Magical Thinking
I originally wrote this in my journal. It’s something of a cross between a short story, essay and poem – and yet not really any of those things at all.
Magical Thinking
When I was a child, my friends and I would play a game that we called Superman (or Supergirl, depending on who’s turn it was). We weren’t leaping tall buildings in a single bound or fighting for Truth, Justice and the American Way… all we were doing was pretending we could fly.
Depending on what the bigger kids were doing during recess, we would either swarm the swings or the merry-go-round and each take turns flying. If it was “your turn” (carefully determined using the infallible “eeny meenie miney mo” method, which was, obviously, superior to “ink a bink a bottle of ink”), you got to lay belly down on the edge of the merry-go-round (or on the seat of the swing) with your arms extended while the others spun or pushed you as fast and as hard as they could.
The breeze brushing through our hair and kissing our faces made it feel like we really were flying. In our minds, we were reaching Mach speeds and breaking the sound barrier. Not wanting to use our powers for harm, we all solemnly vowed that we would only spin the merry-go-round in one direction or face toward the tree if we were on the swing so that we wouldn’t risk making the whole world spin the wrong way around.
I loved the game so much that I would sometimes try to play it in the car – as much as my mother would let me get away with it. I would roll down the window and try to lean out as much as I could to get that sensation (it wasn’t much – my mother knew a guy who knew a girl who was the mother of the proverbial kid who’s arm got cut off for sticking his arm out the window). When she would drive fast, I was convinced that if I could just lean out far enough, I would really take off like a kite.
Because of my observations during the game at school or in the car (ie. the faster you went, the faster the breeze), I believed that the wind was caused by the world spinning. In my mind, I imagined God up in heaven with a globe that he would idly spin on his fingertip like a Harlem Globetrotter. On really windy days, God was spinning it super fast. On still days, the globe was sitting undisturbed on his desk.
During the summers, rather than playing Superman (or Supergirl) my friends and I would lie in the grass and lift our feet into the air. We’d pretend that the world was upside down and we were walking on the sky. Sometimes, we would clutch the grass and pretend that we would fall off the world if we let go. Other times, we’d pretend that we were so strong that we were holding up the whole world.
When I got older, I learned about things like gravity, wind currents, and weather systems. I learned that the world was not this magical place that was sitting on God’s fingertip as he practiced his Globetrotter moves. The world was not spinning faster on windy days. I could lean all the way out of the car, but no matter how fast we went, I would never be able to take off like a kite. My friends and I weren’t so mighty that we were holding up the world, and we did not ever have to worry about falling off.
I was stuck on a magic-less planet.
Sometimes, though, when we’re driving really fast on a highway, I’ll stick my arm out the window and pretend that if I leaned out a bit farther, I could take flight. In fields of grass when no one is looking, I’ll raise my feet into the air and pretend that I’m holding on to the Earth for dear life. On really windy days, I still like to believe that God is doing his Harlem Globetrotter impression. And some days, when the breeze is really strong and I’m sure no one is around, I will stretch my arms in front of me and pretend that I’m flying so fast that if I flew the wrong direction, I could change the orbit of the Earth.
M. Jacobs – May 2009
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