’t you? In your own way. I can’t sneak up on you, even when I try to keep myself hidden.”
Helena shrugs as she grins. “Most people don’t look at me that way.”
“They aren’t looking at you to begin with, then.”
“I… suppose you’re right.”
“Damn right— You can’t let other people’s garbage get to you like that. I could tell you knew this place like the back of your hand, just by the way you carried yourself.”
“I am blind, though.” Helena says, waving her cane above her.
“I know that!” Martha sighs, hearing Helena laugh. “Ugh… I’m trying to be serious here. Being blind doesn’t make you any less capable than someone like me.”
“...Thanks,” Helena amends. She can feel her face heat up, but doesn’t have the energy to mind it. It’s been a while since someone has been so upfront about her condition in a positive way. She knows she has her parents’ full support, even if isn’t in the form of financial means, but… A compliment is always a little different coming from someone with little obligation to you and your feelings.
Martha notices. “No problem.”
Helena smiles. “Hurry, the wind is only getting worse.”
It’s about 20 minutes more of climbing until Helena relaxes, slowing her pace. “We’re here. I haven’t seen it myself but you can get a good view of the whole town from here.”
Helena stops at the edge of the hill’s steep cliff with her cane extended, surveying the danger ahead. If Martha didn’t know any better, she’d rush up concerned. As it is, she knows Helena is far more aware of her surroundings than the average citizen— hell, maybe even the average solider.
Martha stops a few feet behind Helena, and for a few moments, both of them are still; Martha stares at Helena’s back in silence, her gaze eventually trailing down to Helena’s cuffed sleeves. Her jacket is slightly too big. What were once clean seams have been worn down with use, threads frayed from constant friction, feathers poking out between them. Fabric bunches up where handmade stitching was pulled too tight. But Martha can tell the jacket is warm when she looks at it, hears it whispering under the wind: I still have life in me, life to give. Her own coat, all militant, remains silent. She tugs on its ends to straighten the folds out routinely, feeling the tension in her shoulders when she equally straightens her posture.
It’s getting colder now.
“How did you know?” Martha says, “That it’s going to rain.”
Helena hums as if deliberating. “Intuition? It might not rain until nightfall though, I just get the sense that it’s going to be today.”
“Really? That makes it sound like you’re a bird or something.”
“Gosh, I’m just kidding,” Helena laughs, “I wanted to show off.”
“What… You totally got me.” Helena doesn’t look back at Martha, so she doesn’t move up. There’s something about not being face to face that makes asking easier. “Then, what’s the real answer?”
“The smell in the air is different, and the wind’s picking up which doesn’t always mean rain, but I can just tell sometimes. Soil and grass feel the moisture earlier than we do. Isn’t it the same for the seafarers? I thought they could tell when a storm is coming.”
“I wouldn’t know, I… haven’t actually interacted with many marines.” Martha frowns. “I used to be in the calvary, but I didn’t live near a port town or anything that warranted for their presence.”
“Well, you know how it is learning a skill. The more you experience something, the easier it is to observe the smaller things. You pick up on things without trying as hard.”
“Is that how things are for you— types of muscle memory? I mean, you lead me around corners and take me to shops without any mistakes.”
“Sure. The body remembers what the mind can’t.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“Do you miss being in the calvary?”
“No.” Martha sighs. “At least not too much. I was a captain.”
“Oh? That’s more than just being in the calvary. You were a supervisor.”
“I guess so.”
“Are you not fond of the title?”
“It’s an honor to my name.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I just…” Martha considers, “I don’t really know if it’s an honor or not. Or if I would’ve been able to earn any further promotion had I stayed. I mean, they’ll let a woman lead the troops and give orders to men on land, but flying a plane is too much for the air force?”
“That’s a better answer.”
“Yeah?”
“More truthful.”
Martha bites her lip, gnaws a little before letting go. “I can’t really talk about these things with other squads, so…”
“I understand. I thought this was the case, but I wanted to hear it from your point of view.”
