THE YEAR WE LEARNED TO FLY

That was the year we learned to fly…

We were flying over the city we’d known our whole lives, but it was suddenly different. Exploding with every kind of flower we’d ever dreamed of growing.

That was the spring when the rain seemed like it would never stop

and the thunder boomed so hard, we weren’t allowed to go outside.

Use those beautiful and brilliant minds of yours, my grandmother said.

Lift your arms, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and believe in a something.

Somebody somewhere at some point was just as bored as you are now.

So my brother and I closed our eyes.

And for a few minutes that first day, we weren’t stuck in our apartment anymore.

We were flying over the city we’d known our whole lives, but it was suddenly different. Exploding with every kind of flower we’d ever dreamed of growing.

That was the summer we learned to fly.

When my brother and I couldn’t stop fussing with each other over whose turn it was to wash the windows to feed the dog, to clean the kitchen.

We fought and frowned and made silent promises to never speak to the each other again.

My grandmother said,

Lift your arms, close your eyes, take a deep breath,

and stop being so mean about everything.

Somebody somewhere at some point was just as mad as you are now.