Born Different Read online

  The old man poked Gabe in the shoulder with his walking stick. “Gina? And you, what did you say your name was?”

  “Gabe. My name is Gabe. I live up the road with my mum. I’m just a student, well for the next week or so.” Gabe stood up and half-heartedly tried to dust himself down. He couldn’t help himself from instinctively smelling his hands, from their contact with the carpet, and wincing in reaction.

  “Gabriel!”

  The man walked forward and into the darkness of the hall and Gabe saw, this was the man in the picture. He was not small after all he was just bent over, almost at a right angle, propped up on a walking stick.

  “Yes, I am Gabriel.” Gabe felt a sudden surge of confidence now.

  “Well, well, well and what do you want from me then?”

  The man gestured Gabe into the living room that was brightly lit by an old fashion standard lamp (similar to the ones Gabe imaged that they used in torture and interrogation rooms) and Gabe was amazed to find hundreds of paintings covering every surface, covering the walls and the floor. Two easels dominated the room and there was that so familiar scent to Gabe. The smell of an artist’s studio, the mix of acrylics and oils and turpentine. And on top of that, the scent of body odour, of coffees made and never drunk. There was a hint of Nag Champa even in there too. And, unmistakably, the unique smell that Gabe was very familiar with, the scent of the same blended essential oils that he used for healing. It was all so strange and yet all so eerily familiar.

  The man cleared a space on an ancient battered leather sofa for them both to sit down on.

  “So, you found me then?”

  “Well, as I say, I only really just started looking. I kind of thought that perhaps, seeing as...you know, what with you not really ever getting in touch and everything…” Gabe felt perhaps that he was intruding, he felt awkward and his tongue seemed to be taking on a life of its own.

  “What do you want from me boy?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all. I was just curious I guess. I had some questions.”

  “Go on then…” Gabe’s father was curt, abrupt and really Gabe thought, quite rude.

  “I’m sorry. I seem to have forgotten now.” Gabe felt like an idiot and this was so not the impression he dreamed he would give on this occasion.

  “She wrote to my mother, saying that you had been born. What she had called you. Let me have a look at you then. Well it’s obvious on you isn’t it? Still.... My, my, my…” Gabe felt momentarily encouraged as he thought he saw this man soften ever so slightly.

  “What’s obvious?”

  “Well the wings of course. Yours look like they are strong, big strong wings.”

  Gabe was incredulous. How did he know? Gina can’t of told him, surely, had she?

  Gabe’s father patted his son on the shoulder before using him as the leverage he needed to stand up again. Gabe sat there feeling awkward, not sure what to say or do. Should he help this man up again? Should he touch him or not? His father was unsteady on his feet but he managed it without much help from Gabe. He grabbed his walking stick and walked over to the occasional table by the window where he downed whatever it was that was in the glass. He kept his back to Gabe and stared out of the window into the distance. Gabe didn’t dare move a muscle, he just watched as he saw the man, still looking out of the window, start to undo his shirt buttons and struggle out of the sleeves. The man then unfastened a very wide and dirty, well used, elastic support bandage that he had wrapped around his back and chest. The whole time his father kept his back to Gabe, he didn’t face him, he did not look at him once and when the elastic bandage had fallen to the floor, the man tried to stand tall and straighter, and in doing so he showed Gabe the one thing that Gabe had always thought was completely impossible.

  This man, his father, Cassiel, also had wings. But they were not like Gabe’s. These wings were old, almost transparent. Parts of the wings looked like those skeleton leaves you sometimes find. But mostly, these wings were scarred and broken looking. They had withered and they looked like they were ready to fall off. They were dead.

  “What happened? What happened to your wings?” Gabe wanted to run over but he stayed glued to his seat.

  “I hid them. I didn’t look after them!” Gabe’s father looked to the ground, lost in his own thoughts or shame for a moment. Or maybe he was just relaxing down after the strain of having to stand that bit taller. Gabe couldn’t tell for sure.

