A stamp of grease simmers through thin red-and-white checkerboard tissue. Moments before it housed a glorious hamburger from a neighborhood diner, an antique of the 50's. I watched the grease deepen, soak, and crawl up the tissue. Soon the pool of it has begun to congeal together, saturating the tissue so much the basket underneath shone through. The burgers were long gone now, having been snarfed down, hungrily and selfishly. The salt still lingers in my taste buds. Maybe the humidity was slow-boiling my brain mush.
The grass of the neighborhood sighed under the mid-August sun, the streets filthy with rolling head and not much else. The next door neighbors began the post-siesta shuffle towards the boiling cars, while the other lamely waters the trees brittle with sunburn in the front yard. The white van backs out of the driveway.
The ocean breeze rides. The neighborhood had been removed with a hole puncher and placed on the vast ocean below. In fact, an ocean liner scurried from the base of the towering neighborhood, gently drifting on gentle oceans towards a massive pole breaching the ocean. On top of this pole was Radio Control.
Radio Control's windows were tinted black and reflective. The sky was so clear in it while I balanced myself on a flagpole just feet away from a window. The wind whipped so hard I felt cold and cut at the same time. Through the tinted windows I saw the silhouette of him. I squinted as if it would help and look to him for help.
He never moves.
My heart falls.
The wind slowed and I looked upwards, eyes stinging with tears. A charlie horse makes it's presence known in my left calf. I wonder to myself..
"Can I fly?"
A breath later. Lift. Weightless. It felt natural and easy. Like putting on a loyal coat. Ascending up and up the sound of airplane engines rattle in my ears as the deep blue sky swallows me whole.