Seditious Little Soul

I used to dream I could fly. It was like I was walking just above the ground with very long steps. I’d take one step and cover a long city block. The ability started when I was small, late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping in my bedroom upstairs. Feeling the cold linoleum through my stocking feet, I listened to muffled adult voices from the top of the stairs, reach out with one foot, and fly down to the bottom. As I grew older I began to skim over the sidewalks as fast as the boxy, cartoonish cars, jumping over them if need be. I never got anywhere when I was flying. I was always in transit, always wanting to be somewhere else, always waking in my own bed. As I lay there in between dream and everyday living I thought maybe I could actually manage it if I got right the trick of the first step. My father always said it’s no good being a dreamer and I’d have to learn to keep my feet on the ground. I guess he knew my seditious little soul wanted just the opposite.