I always enjoyed a nighttime stroll. Everything seen and heard and touched in daylight became a new experience when illuminated by the glow of the moon or whispered amidst the reverence of nocturnal rest. The lonely trees took on a hauntingly beautiful character, their shiny leaves like little fairies dancing and twirling about the proud, imposing silhouette of the trunk and branches. Deer or foxes quietly foraging for food under cover of darkness would pause and stare, as countless pairs of reflective eyes fixed on me and wondering at my purpose. The old gravel road, humble and begrudged in daylight, then crunched a most pleasant greeting with every step I took. The mountain stood silently overlooking the landscape and the stars twinkled happily above. I was so enchanted by these things it took little else to persuade me out at odd hours, but this particular evening as we anticipated the arrival of some beloved relatives, I was eager to meet them up the road and offer a surprise welcome as they drove in.
I set out, traipsing along excitedly. It was about ten o’clock and certainly dark, so I brought a small flashlight in case I should need it. Of course, I did not walk by beam of the flashlight, for that would have disturbed the wonderful mystery of the night. But this time I did in fact stop by the barn to give my bunnies a treat, so I used the flashlight to find my way through the gate and around the feed bins. With the flashlight in one hand, I removed the galvanized steel lid of the feed can with my other, but as I did so, I saw car headlights approaching and knew the awaited company were about to pull into the drive. So, dropping what I was doing, but not bothering to drop the objects in my hands, I scampered up the hill to deliver my fervent greetings.
The car turned into the gravel drive and came to a stop as I walked up feigning a police officer pulling them over for a ticket. The driver–my aunt–played along by imploring mercy for her imaginary crime, on the grounds that she had been driving all day, and it was most necessary she be allowed to come to her destination. We all laughed and exchanged joy at seeing one another. I told them I had to return to the barn to finish feeding the bunnies, but that they might continue on. Not wanting to miss the joy of their arrival at the house, I went in haste to complete my task, as they resumed to drive slowly down the hill.
Now here is where the story becomes absurd. I took off running down the hill ahead of the car, keeping to the edge of the driveway, so I was partly on the gravel and partly on the grassy curb that sloped off into the pasture. The barn was at the base of the gravel incline, of which situation I took every advantage to expedite my journey. I ran like any country girl does when she is in her element, rather like a wild creature with the spirit of a mustang and the daring stupidity of a mountain goat. Day or night, barefooted or shod, I naturally went with enthusiasm. But this night was especially beautiful, and the thrill of it all sent an intoxicating surge of energy through my being. Boots catching every bounding leap, tresses and skirts tossed back and trailing like streamers behind me, my arms open wide, and my heart set free, I ran as I had never run before. I ran till I began to fly.
And fly I did! If you don’t believe me, you may ask the witnesses in the car who watched it all happen in the beam of the headlights. To this day, they will testify that they saw with their very eyes a girl run so exuberantly that the ground was dropped from beneath her feet and she flew a whopping approximately two yards through the air before crash-landing in a bush.
You may not think two yards is very far, but you would if you were the one flying. It was glorious and terrifying; I had never felt so free. And while it was the oddest sensation my pedestrian body had ever experienced, it seemed paradoxically the most natural sequence of events, considering the mysterious effect of the nighttime world. All these thoughts rushed through my head in the brief moment of blissful flight.
At first, upon hitting the ground I was all confusion with my face in the dirt and limbs sprawled out dramatically. I had apparently tossed the flashlight somewhere in the bushes, although the silly metal lid was still grasped firmly in my other hand. Why had I stopped flying when it was such fun? Hold up–why had I flown at all? What just happened? One of my boots was gone and I felt a swelling pain in its respective foot. I wanted to cry, it hurt so bad. Poor me! But I was unable to cry because I was already laughing so hysterically. Suddenly everything made sense because I realized none of what just happened made any sense at all.
As I tried to get up, my cousin jumped out of the passenger door of the car and rushed over, screaming, to see whether I was still in one piece. “Are you ok?! Are you ok?!” Between my hurt foot and my suffocating laughter, I could neither move nor answer her. My aunt stopped the car and screamed from the window, “Is she ok?!” My cousin was as confused as I had been a moment ago, “I don’t know! I can’t tell whether she’s laughing or crying!!” Honestly, I didn’t know whether I was laughing or crying either. Gasping helplessly, I cried out, attempting to explain the situation, “I’m ok! I thought I was flying, but I wasn’t really flying! I tripped in a rabbit hole!”
For years I would tell this story and say it was singularly the funniest thing that ever happened to me. It still is in the collection of ridiculous phenomena, though now, well, there is a collection. However, I do hold this one especially dear to my heart, for to have been so full of joy as to really think, even for only a moment, that I could fly is a happy thing indeed.
C. C. Bennett
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