The book lay cracked open on the livingroom floor as my best friend, Maureen, and I carefully studied one of the first close up shots of a bird in flight. We read the text, looked at the photo again, giggled and ran into the kitchen. We came up with two large trash bags. Both of us could have fit into one.
Another flurry of activity produced many sheets of paper, all colors, scissors and crayons. Feathermaking had begun. We cut and cut and laughed and cut until we had enough feathers to cover...what? We needed a frame.
Rooting through the closet, we snagged two wire hangars and untwisted the ends. Forming two wing shapes, we carefully wrapped a single trash bag around each, closing the seams with duct tape.
We tried gluing the feathers onto the plastic first. Bad idea but we had a short-lived glue war which was good. Tape, again, proved the key. Then we were off to Maureen's front porch. I lived in an apartment building, she in the house across the street. We knew now it was not an up-and-down motion that worked for the birds. According to our instruction manual courtesy of Time-Life, it was actually a back-and-forth motion. We now held the keys to the universe, our secret knowledge.
Except for Ronnie Crawford next door whose dad made movies, we were the neighborhood entertainment. Maureen's brother, Billy, and her sister, Cheryl came out to watch. And since I had a mad crush on Ronnie - such a cute, long-haired, blond boy with doe eyes of blue - I hoped he was watching to witness our soaring flight where? Who cared as long as we got off the ground, although I did have some worries having read how Icarus came too close to the sun and melted his wings. My single comfort had been there was no wax to melt in our wings.
Maureen wanted me to go first. Suddenly, the top of the stairs was a long way from the bottom. I swallowed hard while slipping my chicken arms into the gloves of plastic.
"Remember to flap hard," Maureen whispered. "JUMP!" Billy and Cheryl yelled, their rat dog, Dink, barking for effect.
"I don't know about this anymore," I stammered.
"JUMP!" bark bark bark "JUUUMP!"
Airborne now and clutching the plastic with all my strength, I flapped like all hell. I heard plastic snapping, saw feathers flying off the wings for what had seemed, well, a few seconds.
THUD..."Ooooof." I lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs, two bleeding knees and covered in plastic, feathers and duct tape. I was scared to move. Am I dead? But then, in true adventurer spirit, "HOW FAR DID I GET?" my strangled cry to the audience above.
I rolled onto my back and saw...Billy, Cheryl and Maureen still at the top of the stairs, doubled over, laughing until they cried. I had made it exactly all the way down the stairs...onto the cement. Maybe ten feet. Ok, ten-and-a-half if you counted the top stair.
"I think we need more feathers," I declared. They stopped laughing and we got busy tweaking our version of the Wright Brothers' experiment, Project Icarus, over and over until the plastic frayed and there were no more feathers.
After that day, I dreamt of soaring without wings. Jumping and floating. And each morning, I would awaken at the foot of the stairs, knees bloodied, but ready to try again with a few more feathers and some fresh tape.
This is magnificent, Lisa. I really like the way you wove your life lesson into the story, bringing it all home so effortlessly. You really have a lovely way with words.
jean
Democratic Dilemmas and Divine Inspiration examines the significance or relevance of the idea that the U.S. Constitution was, as many believe, divinely inspired. How much did that belief matter to founders of the nation and how much does it matter no
