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The Black Swan

A Memoir About Acceptance

By Virag DombayPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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I thought swans were meant to be white

Every Wednesday my grandparents pick me up from school and take me to a lake where we feed the ducks together, before going to the resident coffee shop to have two espressos and a hot chocolate. Today is a Wednesday and I quickly rub some sunscreen over my pale skin as I see the turn left sign for our destination. I like watching my grandfather while he drives, I like watching the smile he shares with my grandmother from time to time and the funny faces he pulls for me through his front mirror. I like watching my grandmother sing along to whatever retro countdown is playing on the radio, although, for the majority of the time I’m unsure of whether or not it’s real music as I can never hear the instruments. Sometimes I sing along too, as the words are catchy and it’s fun to sing with her.

“Here we are, kiddo.” As my grandfather pulls in the park I look out the window, my eyes travelling down the slide and swinging through the air. Securing my hat on my head, I step out of the car and grab my grandmother’s hand. The sun bounces off the lake, creating a translucent blue, reflecting the turquoise sky above. I sit down on a patch of grass near the shore as a flock of ducks break the surface of the crystalline water, generating ripples that extend across the plain. Tearing a piece of bread, my eyes linger on a black-feathered bird with a bright red bill majestically gliding towards me.

“Grandma?”

“Yes, my love,” she says as she throws some bread for the ducks who proceed thank her with a chorus of grunts.

“What type of bird is that?” I point at the tall, black-feathered bird which has it’s feathers raised above the water, with what I imagine looks like a cape dragging after it.

“That is a black swan.” She sits down next to me, her fine white hair blowing in the summer breeze.

“But aren’t swans meant to be white?”

“That’s what makes the black swan so special.” My grandad sits down on my other side and throws the swan some bread. My eyes follow the bird hide its neck in the water and retrieve its food. As it arches its neck up again, I admire its opaque eyes, that though beautiful, are filled with loneliness.

“I think it’s very lonely.”

“Why don’t you tell it a story?”

“Once upon a time there was a mother duck whose eggs were starting to hatch. They all hatched at the same time bar one egg which was larger and browner than the rest. The little ducklings grew impatient and yearned to go to the pond, but the mother duck made them all wait. On the third day of waiting, the egg went 'crack' and out popped a strange looking bird with a long beak, fluffy feathers and an ugly face. The mother and the ducklings were surprised but the mother vowed that she would adore all of her children equally. However, when she taught her ducklings how to quack, the ugly duckling croaked, making all the other ducklings laugh at him. He knew that he was embarrassing his mother, so he ran away, waddling through river reeds, march plants and bundles of sticks.

On his journey, he met other ducks that jeered at him and called him names, like his brothers and sisters. One day, he approached a family of geese which invited him to join their family. The ugly duckling lived very happily with the geese; he loved playing with the goslings and the father and mother geese treated him as his own until a hunter and his hound found the pond and started firing his gun at the birds. The hunter wouldn’t shoot him because he said that he looked too ugly. Sadly, the ugly duckling, now very hungry and weak, had to set off once more. Luckily, a human family found him and allowed the ugly duckling to stay with them in hopes that he would lay eggs for their consumption. The couple waited and waited but the ugly duckling never laid eggs and was shooed out of the property.

The ugly duckling was waddling through day and night until he approached a crystal blue pond in which a family of the most striking birds he’d ever seen were playing in – swans. He sat at the water’s edge and intently watched the birds, wishing that he was beautiful enough to join them until a swan swam over to the ugly duckling. The swan admired the duckling’s black feathers and how they gleamed in the sun. As the ugly duckling peered at his reflection; he too noticed that he was not a duck at all; he was a beautiful black swan with an elegant neck and so he entered the pond and joined his new family. And he lived happily ever after.”

“I thought the swan was white…” I hear my grandfather whisper, until my grandmother shushes him.

Throughout the story, the swan has swum closer and closer. I watch it leave the water and fly onto the shore, touching land a few meters in front of me.

“I’m sure that one day you’ll find your flock and have beautiful ducklings of your own.”

A soft croon escapes its mouth, as if to say thank-you for the story. I whistle back and give it my last piece of bread. My grandmother puts her arm around me and I snuggle into her chest.

“I think she liked your story." She kisses me on the head. As I watch the swan waddle back into the water and look over its shoulder as it swims away, I think it did too.

healing
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