“Do you ever wish you could fly?” she asked me one day, out of the blue.
“What, you mean like Superman?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” she said. “Or Peter Pan, or whoever. Just… lift your feet off the ground and soar up into the sky.”
“I suppose everybody must,” I said. “I mean, I’m afraid of heights but I still wish I could fly. I think there’s a tacit assumption that if you could fly like that, suspended under your own power, then heights don’t matter any more.”
She nodded.
“What would you do, if you could fly?” she asked.
“Travel, probably,” I said. “Fly out over the ocean, out to Hawaii, or up into the Rockies. I’d go find beautiful, out-of-the-way places that I could have all to myself. What would you do?”
“I think I’d start going to church more often,” she said.
“What, are we assuming that suddenly possessing the power to fly would be proof positive of the existence of a kind, benevolent, and distinctly Judeo-Christian God?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “But I’d want to go every week for a while at least, just to make it seem more credible when I pretend to be Raptured in front of the rest of the congregation.” She shrugged. “It seems more creative than pretending to commit suicide by jumping off a building.”
“You see this right here?” I said. “Things like this are why the universe doesn’t hand out superpowers.”
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Love it. It’s wonderful to have you writing again, I can never get enough of your works.
i have honestly never though of something like that as a use for flight. very creative.
now i wish i could fly just to see the looks on all the faces of people at my church as i rise up . . .
How do they rise up, rise up high?
They rise heads up, heads up…