Wondersmith West Discussion Forum Hosted by Alice C. Bateman: Flying

Flying

What surprised me most was the laughter.

Belly aching, side splitting, rolling around the floor, spontaneous, sheer enjoyment, faces devoid of life’s troubles, pressures, losses, faces illuminated with sheer delight, arms hugging strangers, legs dancing, skipping, fingers and faces pointed at the sky, pointed at me.

It wasn’t all laughter. Some were upset, genuinely upset, crying, sobbing, for whatever reason, maybe to do with religious beliefs. Maybe crying for me and my dilemna but I doubt it. Some stood stock still, looking to the sky in awe, as if witnessing a miracle, shedding quiet tears of wonderment, crossing themselves, playing the rosaries, whispering prayers, (a much varied selection of requests, demands, giving thanks, (for what? Life itself, sons and daughters, what little peace there is in the world, or perhaps for the pointless spectacle before their very eyes)). I actually heard a couple of shouts about the Second Coming!

If I had been a fellow witness, I think I would have run scared to the nearest bar. Easy to say. After all, I wasn’t one of them, I was alone, above them, looking down upon them. They were my witnesses, I was their witness.

Midday, high hot bright Sun, the sea rippled lazily onto the sand, the horizon was lost in distant summer mist, the beach was overcrowded to overspilling onto the promenade. A multitude of bodies cooking and too cooked to move, sun shades promoting thirst quenching beers, insurance, cigarettes, private health, golf and fishing equipment.

Amongst the ‘day drugged’ throng, a little boy about 5 years of age, walked awkwardly backwards, dragging a cheap plastic kite. The kite’s cross-frame regularly stuck into the hot sand, poked and prodded Sun parched bathers who would murmer their annoyance at the little brat. He wanted his kite to fly, it was his first kite, he only wanted it to go a little way into the sky, then he’d be happy. Even for a minute, if only he could see his kite fly like a bird while he controlled it. His bare feet were burning, he stopped to rest, shielded his eyes with his hand and looked to the sky for a bird.

But there were no birds flying, far too hot, they were sheltering in nooks in the cliffs or deep inside the dune grass or wherever birds can find respite from the heavenly fire. Apart from an empty, hazy, powder blue sky, all he could see was ………… me.
And boy! Did he yell, jump up and down, pointing at me. He forgot all about his kite. A rather porculent gentleman, with red skin, red face, knotted handkerchief hat, pushed his beach chair backwards to investigate the kerfuffle. His chair smashed the kite. The little boy’s attention was absorbed by the site in the sky, far better than a kite in the sky. The reverse domino effect was startling, from this relatively central point on the beach, a circular undulation spread rapidly, until everyone was standing and then ………… the beach erupted in noise and movement. I tried every trick in the book to escape – but of course – that was my problem.

I’d only flown twice before, not very high, (maybe six feet), and not very far. I’m not magical. I’m no Angel. I’m certainly no Angel. That’s a lie. I’d flown hundreds of times, all over the world and other very strange worlds, I’d seen many things. And although these flights were very real, they were dreams.

As a child, about the same age as the boy with the kite, many an enjoyable hour was spent joining the dots in the night sky through my bedroom window. Look carefully and see giraffes, faces, cars, buildings, giants and some very nice patterns. One night I saw a flying light, changing colours, flying erratically like a supersonic butterfly. I watched it for ages and realised if I wished it to be in a different part of the sky, then it would zig zag there immediately. It was real good fun but soon I got tired and let the curtains fall back into place. I turned around in the subdued twilight to my bed and was not at all surprised to find this bizarre little man standing in front of my Ninja Turtle wardrobe. Difficult to spot at first, his colour was similar to the turtles. He told me he loved me, not to be afraid and that he would teach me something special. He may have said many things but that’s all I remember and I wasn’t afraid. Afterwards he would always appear in my dreams and eventually - he was a very patient man - he taught me to fly.

It’s easy when you know how, like swimming or riding a bike. At least it became easy in my dreams. He never said it was a secret …………….. so, here’s how you too, can fly …………

The main thing is, it’s a state of mind, you have to believe it’s the most natural thing to do. The air, atmosphere, call it what you will, is your ocean and you don’t intend to fly, you intend to swim. Dream my instructions and I guarantee it will work but only after many attempts. With practice the air becomes very thick like invisible custard, so thick that you have to wade, walking is imposible. Take three very strong, long, wading steps and then jump. Timing is all important at this stage because it isn’t easy to jump up in invisible thick custard. As soon as your feet leave the ground, then your arms have to work in unison as if you are swimming the breast stroke. Practicing this part can be frustrating but I promise, it does get easier. If you are the same as me, then, the first time it works for you, you will be so shocked, your arms will stop and you’ll drop like a shot bird and you will later feel and hurt like a shot bird. Don’t lose heart, regain your courage and go for it again and again, it becomes second nature and the end result is awesome, overwhelming. Infinity becomes your bounds, impossible to imagine. Oh – I forgot – the stage I left you at is like a new born swimmer. It takes a little more effort and practice to fly with your legs trailing horizontally. All in the mind – if legs are dangling, then in case of breakdown, you will land on your feet. That might be so but not much use to you when flying at 30,000 feet. A little extra courage and you will be flying horizontal. Then the real fun starts, when you do your first vertical climb, supersonic dive, hypersonic trip, or a gentle hover above a far away city. Infinity becomes your bounds. Take me into your dreams, if you don’t know me then imagine me and let me teach you to fly.

The first time I really, really flew, could be compared to the Wright brother’s first flight. It was about three years after the night sky butterfly, the night a very strange man came into my bedroom. School sports day. I was so very much out of sports, most of my friends ridiculed me, even football was a complete ‘no no’. This particular year, I was supposed to be helping in the refreshment tent, until I was told stupid Simon Jaeger had got the mumps and I had to take his place in the long jump. Simon’s father even brought his son’s sports gear for me to wear, it was at least two sizes too big. I looked the nerd that I was.

My turn was coming up, the ‘run up’ was between a gauntlet of parents and school mates. In the distance, teachers in hiviz jackets, stood either side of the sand pit with measuring intruments to hand. Suddenly I thought about flying, I knew I could do it, can’t explain but I had no doubts whatsoever. Instead of the long ‘run up’, I walked until there was approximately three steps left to the ‘jump off’ point. Here, I stood still, took some deep breaths, as the gauntlet jeered and schoolmates shouted some quite hurtful things. Then …………………. I was wading strongly through thick custard, all sounds became muffled, periphery vision a blur ……………. I leapt in slow motion, my feet left the ground, my arms performed one, (yes, only one), breast stroke ………….. I landed at the far end of the pit …………. to the accompany of silence, apart from the shrill of a skylark, hovering over a nearby field of wheat. Then the cheers exploded into the day, the teachers sprung to life, measuring again and again. Someone pulled me to my feet and draped me with cooking foil. I had broken the school record by 23 inches and my record stands to this day. Over the following days people chewed over explanations such as a freak wind or riding a rogue mini thermal. No explanation was satisfactory. I refused to repeat my endeavour, much to the chagrin of the school staff. I won a medal that day but much more important, I won the respect of my friends.

My next real, real flight was many years later, I was about sixteen, I was walking the parapet of a footbridge, showing off to the ditzy little blonde, Sarah Sweetland. I looked down at her, the look on my face said, ‘Look at me – you will never ever meet a hunk as brave and daring as me! Maybe later, you will pay me for putting on this show for you ………… .’ That’s when I fell. Head first but split seconds before I drilled into the ground below, I was doing superman, flying horizontal, perhaps for only 30 seconds and then landing on my feet like an experienced parachutist. This part of my performance simultaneously shocked, scared and astounded Sarah Sweetland. Later, she confided that she had wet herself.

You might be left wondering why I wasn’t ever tempted to really, really fly more often. Well, the truth is ‘dream flying’ is truly enjoyable, whilst real flying scares me more than a little. Real flying means real falling ………… I’m no hero and I’m no Angel.

