James Babbs

The Day Harold Finally Flew

Nearly every morning when Harold awoke he stood near the edge of the bed and started flapping his arms.

–You’re never going to fly, Helen said.

Harold glared at his wife.  She always said the same thing to him each and every morning.

–How do you know?  Harold shot back.  –One of these days you’ll see.-

Helen didn’t say anymore.  She just rolled her eyes and headed into the bathroom.  After she was gone Harold continued flapping his arms for a few more seconds.

It had always been Harold’s dream since he was a boy. He would spend hours watching the birds fly around wishing he could be like them.  Just because it hadn’t happened yet didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

–You’re not a child anymore, Helen would say to him.  –You’re not even a young man.-

Harold remembered a time, not so many years ago, when Helen believed in him.  He would even mind her about it, sometimes.

–Yes, she would say.  –But that was about real things.  Like getting a promotion at work.  Not about something as ridiculous like thinking you can fly.-

Maybe it was ridiculous, Harold thought, but he kept believing, kept the dream alive even when Helen pooh-poohed it.

It was a Saturday morning and Harold and Helen had slept in the way they often did on the weekends.  Harold got up and Helen turned over, mumbling in her sleep.  Harold left the bedroom and went out into the kitchen to get the coffee started.  When he had it going Harold opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck.  The sun was bright and shining and the air felt warm.  It was going to be a beautiful day.

Harold closed his eyes and started flapping his arms.  Out here on the deck he had plenty of room so he flapped his arms faster and harder than how he normally would when he was standing in the bedroom.  Harold felt something strange begin to happen.  He felt himself rising up into the air.  Harold was afraid to open his eyes.  Afraid, if he did, the whole thing would turn out to be just an illusion, a figment of his imagination.

Harold kept flapping his arms and he was sure of it, now.  It wasn’t an illusion.  Harold really was rising into the air.  After climbing several feet he opened his eyes and looked down.  He saw the deck and the house growing smaller and smaller.  Harold continued flapping his arms and not only did he keep rising but he, also, started flying around.

Harold flew away from the house and out over the neighborhood.  He flew past the Garvey’s house and the Shoemachers and out away from the town.  Harold found, now, that he was in the air, he didn’t have to flap his arms nearly as much to stay suspended.  Harold laughed and thought, if only Helen could see him now.

Harold wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and the large blade of a wind turbine crashed into him and he spiraled down to the ground.  The impact knocked Harold unconscious.

Harold had no idea how long he had been lying there when he, finally, opened his eyes and stared up at the sun.  He wasn’t sure if he was capable of moving but after a few minutes he managed to sit up.

Harold rubbed the back of his head, gently, checking his hand to see if there was any blood.  Luckily there wasn’t any.  There was just a throbbing pain running through his skull.  Harold wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Helen if he made it back home.  Maybe he could make it back home before she woke up.

After all of his years of wanting to fly and wanting Helen to believe in him Harold had no desire to tell her he had, finally, done it.  And now that he had done it, had actually flown up into the air, Harold had no desire to ever do it again.  Harold stood up.  His legs felt shaky but he remained on his feet.  He waited another moment or two and then, slowly, started walking and making his way back home.