When I was a child. I found my brother squatting in the middle of the living room. He has his hands over his eyes. I walk up to him. He stays still. He keeps his hands over his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I am invisible, you can’t see me.” He says.
“I can see you.” I say.
“No you can’t!” He says.
I was puzzled. I asked my Mom about it later:
“He thinks nobody can see him if he can’t see anybody.” Mom says.
It was around this time that I discovered I had a magic power. I could fly. I would close my eyes and feel myself floating. I would fly as long as I kept my concentration. I made my cousin watch me fly. I was in the upstairs hallway at my Grandparent’s house. I close my eyes (You can’t to magic with your eyes open). Then I concentrated. I felt lighter. I estimated I levitated a foot off the ground.
“Did you see it? Did you see me fly!” I say.
My cousin Eve gives me a weird look.
“Oh yeah you sure did! Wow that is great!” Eve says.
My favorite place to fly is on my Grandparent’s stair case. I get close to the ceiling a few times. I fly in my bedroom. I feel the spiked stucco against my skin when I hit the ceiling. I decide I am going to fly down the staircase at my Grandma’s house. I take off at the top of the staircase. I don’t get a good lift off and land on the top third of the staircase. I take off again and find I am still stuck at a non-impressive place when I land. I dig deep and force myself forward. I fly a little bit. I open my eyes to see where I am at. I can see the stairs under my feet scrolling by. I lose focus. There is a closet at the bottom of the staircase. The door is closed. I hit the doorknob. Poof! BAM! I land on the ground. I can’t breathe. I can still feel the impact from the doorknob on my stomach.
“What was that?” Grandma asks.
“NOTHING!” I say.
“Are you okay?” Grandma asks.
“YES!” I say.
I don’t want to get in trouble for flying. But I haven’t learned my lesson. During the summer time I had fun tumbling down hills. The steeper the hill, the better. I was with my family when I found a hill so steep, it was impossible to resist. THIS time I was going to soar into the clouds! I throw myself forward and go into a wild, flopping, rolling fall. I land face first on a sharp rock. The rock scrapes my chin open. I left all of the flying up to balloons after that. As an adult I know that the belief I could fly came from vivid dreams, out of body experiences and the idea I got from my brother that magic is real. I had dreams that I saw my brother turn into a mirrored surface then vanish. In my dreams I could fly through the clouds like a B52. When I got a little older I tried to shape-shift into a Gargoyle using the same technique. I wish I could go back, to the time in my life, when magic was just a matter of closing your eyes and concentrating on something.
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