  The man grabbed a paisley dressing gown that was hanging on one of the easels and he put it on, covering himself again. Gabe wanted to ask him exactly what had he done, as these wings showed of more than just a little bit of neglect; they looked destroyed, crashed, abused and then some. Gabe’s father swung around and looked at Gabe deep into his eyes as he approached him with a new force and conviction.

  “There was not the surgery back then but I would have gone and had them cut off. If you can get yours cut off boy then do. Having them causes nothing but heartache and trouble. Get yourself down to a specialist and bin them. Or you will end up like me! Look at me! I never talk to anyone. I am getting old, feeling more pain, pain that you would not yet think possible. The wings are a curse Gabriel. That’s all I can tell you. But you know this already. You came, you saw and now…now you can leave.” Exhausted with the exertion he shuffled over to an old cabinet where he leant for support and he downed another glass full of something that Gabe was beginning to assume was whisky and he poured himself another one, straight out the half empty bottle of liquor that was on the shelf.

  Gabe tried to take it all in. It was nothing like he had imagined it would be. It hadn’t gone very well and Gabe couldn’t think of anything that he could say or do now that would turn it all around. Where were the violin players and the dancing girls? Where were the fireworks and the tears of joy?

  He never imagined for a start, not in his wildest dreams, that his own father might have wings. It wasn’t just Gabe. And Gabe was really trying to like this man, his father, another man with wings, but it was hard and truthfully, Gabe was just getting more pissed off now. He wasn’t welcome and he wanted to leave. Now!

  “I am sorry for barging in like I did. Thank you for showing me your wings.” Gabe got up to leave and one of his father’s paintings caught his eye. He stopped and looked at it, the painting held him and he was transfixed. Gabe let the image of the painting wash over him and touch every one of his senses and he felt overwhelmed. Consumed by contortion and torture. The painting spoke to him, invoking strong violent feelings as it reflected on his soul; it was full and bleeding with pain and misery. It was the saddest painting that Gabe had ever seen and he couldn’t help himself as he shed one tear that he hoped that this man didn’t notice.

  “I am sorry Gabriel. I was never father or husband material. Never was, never will be. I am too different. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. Yes I think I might understand. Is there anything I can get for you?” But Gabe didn’t understand, not yet, because it was so obvious.

  “No, I have everything that I need.”

  Gabe went to leave and turned around one last time. He took a good look at his father now pouring himself another drink. Gabe looked all around the room at the chaos, the dirt, at all the paintings and drawings, brilliant but damaged. And Gabe felt no love. He saw no colour. There was no care. No one cared for this man and he cared for no one. There were no photographs, no flowers, no mirrors, no air in here. It was lifeless and Gabe realised with a gutting sadness, that it was soulless. Just an old man living out his days in his own sweat, piss, mess and misery. Gabe looked at his father again, for what he thought would be the last ever time, and just as he was about to pity him, Gabe saw himself.

  Gabe saw with absolute clarity that this was him. This was his future, this was his fate. And this realisation, as painful and shocking and debasing as it was, it was like a gift. If Gabe carried on the way he was going, this here would be his prize. His life. Gabe was staring at his destiny and he didn
’t like what he saw one bit. In fact, it repulsed him.

  The man turned aggressively toward Gabe in a manner that meant he should leave sharpish but Gabe looked into his father’s eyes for a moment. He saw that the light that should have been there was out. His father’s eyes were dark. His spirit had died a long time ago.

  *******

  Gabe got to his studio and he locked himself in. His head was swimming with so many things he felt like he was drowning with it. He wanted to scream, to cut himself, get out of his head, he really wanted to. But he just dropped to him knees and prayed. He didn’t know what else to do. He wanted to set fire to the studio, to take him mums car out and go speeding. Gabe had the urge to do something really destructive. So he prayed as it felt like the only thing left to do.

