Sunday was amazing! One of my dreams ever since starting up kite flying came to pass on that day. For that day, dear readers, was the day I took flight to do battle amongst the celestial beings and claim my seat on the side of glory! Here lies the tale:
Imagine a sky lit up with the fiery flurry of a hundred blood thirsty warriors, channeling this rage through cotton line to their death from above vessels. I dare Stravinsky himself to come up with a composition fitting for such a war between so many. The sides? There are no teams in the sky. Like international waters, anything goes up in the blue seas of the heavens. Truces brokered and broken, greedy alliances made for the sole purpose of knives to the back. No no dear readers, I assure you – every kite is up there pursuing their own means. Every kite races to be the highest, fastest, and deadliest bird of prey in the land.
Like a baby fresh from the womb, Jeremy fumbled over himself as he tried to set sail his sky-warrior. Unable to accomplish the most rudimentary form of flight, Jer felt himself toppling down Piaget’s pyramid and cursed the gods for his ineptitude. But take heart dear reader, a man took pity on Jer, much like any father would take pity on such a site. Relieving the time when he taught his own son how to ride a bicycle, he taught Jer how the basics of fighting kites. You can tell he’s a man who wants his newly adopted son to achieve, because his biological son is a disappointment. He got involved with the wrong crowd in high school and now spends much of his time between prison sentences flipping tricks on the street. Well, this makes this man think that if he had spent more time with his son, you know, playing catch and going to baseball games instead of working, that maybe he’d have a married son and be a grandpa. You know, that sort of thing.
At last, the kite broke through the lowest stratosphere and took its place amongst angels. Here, Jeremy thought, is where I belong. A calming sense overtook him as he watched his flight go up to the heavens. This is beauty, he muses. Such a gift from nature’s laws to allow a fanciful dream of flight. Jer soaks this in and feels one with the world.
But lo! A maniacal kites cuts through the line! “Fucking Shit!” Jeremy yells. That was my kite! My happiness depended on that tissue orb! But his roars go unanswered. The masked assailant is already off, destroying dreams of the innocent.
Now dear reader, take heart! For Jer may have been had this time but the vengeance he swore on that hallowed ground is complete and consuming! Joining the mad sharks circling fighters at death’s door, Jer is an animal! He will stop at nothing to reclaim what was taken – a kite. Is he the oldest one, yes. But age has no place on the grounds of war, dear reader; Only vengeance and redemption.
An lo, with the finesse of a wrangler, Jer grabs the line out of the air and assumes command of his new commandeered ship. With grace, he lands the sentinel safely – line needs to be replenished.
As Jer sets to work refurbishing his craft a young boy, who came to the festival with Jer, asks to have a turn in the skies. So young, so innocent. Jer acquiesces. Who among you readers can deny a boy the simple joys of kites? And as Jer looks onto the horizon, his battered ego holds its head high. Balance has returned. All is right again.
For those of you confused with the diction of this post, I was taking a stab at writing in the Wizard People, Dear Reader style. It may not runs as smooth as the Laurence D'Olivier, but getting in this mindset did bring me back to my senior year apartment and was a good way to reminisce about all the fun I had with my roommates. I miss the Treehouse quite a bit and look forward to next summer when we will have our first reunion (unofficial – which is the only real way to hark back to our times).
Cheers,
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