Except for his wings

In looking through my files, I ran across this fragment/idea for a short story from 2008. As you will see, after a sketchy opening it is just random ideas. I'm not sure what inspired it.

“Except for his wings, Daddy, he looks like any other boy,” Kate said between mouthfuls of turkey mole.

I scooped another drip of strained peaches from Billy Bob’s chin and into his mouth.

“What, snookums?” Kate had been rattling on for ten minutes, but Billy Bob had required my full attention up to this point. I had just nodded and “Um-hummed” my way through the recital. Had she said something about wings?

“Daddy! You’re not listening!”

I had to admit she had me there. I put down the spoon and wiped Billy Bob’s chin.

“Okay, sweetie. Who’s the guy with the wings?”

“I told you, he’s the new kid I saw at the park.”

Story: New kid appears, cargo pants, t-shirt, wings. Somewhat pointed eyebrows and ears, hazel eyes, dishwater blonde. Looks to be 14. No voice. No history. Just there.

Everyone projects his/her own agenda onto him: apocalyptic preacher, New Age guru, political conservative and liberal.

Kids. Tease, play, tumble. Girls like, boys resent, then accept.

Still no voice. Flies away at end of day, flies back in morning. Never in the same direction. Never eats or drinks.

Looks puzzled by the turmoil. Smiles, looks sad. Never angry, though sometimes disapproving?

Town becomes embroiled. Conflict already over something – homeless? Race? Immigration? Pick a topic, any topic. The waffleyites.

Everyone tries to get him on their side, then everyone gets angry with him.

 I may pick this one back up and see where it goes.

I assume waffleyites are people who keep changing their opinions?