Who doesn't dream of flying? One morning when I was about six years old I awoke and found myself flying through the air. It was very early in the morning and the air was thick. I woke myself up by coughing and found that I was floating over my back yard in the arms of a fireman.
At this Seattle house we had a terraced back yard that had three levels. The first level was all grass that angled down onto a second level where our swing set waited and rusted patiently for our attention. The last level dropped off sharply and had about a three foot ledge before dropping about twenty feet below into the neighbors yard behind us. From the windows at the back of the house you could see Union Bay and the construction of the expansion bridge high above the water.
The fireman carried me silently in the air over the first section of the back yard and laid me gently against the soft curve of grass that met the second level. I remember thinking it was a dream but realized it was really happening when my older sister was placed near me by another fireman within a minute later.
My sister and I shared a bedroom that was very girly. Ruffled shear curtains at the windows covering wide white wooden venetian blinds. We had black wrought iron bunk beds that were placed side by side separated in the middle by a night stand. At the opposite ends of our beds were our dresser drawers against the wall and a little ruffle covered vanity table with a stool. My sister slept in the bed against the wall and I was in the bed closest to the door. I was the easy grab for my fireman as he only had to reach for me from the doorway. My sister's fireman however tried to manueuver around the little girl room in all of his gear and it was more dificult a pick-up for him.
So that's why I got to be the first to fly accross the yard away from the house whose trusty basement furnace decided to break free and explode its memory into the early morning hours leaving us with soot filled momentos for months to come.