Tomorrow is my twenty first birthday, today is the hottest day on record and the midday sun is virtually at it’s peak. I am standing alone, on a very remote part of the cliff tops. I’m not feeling suicidal - but after failing some rather important exams and not being able to see much of a future, I’ve decided to put my flying abilities to the supreme test, after all, I’m still enjoying the dream flights. What have I got to lose? What’s the worst that could happen? Upon reflection – I would rather not reflect anymore upon those questions. I woke up this morning, knowing what I was going to do. It felt good to have an itinary. So here I am. Sporting a predominantly lime green t-shirt emblazoned with the slogan, ‘High Dive with Five Alive’, browny-tan bermuda shorts, (they don’t show the stains, they say), and a pair of scruffy trainers that have a particularly good grip, (thought this last point might be useful). I stand approximately three paces from the crumbling cliff edge. I don’t know how high the cliff is but it wouldn’t surprise me to look over and down and spot a passing Jumbo Jet riding it’s regular flight path.

Well here goes ………….. perfect day for it ……………. musn’t think too much ……. picture the dreams ……….. sports day, way back when time began ……… three heavy wade steps, invisible thick custard and now ………….. an invisible jeering gauntlet ………… three heavy wade steps, a leap up and forward, finally the breast stroke, (more than one …….. a lot more than one!).

The scientists say it’s impossible for a bumble bee to fly – they ain’t seen nuthin’ yet!

I ask you to picture the latest ‘Matrix like’ special effects. Superextra slow motion, hands of a clock quickly slowing to a standstill, a young couple taking their first kiss on a park bench, a lost child in a busy store, city traffic in reverse gear, the Sun setting at midday, a lost child reunited with it’s parents. …………..

Then the camera focuses on me taking my third and final step, zooms in on scruffy trainers, first one, then the other planted on the crumbling lip of the cliff, sending up clouds of chalk, dust and rubble. The shot instantly shows my legs as they bend and then straighten, (to the sountrack of the Bionic Man when he’s slomo running – they’ve never improved on that, have they?). Then my face, sheer concentration, sprinting and flying sweat beads, blurred movements of my arms, ‘High Dive with Five Alive’, (Hey, film companies will never change!).

The orchestra reaches crescendo, climax ………….. and there’s a perfect panoramic view of the lazy sea, shrouded horizon, giant jagged rocks, majestic cliffs, powder blue skys and me ………. falling head first to certain death …………..

Words from another world come back to me, ‘Relax, state of mind, most natural thing in the world, thick custard, enjoy …………. .’ The rocky cove had a huge open door with a sign above it that read, ‘Welcome. Please come in and rest awhile.’ My arms and legs are flailing mindlessly. I decide to try a breast stroke, as slow and relaxed as I can, (which, under the circumstances, is pretty quick and tense). Low and behold I swerve out of the dive like a wounded WW2 fighter plane, skimming the rocks and rising into the air. The cinema audience are on their feet cheering, throwing popcorn, some are shouting, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah – What a surprise!!’

The problem is, I am flying fast, following the coastline, rising and dipping dangerously. The coastline curves, I take the bend without braking, I am over a different sea, a sea of colour, a blurred mosaic. Time to slow down, this is far too dangerous, I put my arms straight by my sides, (I call this Superman mode), I come to a standstill, begin to sink into the thick custard, panic and perform a couple of breast strokes. I must be about 40 feet in the air, my legs are dangling, I’m bent at the waist, I am frantically doing the breast stroke. I look down …………….. I’m over a crowded beach ………. I see a little boy …………. the little boy sees me, waves, jumps up and down, yelling and screaming. The whole beach awakes. Camera flashes, like a secret hoard of diamonds. My secret is out, or perhaps it is the secret of the human race, buried deep within our subconcious. Whatever …………… a very mixed reaction ….. directly below they are actually clearing a space for me to land, (if only I knew how ……. .).

But what surprised me most was the laughter.

Flying

Very interesting, Sir Rusty!

Flying