Helena does this a lot. Asking questions even if they’ve got obvious answers, just to see the difference in her understanding and someone else’s. Martha thought it was nosy at first, if not rude, but she realized quickly that Helena never meant to offend. Everything about her sort of made sense when Helena first told Martha she wanted to be an author. She had looked so excited. It was cute.
“That’s alright.”
Martha knows it’s not so simple, but she hopes the best for Helena, really. When it comes to their futures, it’s not something that they can just talk about lightly. Martha didn’t receive the most formal education— she knew early on that she wanted to join the military— but she can only imagine her family would react the same had she wanted to learn. No matter what Martha does, she’ll never be the lady that her family expected her to be.
It’s for the best that she isn’t. They’re too stuck in their ways. And look around, right in front of her! Martha isn’t the only one. Things have got to change, for her and Helena both. Until then… they’ve got to deal with the way things are. Play with whatever cards they’ve got in their hands, win no matter how skewed the field is.
“What does it look like?”
“What?” Martha croaks, clears her throat with a couple coughs right after.
“The view of the town. Are you looking?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s nice.”
The beat of silence that follows makes Martha feel like a child with her hand in the cookie jar.
“You said you’ve flown a plane before?”
“I wasn’t supposed to, but I had my ways back then.”
“Does the view look the same, this high up?”
“Kind of? I wouldn’t say it’s the same, but we’re still looking down at things from above.”
“Well… What’s it like flying, then?”
“Everything is super small. You’re so high up that you can barely distinguish anything outside of the sky, land and sea. But right now, I can still see the different buildings and spot places I’ve been. Maybe spot a person or two if I squint.”
“Oh.”
“Did that make sense?”
“A little bit. I’m trying to think about it… What about above you? Does the sky look any different?”
Martha glances up above her. “It’s still just the sky. Nothing but blue, usually…” The clouds are getting darker now. “You can’t really see directly above you when you’re flying because of the plane’s ceiling. But the sky is endless. You begin to wonder if the universe really does go on forever, like they say it does.”
“And below?”
“Below… Either land or sea again. It’s really not as boring as it sounds!”
Helena steps backwards, uses the momentum to spin on her heel and face Martha. Martha’s breath slows, Helena's 10— 6 paces away from her now. She’s closing the distance as Martha speaks.
“It’s like… an island could fit in your pocket, suddenly. You’re literally cutting through the air. And… Um.” Martha blanks, expecting Helena to interrupt.
There’s a second between them, impossibly quiet, and Martha realizes she’s begun to hold her breath.
“But how does it feel?” Helena drags the word out with her hands, pulls Martha’s jacket sleeve up and begins to write.
Martha can barely string the letters together, entirely distracted by the action itself, a series of gentle touches that ghost over her skin after they’ve gone. Helena trails up and down Martha’s arm unrushed— falling back to her wrist, then over her hand, turning it palm up. Their thumbs sort of slot together then, as Helena takes Martha’s hand in hers. Warmth blossoms where Helena lingers. It’s a welcome contact against cool wind, and one that Martha finds herself leaning into, her fingers tightening the hold as if it were reflex. When Helena pulls away, Martha twitches with the urge to meet her. But then fingertips are at her palm again, and Helena’s tracing—no, retracing—letters into her skin, so Martha frowns and finally pays attention to the words.
Show me, Helena writes. And though Martha knows it can’t be true, feels Helena stare into her, searching.
This is how Helena thinks. How she sees, how she can imagine. It seems all too obvious when Martha thinks it.
“I guess I’ve… never thought about it before.”
So Martha tries. Starts to let her mind fall still.
She thinks of Helena first. The lulling meter of her voice, how soft her fingers feel in comparison to her own rough hands. And then Martha’s closing her eyes, listening to her body with trained focus.
“Flying just feels natural to me. Like it’s something I’ve always been meant to do. I’m drawn to it.”
