Driving down the highway in the direction of somewhere, I look at you—your hair just right, mystically cooperating with the force of the wind to create, what to me, is a moment of art. But I don’t take out my phone because some moments deserve no capture…and, well, my hands should be at 10 and 2. Instead, I turn to you and say—

“Do you wanna fly?”

With no confusion, you just nod “yes,” and smile.

So I flip up the small hinged lid on my dash to reveal a crimson red button. I press it with flamboyant vigor. 

Without delay, we begin to rise parallel to the ground, into the bright blue sky, as if summoned. No wings needed, just our anticipation. Our stomachs feel full of feathers as the levitation greets our minds. The front of the car tilts up to a 45-degree angle, heading towards a pillow cloud that is covering the sun. Face blotted, rays commanding attention, the cloud momentarily snuffing out its might.

With a slow but steady upheaval, we continue our ascent. The cars, streets, and trees—all the terrestrial—look like a painting, like fiction, below. I turn to you again, much like the first time, but without question. Your left arm floats outside the window, hand dancing and fingers twirling an invisible ribbon. 

We become skyscrapers. Our eyes connect, a tightrope between us, not daring to move or the walker might fall. Without control, a gurgling laughter bubbles and boils over from each of us. Our teeth vibrant in the transitioning light. Our laughter dials down, and the walker falls as the sky beckons our eyes once again. 

Realizing we only have the sound of booming adrenaline-fueled peace, and the clear breeze, I switch on the radio, suddenly transported to 2002:

And up we went.