Fliers

I went to bed with a headache. The result was a vivid and strange dream. I dreamt I was invited to a party at a two-story art gallery in an old city. It was night; the street was damp and the air cool. Warm yellow light streamed out of the windows at the front of the gallery, exposing the roomful of partygoers like fish in a bowl. The entrance was grand; two stories open all the way up. And as I stepped through the wide double doors I was met with a flurry of activity.

There, in the entrance was a flying contraption, the type used in the theater to lift people and propel them over the stage. Men and women dressed in tuxedos and party dresses waited in line for their turn flying.

As I entered, two young women were preparing to fly. The first girl wore her hair in pale yellow ringlets piled on top of her head. She wore heavy makeup, rouged cheeks and bright red lips. Her long, apparently fake eyelashes batted as she glanced coquettishly around the crowd as a young man dressed in a tux with tales and satin vest helped her into her harness. She daintily held up the skirts of her pale pink, tea-length dress, and giggled when the lacy petticoats became visible to all.

The other young lady, a shy girl with long auburn hair held back by a rose-colored ribbon, held the skirt of her antique lace dress down as she slipped into the harness and blushed as the men prepared to hoist her into the air. She looked around the crowd nervously, but men and women with gloved hands and applauded politely as she was lifted up above their heads.

At that same time, a whoop let out in the crowd as the first girl flew high into the air above the crowd. She smiled garishly and called out, “Look at me! Look how high I can fly!” as the men pulling on the wires lifted her near the ceiling. She waved her hands and pointed her toys and ordered the men with the wires to lift her even higher. “I want to touch the stars!” she exclaimed dramatically.

The second girl, on the other hand, blushed as the men held her in the air and covered her mouth when she giggled. When it was apparent the men were beginning to exhaust their strength, she politely asked to be let down and they slowly lowered her back down to the floor. Women rushed to her side, patting her on the shoulders and remarking how lovely she looked when she flew. “Like an angel,” one said. “ “Like a dove.”

But their attention was quickly drawn up toward the ceiling as the first girl shouted down to the men with the wires, “Higher! Lift me higher!” But the men with the wires were tired; they needed a break from holding her up. So more men from the crowd slipped our of their dress coats and rolled up the sleeves of their impeccable white dress shirts and took hold of the rope.

The crowd continued to grow. Some were watching the scene. Others were patiently waiting for their turn. At one point, as the men continued to fatigue, the wire became slack and the first girl slipped, dropping a few feet before the men caught hold of the wire again. “You fools! You could have killed me!” she shouted ungraciously. “Now, lift me higher!”

Not once did the first girl glance down with concern or consideration for the men who held her up, allowing her to fly as high as she pleased to her heart’s content. Not once did she glance down to see if others waited in line for their turn, their chance to feel the exhilaration of flight. Her only concern was for herself.

Now, what does this all mean? I’m sure we can all draw a few conclusions, maybe a moral or two. But, I don’t know, really. It was just a dream.

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