I was nine when I found out people could fly. It was simple. Just two steps to the left, then up.
A girl in my class taught me. Her name was Kelly. She had bangs.
“Just like this,” she said, before showing me. I frowned.
I followed the motions. I froze. Like a bubble in cola, I floated. I began laughing as I floated. As I rose, my stomach sank. I started to panic, flail.
“Just calm down,” Kelly said, floating up to hold my hand.
“I want to get down,” I told her.
She shrugged. She held my hand. She began to blow upwards. I followed her lead until suddenly our feet struck grass. I fell, even though it wasn’t a hard landing. I stood up, red faced. Kelly laughed.
The shock hit me all at once. “Why don’t people do this!” I asked Kelly.
“My mom says it is useless. We don’t move any faster and it’s not like cars can fly,” she made her voice more shrill, mimicking her mother. “plus, it’s dangerous. If you don’t pay attention you’ll float off to China. And, they eat dogs in China, you know?”
I thought of my dog, Squeaks. I shuddered.
“I don’t want to go to China,” I decided.
Kelly nodded, approvingly.
“Can everyone fly?” I asked Kelly.
Kelly nodded. “I think so. Mom said she can. My uncle said that people in Spain do it all the time but he said that is because they are lazy and don’t have anything better to do.”
I didn’t know anything about Spain. I suspected Kelly didn’t either. I didn’t say anything.
I really wanted her to like me.
But she didn’t and I grew up. I checked the internet for her the other day, just curious. She is living in Spain, working for Microsoft. I worked up the courage to message her, asked if people in Spain really fly all the time.
She never got back to me.