Birdman Hovers over Paoli
What kid doesn’t want to fly? On blustery afternoons, after tossing blankets onto the leaf-strewn grass, we attempt it from our low garage roof. Poised at roof’s edge, we dip our knees, drop down gingerly, energetically waving our arms. We hope to land softly, pain-free.
All except for Joe. He races across the roof, hurling his body into the sky. Arms whipping straight before him, he soars Superman-fashion off the suburban roof. The rest of us – sisters and friends – hold our breaths. Lowering fast, he curls into a ball and, at the last possible moment, executes a half-flip, landing on his feet.
“Did you see that? Did you see birdman fly?” he yells. Wordlessly, we applaud.
each other’s skinny backs
we search for wings