  Gabe felt there was no one to talk to, not his friends or his mum and he didn’t even want to think about Grace. How was she ever going to give him the time of day when his own dad didn’t give a shit. Gabe felt wretched. He stayed in his studio listening to music, meditating, thinking and painting. He hid away with his wings out and let them be free, even if he couldn’t be. Gabe exercised as much as he could and he added to the sculpture, including the photo, the drawing and the address. All that he had of his dad.

  He immersed himself into his solitude and wished that he could just stay here forever and not ever have to deal with another person again. The World and its people were just too fucked up.

  Gabe had done all of the finishing touches to the paintings for The Exhibition and they adorned the walls of his studio in the order he had decided to exhibit them. He viewed his work critically now and he debated with himself whether it was better to paint from the heart or really to give in and try and play by some rules with a chance of some commercial success? Was it worth it? Being true and spiritual. Was there actually any such thing as true or spiritual anyway or was he just as brainwashed but in another direction? Was he just fooling himself and making things hard for loads of unnecessary reasons? Were they just reasons that were self-destructing excuses, traps to lead him down dead end roads? They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, so was he just skipping happily to hell? It certainly felt like he was. Was he so ashamed of his wings that, deep down he didn’t really want any success as that would bring unwanted attention? Or would the revelation, that he wasn’t a failure, be too much to handle so he subconsciously just set himself up to always fail? Perhaps he should start 1) enquiring about wing removal and 2) paint for the masses, for The Middles. But Gabe had no idea what the masses would want anyway and it wasn’t as if he could really plan what he painted. Gabe always started with an idea but the end product was rarely how he imagined it.

  I’ll show them, thought Gabe. My dad will read about me one day and be sorry that he didn’t care. I’ll make loads of money and they’ll all come begging!

  But Gabe had no idea how you made money or ran businesses, Gabe was an artist and the only way he could make money was if he won the lottery. No one understood the art world anymore. It was a scene for billionaires and celebrities that left everyone else totally confused. But if he was not going to be an artist, what would he be? He couldn’t live without it.

  Gabe wondered if this was a sign of madness, that he lived and thought this way and didn’t just go and get a wage and have a structured life. Was he just massively deluded in most aspects of his life, like he thought everyone else was? What were the chances of him being right and everyone else being wrong? But then again the masses had always been the last to catch on. They believed the world was flat. They still believed in all sorts of crazy things. They all wore bloody anoraks for Christ’s sake!

  Gabe was feeling hungry, angry, lonely and tired. His phone might as well be broken. He had not even got a text message off of any of his friends that he could ignore, and Grace hadn’t returned his message either. It had been so liberating having the bandages off all afternoon, being able to move his wings as he liked in accordance to his body, as he painted and as he exercised. Even the fresh air and sunlight touching his usually hidden skin had improved the texture and eased some of the sores a bit already. Gabe swore that he would get himself stronger and fitter, that he wouldn’t neglect himself, although the temptation to was great.

  Maybe I’ll live my life out in this studio, Gabe thought. It was preferable to being in the outside world. It had been such a warm day but, as usual, the evening, monsoon-like, big black cloud was looming and it looked like it was going to chuck it down soon enough like a tropical storm. Gabe turned off the lap top and went around blowing out all the candles and making sure all the incense was extinguished. Just my luck to burn the whole place down with all the paintings done, he thought, with the sculpture starting to take shape.

  In the darkness with only the moon-light shining in to illuminate, Gabe stood in the middle of his studio, and he looked around at his paintings and he thought that they were good. Good enough. The sculpture was big now, even bigger than the paintings and he liked it. It had slowly grown on him and now it was like it was a part of him. He hadn’t finished it yet but he recognised it. It was like it had always been there in his head just waiting to be made real.

  A black cloud passed over, plunging the studio into complete darkness and Gabe felt like someone was staring at him from behind. He remembered that he hadn’t remembered to buy a new padlock and he instinctively turned to look out of the window to put his mind at rest. And there, stood out in the dark under the orange glow of the back door light was Grace.

  Or was he just imagining it? Wishful thinking! Was it just a reflection of one of his painting in the glass of the window? Was it just a figment of his imagination? Was he getting a bit psychotic living in here and in his head? Gabe blinked and looked again. She was looking straight back at him. Could she see him? Gabe panicked. Maybe she had been there a while, seen him and his wings?

  Even though he knew that he could see out and that no one could see in, Gabe felt the blood drain from his face and he felt faint. He just carried on looking back at her without moving. Time passed, it started to rain a bit and she didn’t move. Then it began to pour down in thick sheets and still she didn’t move. Gabe had to take a deep breath. He thought that maybe he hadn’t been breathing while he’d been staring at her as he had got tunnel vision, with Grace standing at the end. Always Grace, the light at the end of his tunnel.

  Gabe threw on his jacket and ran down the garden path bare foot and he was immediately soaked through. “What are you doing?” Gabe had to shout through the crashing rain.

  Grace didn’t say anything but the way she looked at him, sad, wanting and fragile, made him instinctively put his arm around her and he guided her out of the wet and cold and into the warmth of the house.

  Chapter 15

  Gina was in the kitchen reading. The house was cosy and calm and something delicious smelling was cooking in the oven. Gina smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world for Gabe to be walking a wet woman through the kitchen of an evening and she asked them if they wanted a nice cup of tea and dinner perhaps. She didn’t wait for an answer and just let the couple walk right through into the lounge.

  Grace sat shivering and soaking wet on the sofa.

  “I can’t go back Gabe!”

  “Go back where?”

  “Home!”

  “What are you talking about?” Gabe looked at her and realised that her face was bruised. Her eye was swollen and blue around the eyebrow and her usual alabaster cheek was red and her wrists and forearms were scratched. She had blood dripping from her nose and a fresh cut on her bottom lip.

  “What’s going on Grace?” Grace began to cry and Gabe moved in closer to comfort her but not so close that they actually touched bodies.

  “Have you got anything to drink Gabe? I need a bloody drink!” Grace was sobbing now and shaking. She put her hands up to her face and began to rock her upper body. Gabe worried that she was having some kind of breakdown.

  He did
n’t know what to do to. Should he give her a drink or not? What was the right thing to do? She looked so tired and ill and weary. In shock even. Gabe got up and poured them both a large glass of vodka.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on Grace?”

  “No, not really Gabe. Can we just leave it for now? Can we just drink? Please, it is too much tonight. I can’t bear it. Can’t we just talk about something else? Anything else. Can’t you just take my mind away from where it is? Please just get drunk with me.”

  Gina came in with a tray holding a pot of tea and three cups and a warm fluffy towel from the airing cupboard was slung over her arm. She got Grace to take her jumper off and she wrapped the towel around her to try and soak up some of the water in an attempt to warm her up a bit. Gina cleaned some of the blood off Grace with some cotton wool and they all drank some tea and Gina lit a fire in the grate, brought out trays of food for them all and then joined them on the sofa so that they all had to huddle up some more.

  They ate some dinner, a roast of chicken and vegetables, roast potatoes and gravy and Grace kept drinking but was very thankful for everything and grateful for the meal which she kept saying was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten, which Gabe thought was a bit of a lie. It wasn’t that mum’s cooking was bad, it just wasn’t that good.

  It got later and it was arranged that Grace stay the night, on the sofa. Gina gave her some night clothes and another towel and a glass of water. By now, Grace was fit to pass out; exhausted, drunk, emotional, drained. Gina tucked her up on the sofa and turned the lights out and ushered Gabe up the stairs.

  Gabe was starting to get all angsty and upset now that Grace couldn’t see him. He was half drunk but too angry to go to sleep. He thought he should be pleased that Grace, bloody Grace, the love, the out of reach girl, was asleep in his house but Gabe was confused, hurt, and a little bit more confused. Who the fuck would hurt Grace? And whoever it was, Gabe wanted to hurt them back.