His coat was the first thing we noticed. It was huge, like a cloak, and it smelled. With the way he was bunched up, sitting against the wall, the coat was all of him. As we came closer he uncurled, head emerging to make him a person. He smiled with yellow teeth, and one of his eyes gleamed silver. “Ah. Customers. I know just what you want, my lads.”
He grabbed his knee and forced himself to stand. It took him a while, and even when he got up his back must have been crooked. He was shorter than us, and we were all real short for 6th graders. I remember thinking it was strange that his skin was the same color as his coat, a dirty tan, as if caramel and dust had gotten mixed together. His voice was that color too. “You’ll be wanting the special, won’t you boys? Here they are.” He spread one arm to show us the inside of his coat. They hung on silver cords like strange key chains; big tawny wings, medium sized red ones, and a few small ones near the bottom, “Take your pick, me bucks. Mind the price.”
Daniel chose hawk. I chose goose, for traveling. And Phil, grey little Phil who just followed us around, he reached down to the bottom and chose small white wings. “Dove, lad? Are you sure?” He just smiled and nodded. We harvested them off the coat and held them tight and felt the chains wrap around us, cutting deep enough to draw blood as the wings slid to our backs and grew.
He was always so happy, Phil, and he idolized us. Maybe if we had realized what a dove was to a hawk, Daniel would have changed his mind. We hadn’t yet learned that there is always a price.