Helena stands with a quiet patience, lightly squeezing Martha’s hand to show she’s listening. He was like that too. On days like these, where the wind seemed to urge them both to move with it, they couldn’t resist. He’d lead Martha to the hangers by hand, and she would let him. He’d whisper in her ear, all smiles, knowing the space would be empty; nobody could disrupt them then, pop the bubble they’d created for themselves. She’d get into one of the cockpits, and he’d look at her like— like she had the world in her hands, like it was something she could hold, roll around between her palms. If only she had just turned the ignition key. She wanted nothing more than to share that with him, felt that it was the only thing keeping her whole.
“I’ve never been able to stay still. Don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or something more, but I used to horseback ride and shoot growing up. When my heart rate picks up on windy days— like today, I guess— and there isn’t anyone telling me how to behave or who I should be… Just someone that trusts me and understands, it feels like I’m finally myself.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not explaining this very well.”
When she’d fly, she’d become weightless: her chest would feel light, and she’d breathe the easiest she ever would, released from every pressure and prejudice against her. The sky turned into an extension of herself. A part of her that he understood, if not completely then reverently, with so much love she worried the weight of it would crush her. But he was the same as her, wasn’t he?
Earth could not tether them. Not in the way she does onto others, each secret passed down by the rivers, buried far below ground. They were too bound to the sky. And as it was, they would remain grounded only by each other, for as long as they let it. For better or for worse, they had promised.
“There’s nothing else for me, you know? There’s never going to be…” Martha stiffens, jerking her arm out of Helena’s grasp. She presses it into her chest forcefully, stumbling back with heavy legs, hunched over like a cornered animal. She balls her fists to keep them from shaking. The muscle tension there feels good, so she lets her nails dig into her palms, tries to quiet her breath the way she was taught to in camp. Her eyes are open now, her vision blurry.
What good is a promise? She has no record of it, anymore. Nothing but a photo frame waiting for her at the altar. She had felt like she could go anywhere, do anything, as long as he was encouraging her.
As long as he had stayed.
“Martha?” Helena tries.
Martha curls into herself. It’s one thing to mourn. But Martha even hates herself for mourning, can’t deal with the way she feels his absence, face to face with a dependency that has nobody to hold. She didn’t realize how much she had relied on him until after. She had spoken endlessly about proving her worth and joining the Air Force as a pilot, so determined to make it on her own, but there’s little that can be done without the vouch of a male pilot. Without Him.
It was love. Undoubtedly, she had loved him like she loves the sky for never looking down on her through all their distance, for seeing her as a person and not a body. But she questions the value of that love which was taken away too quickly, and hates herself for doubting.
He was her reprieve in a sea of nos, a burst of positivity surrounded by people who always had something negative to say. But why was he the only one? She questions the world which only demands of her, requires that she find a sponsor with money to spare, as if her skills were not enough to prove she can preform better than the man whose intention is never mocked. Is it truly too much to ask for someone that understands?
Helena tries again, crouching in front of the impression of Martha’s form. “Martha,” The syllables long, velvet. Helena’s arm hangs in the air, unsure of itself, fist half-furled.
It’s enough movement for Martha to reach out towards, and she grabs onto Helena’s arm like a lifeline. Her throat is too tight to speak properly so she squeezes, coarse fabric stretching her palm, slowly grounding her.
She can smell the soil now, this close to the ground. It’s hard to miss. Is it because of the humidity? It’s just like Helena said.
Oh… Martha thinks. Helena’s here.
“Helena.”
“Yes?”
“Can you just— Your novel—” Martha tries, but she’s still choked up. “Talk.”
“Alright...” Helena talks. “As of right now, I finished the chapter I was telling you about last time, if you remember. When the eversleeping girl starts to realize that things are off about her reality. Of course, everytime I make progress I have to get stuck on something else, so now I'm trying to figure out how to describe the gradual destabilization of the dream world…”
Once Martha’s breathing has mostly evened, Helena pats her back twice.
Martha looks up. At some point when Helena was talking, Martha had found refuge in Helena’s embrace. “...Hey.”
“Hello. Are you back to your senses?”
Martha nods. “I will be.”
