The streets were often bare in the morning, gray as well. Even though the sun was far up in the sky. I always wondered what the sky would feel like. Most people would say nothing… but I have a hunch that it’s the most peculiar sensation. Like young girls my age, I longed to fly. To be like bluejays or some other sort of bird. It was only last night that I started reading Peter Pan for the third time. He was just a boy, but he could fly.

The streets were often busy in the afternoon, steady steps quicken to get home before dark. I find my own pair of feet hasten as I looked up at the radiant sunset, the vast array of colors smeared across the sky. I reached our tenement door, the last bit of color was drained from the atmosphere. I still wonder where it goes.

I know fully well that my parents wouldn’t be home till late, but I still called their names as I walked through the door. My voice echoed down the long hall, filling empty rooms. No response. I grinned silently to myself, and took another step, almost slipping as I shut the door swiftly behind me. I took off my wet boots.

“Wouldn’t want to slip and fall to my death,” I mumbled to myself. I almost sounded like my father. I sofly giggled and peeled off my jacket, hanging it up to dry.

I ran to my room, shutting that door as well. Going straight to my desk I slipped my hand in the dark paneling searching. Silently, my fingers found the hole near the back, and carefully they retrieved a book. The book was yellow like a sun, with small etchings of little people with wings. My eyes greedily took it in and turned the crisp pages to the folded edge. I began to read.

“Second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning.”

My fingers gently traced the smudged words. I knew that’s where Peter Pan lived… If he could teach Wendy to fly, why not me? I pushed open my window, welcomed by the cold embrace of the north wind. I sidestepped from the window and planted my foot firmly on the rusty, black fire escape. I calmly looked up, the stars winking at me. I needed a better view. My small hands clasp the wet cold bars, slowly beginning to climb. My hands grasped the rungs so tightly they begin to turn white. Gasping I take a shaky breath. Steadily I placed my foot down, soaked socks and chilled feet.

I remember looking up at the dark sky, reflections of silver droplets and pools of gold. I don’t remember letting go, but for a moment I was like a blue jay. For a moment I flew.

I always wondered what the sky feels like, but now I wish I never did. Death is such a peculiar sensation.

“To die will be an awfully big adventure.”

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan