For those of you who don't know my son, he's been a lead singer & guitar player in rock bands since he was 15, and has probably dyed his hair more often than I have---and that's a LOT! Gotta love creative expression.
Jake becomes concerned about time, and needs to meet Ashley, his wife, so he rinses his hair and bolts out the door. I watch which direction he heads then take my turn in the small sink rinsing the hair dye off my hair. I rinse my head quickly, and run out the door to follow Jake. (I'm a helicopter Mom sometimes... OK most of the time...) I realize he has a pretty good head start so I decide to take a short cut down a side street. I zoom out, and up, to an aerial street map like you see on Google maps and pick my course.
Walking does not seem fast enough so I begin running. My pace picks up, and my legs become gazelle like--stretching out gracefully before me with strides that appear like a super heroine. People start to notice, and make comments, "Wow! Look at that girl running. Her feet are off the ground!" (Yes, I consider myself a girl in a woman's body) I'm elated to see my feet are actually off the ground, and make a decision to fly instead of run since I'm practically flying anyway.
To gain altitude I start making swimming motions with my arms cutting through the air as if it's water. Up, up, up I go... above the buildings, the cars and the people walking on the sidewalks or standing in their yards. Everyone is watching me sail above them. No one has seen someone fly before and this is my 15 minutes of fame. I'm feeling exhilarated, and special, and free. I no longer need to flap my arms, my body is gliding effortlessly as if I weighed the same as a feather.
I'm flying above the main intersection in downtown Ojai where the clock tower is in the center of town. The sky is a vivid, surreal blue. People are crossing the street hurrying to make it before the traffic light changes. In the crosswalk below me are a group of conservative women with shopping bags dangling from their arms. They're clustered tightly together like a quilt made out of polyester squares afraid to touch cotton.
Suddenly a women that resembles the church lady from SNL pulls back from the pack, and points a bony finger up at me as I flit overhead. Her mouth looks like a sea gull's beak, gaping open begging for bread crumbs. I pause in mid flight to discern the words coming from her gullet. They break the perfect, blissful moment my flight has given me as she screams.
"You can't fly! That's not Godly! God doesn't like it when you fly!"
Everyone on the sidewalks and crosswalk stop dead in their tracks. They stare at me barely breathing to see what my reaction will be to her loud accusation. My soul, my heart, my core knows this is not true. Without hesitation my voice resonates through the dead air like a skilled stage actor with perfect diction knowing everyone in the back row of the theater can hear my booming, poised voice.
"F_ _ K, you! God loves it when I fly. He's the One who taught me how to fly in the first place!"
Then off I fly into the sunset as free as a bird. I am free. Finally, I am free.
End of dream....
My son has such a healthy attitude about being different than other people. One time he had a 5 inch hawk (Mohawk) with bleached roots, a 3 inch band of lime green, and black tips. We went out to eat, and the little kids at the table next to us were staring at him. Their parents apologized and said, "Sorry our kids are staring at you but they love the Disney movie "Land Before Time" and they think you are a dinosaur." Everyone in the restaurant laughed, especially my son.
Now I really, really, REALLY want to type the "F" word in the sentence above, and not sugar coat it. Ya'll know I never use "that" word here on my blog. (I said on NOT my blog... it's been known to soothe my ruffled feather's on occasion when no other word is bold enough) I prefer to use Frap but it's really the same word.... It's just a matter of switching out a few letters. But I am afraid. Afraid of what you'll think about me if I do.
I know it's just a word. I also know this word is offensive to some people. And let me set the record straight. I love conservative people, freaks, polyester (well I'm kinda lying about that one... OK I am lying right out loud about that one... I truly hate polyester) This is not a post about bashing anyone or anything--except my own fears. Plus, you all know I worry sometimes about what people think about me for having PTSD or panic attacks since May 4, 2008. I "shouldn't" still be afraid to get in a car. I shouldn't be afraid to type the Eff word.
I know some of you would cheer me on to type "it" because you've followed my blog for a long time. Frap is safer to type and this just more Fear being afraid to type a silly word, and that sucks. I loved my dream, and I want to be flipping freer. My spirit knows how to fly. Fudge... I freaking can't stay stuck forever. It's just a frigging word.... Four little letters. I want to let it rip because that's what the dream was all about. Not being afraid. Not allowing people to make me question myself or doubt myself. Not being afraid of what other people think about me even if I do get scared sometimes.... or if I fly too high.... or if I say....
There I said it.
There I said it.
Frap... that was hard.
And yes, I'm cringing a wee bit....
OK a LOT...
OK a LOT...
Do ya'll still love me?????