Butterflies are one of my favorite animals. They are so innocent. Brightly colored, with wings that are more beautiful than any manmade object. Millions of tiny, invisible feathers lift the insect into the sky to soar above in the heavens. They are a part of the blue sphere above, and sometimes it almost looks as if they are more spirit than physical matter.
Why can't I soar, too? Away and above, like a true Angel of God? Why can't I have wings?
But only my eyes have wings.
And wings can't carry away tears. Or fears. Tears for fears or fears with tears.
"Sam, hold really still." Davy whispers in my ear. His hands rest gently on my shoulders, steadying me. "Relax."
So I do. I close my eyes and lift my face. My hair is tied back, my glasses hanging from the neckline of my shirt. It's the first and only time I will ever try contacts.
"Freeze and become one with the world."
A butterfly alights on my nose, its tiny feet tickling. I feel the ground beneath my feet fade away, and the sky is sinking, coming lower and lower and suddenly it is under my feet. The clouds whip past me, cool breezes batter me about like a puppet.
I twitch my nose, and it flies away. And with it fly my wings.
And down to the Earth I fell.
Heavy things don't fly.