The Day I Flew

I was pedaling
furiously, putting all the muscle into the drive that a 12 year old
could muster, heading for the precipice. I was covering the ground
of the newly laid playground asphalt as smoothly and rapidly as
possible. I was breathing heavily, not only because of the exertion,
but also because of my excitement—I was going to fly!

I aimed for a
few feet to the right of the stairs and knowing that no one was
around to laugh if I failed, propelled myself over the edge.

Hardly a moment
later, I found myself lying on the lower playground near the drinking
fountain. My bike was a few feet away, one trouser leg was torn at
the knee cap and my knee lacerated. Musing on this singular
experience, I limped away, my thoughts scurrying to find a plausible
explanation to tell my mother.

* * * *

Did I go on to
become a pilot? No, I became a physicist so that I would understand
why I didn’t fly—I just fell—without style.

Sequel

Some months
later, the front fork of that bicycle broke, sending me into the
gravel along side the road right in front of the state prison. I was
quite a ways from home with a two piece non-rideable bicycle.

So much for
flying!

This entry was posted on April 13, 2008 at 3:02 pm and is filed under Drivel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.