FLIGHT

Andrew could fly..and nobody cared...

     “It’s a bird!” “It’s a plane!” “Oh…it’s just Andrew.” Bored, Sue and Winston walked on.

 

     Andrew landed--alone again, naturally. He knew he could run and catch up with the others, but they wouldn’t want him. Nobody wanted him.

 

   It hadn’t always been this way. Andrew had started flying almost as soon as he learned to walk. He was a wonder, a phenomenon. Scientists came from all over the world to examine him. Reporters sent story after story about him to their newspapers. His picture adorned a dozen magazine covers, and he was on television. Crowds gathered to watch him dipping and soaring into the sky.

 

     Then interest had waned. Scientists were unable to discover anything special about Andrew. He could fly--that was all. Reporters ran out of new things to write about him. The fickle public found other interests. Andrew’s flights went unnoticed. Worst of all, his parents were killed in an automobile accident when he was ten. Now he lived with an uncle who thought flying was “for the birds.” He would much rather his nephew went out for football or track, or some other “manly” sport. But Andrew was small. He couldn’t run fast, and, unless he was in the air, he was clumsy.

 

     Andrew was fourteen now. He had no friends. Other teenagers considered him a freak and didn’t want anything to do with him. Sometimes he wished he’d been born without this gift--that he could live a normal life. Oh, but he loved the wind in his face, the feeling of freedom, looking down on the dwindling earth. If only he had someone to share it with.

 

     As Andrew walked toward his home--which was scarcely a real one any more--he saw a little girl running toward him. He recognized her as Althea, the Forester’s five year old daughter. She put her arms out to him. “Fly! Fly!”

 

     “I really need to take you home,” Andrew said. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt for us to take a little trip first.” He picked the child up and they rose into the air. Althea wasn’t frightened at all but laughed with delight as she pointed out things below: “There’s the mall…there’s Uncle Hank’s house…there’s the school where Billy goes…”

 

    Finally Andrew set down, close to the Forester’s house but out of sight. Althea’s parents might not be happy about their daughter’s flight. He knocked on the door. It was opened by a frantic woman who gasped “Althea! I looked all over for you! I was about to call the police. Where did you find her!” she asked Andrew.

 

     “About a block from here.” He was afraid Althea would say something about her adventure, but she seemed to sense it was a thing best kept quiet.

 

     “Well, I can’t thank you enough for bringing her home.”

 

     Andrew felt awkward. He wasn’t used to being thanked. “No problem,” he mumbled and started to turn.

 

     “Oh wait. Won’t you come in? I just baked some cookies.” A firm hand grasped Andrew’s wrist, tugged gently, and he found himself sitting at a table, eating chocolate chip cookies and drinking lemonade. Mrs. Forester talked to Andrew--about school, then about flying: How did it feel? Did he have to do anything, like flap his arms, or was it natural? Andrew didn’t have much to say at first. He wasn’t used to people. But Mrs. Forester’s warm interest melted his shyness, and soon he was eagerly responding to her questions. Then Althea decided it was time to speak up. “Fly!” she said. “Fly!”

 

     Mrs. Forester looked at her daughter and smiled. “Could you"do you think--would you mind taking Althea up with you sometime? I know she’d love it.”

 

     “Sure,” Andrew said, trying to sound casual. “I’d be glad to.”

 

     After that he took Althea flying with him every day the weather was good. They discovered that it was even fun to fly in the rain, if it wasn’t too heavy. Andrew often ate with the Foresters, did his home-work at their house; sometimes spent the night. His uncle didn’t care. He hadn’t been this happy since his parents died.

 

     The years passed, and Althea grew. Andrew knew she would soon be too heavy for him to carry. She’d lose interest in him then; find other things to do. This wonderful time of warmth and comradeship would be over. Finally he had to tell her “After today I can’t take you flying anymore.”

 

     A look of dismay crossed the child’s face. “Why?”

 

     “Because you’re a big girl now. And big girls don’t fly.”

 

     “What do they do?”

 

     “I’m not sure…I suppose they go to the mall…have other girls for friends…you’ll find out. Now climb on my back, and let’s go for one last flight.”

 

     Althea’s weight almost kept Andrew from achieving lift-off, but finally they were in the air. To his horror, Andrew felt Althea slip away. He grabbed for her, but she soared past him. Somehow, in all the time she’d spent with Andrew, she had developed her own ability to fly. They turned somersaults, chased each other through the clouds, dipped low to touch tree tops, then lifted high in the air again. After awhile they just floated on the breeze, holding hands. Andrew looked at Althea’s happy, smiling face and realized that the friendship they shared now would someday turn to love. He would never be alone again.

 

 

Reviews

[Will Neill]

Marie,A lovely heart warming story and one I very much enjoyed reading.
Will

[Marie]

THank you.

[Woody]

astounding storytelling as always, Marie. you write with such ease. such a pleasure to read you.
this is a sweet fantasy.
did you have Gilbert O'Sullivan in mind when you wrote "alone again, naturally"?

[Marie]

Thanks. Yes, you caught the reference I threw in.

I was not sure about this one. Andrew was almost a young man, and Althea was still a little girl; I didn't know how it sounded. I purposely kept the ages vague...

[psisatyr]

You have an uncanny sense of liberty to keep meanings enriched with sensuality of the earth and at the same time allowing the reader to be free to recreate your imaginations.

[Marie]

Thank you.I did not feel it had this much meaning.

[Lynx]

I'm afraid I couldn't fully understand the point you are trying to make with this story. I might just be too tired. All I can think of is "You can learn to love someone. Eventually."???

[Marie]

I wan't trying to make a point, just write a story.

[Jimmy Yetts]

As always, extremely well written; a skillful blend of humor and sadness.
Delightful, Marie--and not a little gratifying!

[Marie]

Thank you. I feel it was a little long, though i kept it under 1,000 words, as is my practice.