“Good.” Helena begins to lean back, but stops when she feels resistance where Martha’s holding onto her. “I’m sorry. It was not my intention to bring up unwanted memories.”
“No, that’s… I didn't say... You’re really calm about this.”
“Would you rather I have a panic attack beside you?”
It takes a moment for Martha to respond. “That’s what you call it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t panicking.”
Helena's lips purse, and it’s times like this when Martha forgets she’s a year older than Helena, who’s textbook smart in ways Martha will never be. Careful and all-seeing in ways Martha will never be. “Okay.”
Martha finally lets go of Helena then, sits in the grass with her knees up. “Don’t ‘okay’ me. Say what you want to say.”
Helena hesitates, out of courtesy more than unwillingness. She clarifies simply, “It’s not what I call it. It’s a medical term, I wouldn’t make something like that up.”
“Well that’s not what happened. I’m not that weak.”
“Did I say you were?”
“Helena. Real or not, if anyone saw me like this… I’d never be taken seriously.” It’d just be another reason to keep her on the ground.
“I... understand. But if it happens again, please, try not to blame yourself. That will only make it worse. You could even talk to me, if you want.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“If you want. I don’t have anyone to gossip to, except you maybe. And you can even forget all about it when you change stations again.”
“What? Why would I do that? I can send you letters.”
Helena visibly pauses, and Martha starts to frantically question their relationship. “Would you?”
Perhaps later, when Martha recollects this encounter, she’ll think it odd how easily thoughts of Him had fled her mind. She tries not to dwell on the past anymore; sometimes everything feels so vivid, she can’t escape it. But honestly, most of Martha’s days are uneventful. Her life moves on even when she is unmoving, and eventually, she gets swept up in it. She still hasn’t earned the right to fly yet. She isn’t going to settle for a rose-tinted memory of freedom, because that’s all they are in the end. Memories. “Of course! You’re important to me now.”
“Is that so.” Helena covers her mouth with her hand, slightly muffling the sound of her voice. “I’ll write back, then.”
“Fair warning though, my handwriting is pretty bad.”
“It can't be that bad.”
“I wish it wasn't.” Martha shrugs, her smile betraying her words, “Back in the calvary, it was months before I had to find out that my troop would make someone rewrite my notes so the other guys could understand them better.”
“Really?” Helena laughs, “What did you do?”
“Made them run drills for a while,” Martha laughs with her, “I didn’t like how they kept it from me, but I probably would’ve done the same thing as a newer recruit. So after, I started relaying my orders verbally while someone transcribed. I could tell they appreciated it.”
“Why don't I help you clean up your handwriting? Ah, not me specifically, but an acquaintance of mine.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s because I never paid attention to lessons growing up.”
“At least let them see how you write. If it's really as bad as you say, then I don't want your message to get lost when it's translated to braille.”
“Oh. Right, of course. Sorry, that went over my head.”
“It’s okay. I know I can get things read out, but I want to be able to read your letters myself.”
“Got it, got it. I'll give it a try. So I can also write to you myself, without a transcriber.”
“I'm glad. We could go as soon as tomorrow, if you’re feeling motivated. It’s good to keep company when it rains.”
Martha's eyebrows raise. “Still isn’t raining, Helena.”
“Keep watching the sky.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I do that all the time.” Well, almost all the time. Something else has her attention these days.
“It’ll rain,” Helena repeats. “Oh! I just remembered, I have to visit the library before it closes. We should get going.”
“Will it take long?”
“No, I don't think so... Okay, maybe. I said I would organize some files before I check out what I need.”
“Sounds like a yes to me... You should've told me if you were busy today.” Helena just shrugs, and Martha sighs. “Can I stop by later then? I'll make it up to you.”
“And by that you mean?”
“I'll cook. You'll be tired by the time you get out, right? That's partially my fault, so... I'll make dinner.”
“If you insist. Do you already have something in mind?”
“Maybe. It’s a secret for now.”
“Ooh, I'm starting to get excited.”
And Martha doesn’t think she minds.