I Can Fly

I stood at the top of the stairs, which went down to the side door we almost never used and then on into the basement. The wood half door was open, with cigar boxes of screws and a small collection of tools, which had not yet made it down to the workshop. On the floor, to left of the door way, but just before the stairs began were a couple of mason jars. On the landing in front of the door, was a six sided crocheted rug.

Everything around me was colored by moonlight. Blues and grays. Behind me I could see the dinning room table and the windows beyond it. As I thought about the night, I could suddenly hear the crickets. I thought about our dog Lucky and how we used to use the side door to let him in and how the crickets would huddle in the long grass there. Lucky had been hit by a car, I had been told, but to my memory he just ceased to be. One day he was there and then, he wasn't. These were not the happy thoughts I needed.

I turned back to the stairs and focused on the task at hand. I could feel the fine fairy dust on me, but it needed activation. According to the book I needed lovely wonderful thoughts. Chocolate. Grandma. Christmas. I tried t force into my mind all of things which made me happy. How about the fact, I was chosen, I would be one of the few who could fly. I suddenly felt the lightness.

I moved to the edge of the stairs and crouched. Three, two, one. I pushed with both of my legs, so I would fly out, up and over the stairs. At first it was very much like a leap, but I slowed as I approached the rug at the bottom, then, before I touched down, I was able to turn, making the bend of the path and continued on into the dark basement. I landed after a ninth degree turn, in the dark, where wonderful thought were harder to come by.

I wheeled in the dark, exhilerated but afraid I would wake my parents and brother. My legs felt a little wobbly and I was trying to piece together what had just happened. I knew I had the power, but i had to get back into bed. I did quickly, trying to allow sleep to overtake me.

The next day, I talked about flying. My brother, even as young as he was, knew I was crazy. My friends laughed at the joke. I could still remeber the feel of the floating, the landing far downstairs. I couldn't not tell anyone. I was like a new Peter Pan. I imagined chocolate and grandma and being chosen and I thought I could feel the lightness. I might have even left the ground for a brief second. What I realized, though, was I needed to let people see fly. It was the only way they would believe.

With that thought, I found myself again at the top of the stairs, the very same stairs. The jars had been moved and the box of screws was gone, but the important feature, the faith it would require to jump, was there. I moved my bare feet to edge of the steps. My toes hung over. I didn't have my audience yet, because I wanted to be sure. I crouch just a little, like I did before. One, two, three, three, three.

Three. I stood up, unable to make myself leap again. The power was gone.