The Gift of Flight

Black eyes, Black hair, Black skin,

Black Queen stand majestic with the Black King.

The music comes to my ears and makes me want to bust out dancing. I'm in the middle of a party but then I'm not. I remember I asked my best friend to give me a call at 7 am. We were out late and I was sure I would sleep through my alarm. I can sleep through my alarm but for some reason, I can't sleep through my ring tone. I reach over to my bedside table, so I can answer the call; but my phone isn't there. Come to think of it, I can't feel the table either. I rub my eyes and roll over, only I'm not rolling on anything.

Ah! I grab my chest to feel if my heart is still beating. It's still beating...racing.

Good. I'm not dead. What the hell is going on?

Fuck! Am I possessed? I can't get that image from the exorcism of Emily Rose out of my mind.

"Hello," I say out loud, to check if my voice is still mine. I sound like me. I don't think I'm possessed, but how would I know for sure? Maybe the demon is asleep.

I'm not possessed. I make the sign of the cross across my body. I'm not possessed; but if I am, I hope its potency holds for Non-Catholics.

I take a deep breath and move my legs as if I'm descending an invisible staircase. My feet have met the cold tiles, and what a beautiful reunion it is. I'm halfway to the shower when I shoot up in the air again.

This is going to be a long rass morning.

I shower, get dressed, and head to the kitchen for breakfast. I pour myself a cup of juice and retrieve the step ladder, so I can snag a protein bar from the cupboard.

I don't need this. I laugh and shoot up a few inches.

There are some perks to this weird shit.

I wonder if I could fly to work. It would save me from having to commute with the weird dude who finds me on the bus every morning.

I go to the back of the house and surrender to the magnetic pull the sky has on me.

This is risky. What if someone sees me?

Well, at least I'll go viral. Maybe I can start a YouTube channel. "The Flying Girl" has a nice ring to it.

That will land me a few subscribers. I won't have to endure the morning commute or the drudgery. That would be a win, win.

I leave the cloak of the clouds and fly closer to the buildings, but I'm at work within five minutes.

I hope someone snapped a pic.

I can't believe this. No more morning commute for me.

I'm at my desk staring at an intimidating stack of papers.

Bring on another dreary day. The things we gotta do for a paycheque!

I reflect on my morning flight and how exhilarating it felt. It was a way better experience to my first and only time on a plane. The plane experienced so much turbulence I wasn't sure we were going to make it. I haven't been on a plane since...I haven't been home since.

"You keep on hopping from one thing to another, wasting my money. When are you going to grow up and start taking care of yourself?"

That was my last fight with my father. It's bad enough to feel like you're failing in life -- like your peers have some cheat codes that you don't -- you don't need a parent confirming it. I took the money he gave me for the course (my latest hopping), and I booked a flight. I haven't asked him for anything since...I haven't seen him since. I have spoken to him though, to let him know I'm alive; but the conversations lack intimacy. I don't feel I can trust him, so I keep a safe distance. I think that's why I maintain the physical distance as well. I wouldn't be surprised if someone got into my head and my brain cells screamed to them that my flight here wasn't that bad, that the turbulence I experienced was an emotional one, not a physical one.

I have used my fear of flying, and the expensive plane fares as an excuse for not going home. But I can fly now. I enjoy the thrill of it. I could go home and it wouldn't cost me a dime.

***

I'm here. My watch says my flight took three hours, but it felt interminable. I had to take a rest here and there; but now I'm here, on my parents' doorstep. My muscles are barking; I know I'll be sore tomorrow. I'm at the door, but I can't bring myself to enter. I decide to make the return flight home when I hear the doorknob turn. My dad bursts through the door and sweeps me up in his arms.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming? Your mom left to spend the weekend with your aunt, but I'm sure she will want to return first thing in the morning. We should call her. Come in. Where are your bags? How long are you staying?"

I can't sift through all my father is saying and provide him with appropriate responses, so I enter the house. The familiar smell and furniture are a stark contrast to the atmosphere that's alien to me.

My dad makes me dinner, but I'm too tired and overwhelmed to eat. I came here to talk, but I feel too drained to utter a word; so I retire to my old room and my old bed. I need to be at my best when I talk to him. I just need a little nap. My bed smells the same, and my room is immaculate as if someone cleans it daily. It's just as I left it, but it doesn't feel like it belongs to me. The apartment I left feels like mine; this room feels as if it's trying to impress me, to woo me; but I don't find its aura appealing. The sameness of all that feels foreign to me is too much; and before I know it, my cheeks are wet with tears. I just need a little nap.

The sun shines through my bedroom window and nudges me to wakefulness.

It's morning. I'll be late for work, even if I fly.

I'll tell my day bye, call into work and let my boss know I'll be late. If I leave now, I'll get to work before lunch. My boss will only be half mad... I think.

"Dad I love you. Take care. I have to go."

I rush through the front door and try to ascend into the heavens, but my body won't comply.

This can't be happening. This must be a dream.

I try again, but nothing. I'm still rooted to the doorstep. I pinch myself; my skin bites in the spot I gathered to inflict the pain. I'm not sleeping, so I can't be dreaming. I try to fly again, but the wind refuses to sweep me up.

There goes my YouTube career.

Maybe my gift wasn't given to me to make me rich. Maybe it was given to take me home. Now that I'm home, I no longer need it.

I enter the house and gently close the door behind me.

"Dad. I'm back. We need to talk."