From Vermeers

Copyright Mel Reichler 2002

….

The sidewalk was not a good place to try to learn how to fly. It was crowded with an assortment of religious people walking aimlessly up and down. The safest place to learn to fly seemed to be the middle of the road because as soon as drivers turned onto the one way street they sensed something about it was wrong. They intuited ‘holes’ and swung with a screech to the side and inched down the street clinging to the sidewalk.

Halfway down the street he found a spot relatively unscarred by the electric company and decided it was a perfect place to learn to fly.

He realized immediately that he had no idea how flying was done. He looked around for a large bird to imitate, a stork or a vulture, something with a heavy and ungainly body that it had to launch into the air.

The only birds around were pigeons poking along the curb for a meal. He lurched at them screaming “fly, fly,” frightening them into the air. But the act of encouraging them jarred his concentration and he could not see what they did to get themselves off of the ground.

Nick Strayte realized at once that he was not going to learn to fly from pigeons. He sat down to think the matter over. Cars wobbled around him honking their horns brutally.

The realization slammed into him that no one he knew could fly, not even flap an inch off of the ground. His mind screeched to a halt as the driver who passed in a 1974 Buick planed into the hole nearest him and screamed at him.

He struggled with the problem for a while, completely mystified, until suddenly “Superman” echoed in his mind and he looked up to see the figure of the Man of Steel standing by his side. His costume was neat and clean, brighter than Strayte had imagined it. Only a few incongruities. The Superman who stood before him was middle aged, a little short and had a slight pot belly.

“It’s not easy,” was the first thing  Superman said. “You have to be from a different planet to be able to fly naturally.” While he was struggling to remember which planet he was from, Strayte noticed that Superman’s mouth moved only after the sound came out and he was sure what words he was going to say.

Nick Strayte was watching Superman intently when a small voice in his head whispered quietly, “Superman is a comic book character. You’ve gone round the bend. Get up and refer yourself to a psychiatrist.”

Superman spoke again.”If you listen to that smart ass you’ll never have any fun. I can help you fly,” he volunteered cheerfully, “if you really want to. Why do you want to?”

Nick Strayte thought about it for a minute.” I’m not sure exactly.”

“You’d better be damned sure,” Superman said, “because if you get off the ground and you ever ask yourself why you are flying, you crash immediately. You come down like a rock, and the law of gravity holds twice as strongly so you come down at instantaneous speed weighing about,” he looked at Strayte and made a quick calculation in his head, “three tons in your case. And since you’re not from Krypton there wouldn’t be any more of you left than a smear. You better think about it”

“I…I….” Nick Strayte tried hard to remember why he wanted to fly.  “I….”

“You want to escape,” Superman said flatly.

That’s right,” Nick Strayte said in amazement. “You read my mind.”

Superman laughed a hearty comic book laugh.”I’m afraid that would be out of the question just now. No, it’s just what flying is about.”

“My mind’s working.” Nick Strayte protested, “otherwise how would you be here?”

“Well perhaps a very tiny part of your mind is working,” Superman conceded. “The important thing is that you wanted to learn how to fly. I know how to fly. I haven’t done a good deed yet today. I thought you would be my first good deed for the day. This is the way you fly,” Superman said. His voice was adult and deliberate, as if he were talking to a three year old.”You stand on your tippy toes, reach as high with your hands as you can and think a good thought. Think of some good deed you want to do.”

Nick Strayte stood up on his toes and struggled for balance.”Does it have to be both feet, I mean on the toes of both feet?” It was an unreasonable demand. Superman nodded solemnly. After a few minutes Strayte managed to balance himself on the toes of both his feet.

“Think a good thought,” Superman prompted.

Nick Strayte tried thinking a good thought but his mind refused.

“Think a reasonable thought,” Superman screamed at him.

Strayte focused his mind to a blur.

“Leap, leap up!,” Superman cried and took off.

Nick Strayte flopped ignominiously to the ground landing in a puddle in one of the gashes the electric company had ripped in the street. He pulled his face out of the mud, spitting the dirt and scum out of his mouth and feeling rancid city sludge coat his body.

Superman did an artistic back flip and landed by Strayte’s side. He looked at him sympathetically.

“It might work,” he said, “if you think of something bad, an injustice that needs to be overcome. “Try again.” Nick Strayte pulled himself up. His shirt and pants were soaked in mud and grime.

Superman helped him straighten up. “It’s not easy. I told you. Look, perhaps I can help a little. Take off your shirt and pants and I’ll give you my Superman suit. That might help.”

Nick Strayte got out of his muddied shirt which had a large splotchy stain where Superman’s had a large S. Superman took off his cape and removed the top of his costume.”It’s very light. It helps the lift.” Strayte pulled on the blouse like top. It was diaphanous, lighter and sheerer than any fabric Nick Strayte had ever seen. He slipped the cape on.

“Try again,” Superman insisted. “The preparation is very important. Think about some wrong you want to right.” Strayte stood up.

A telephone rang in Nick Strayte’s mind. He picked up the receiver gingerly. Dean Grundle had yelled at him ever since Strayte had enraged him by undressing during the debate in the faculty senate on censoring the student newspaper for printing what the dean argued was a pornographic photo. Since the rumors of sexual harassment had first surfaced, Dean Grundle had tightened his voice into a dull, unintelligible screech. Only this time Dean Grundle wasn’t yelling at all. His voice was clear and mellow and filled with a temperate good humor.

“The college administration has decided to get rid of you. We’re going to revoke your tenure. I’m arranging a hearing on the sexual harassment charges. It’s only a formality, understand. You’re finished. Sorry old man. How’s your cat? Drop by sometime and perhaps we can talk. I’ve got appointments until next year but perhaps sometimes after that.” The phone in Nick Strayte’s mind clicked out.

Strayte turned sideways and Marsha was sitting there on the curb, glaring at him.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Because.”

“I never harassed you. I never even touched you, for Christ’s sake. Only that once and…”

“You wouldn’t give me the exam.”

“We’ve been through it. It wouldn’t be good for you. Even for him, it wouldn’t…”

She did not let him finish. “I wanted it. You wouldn’t give it to me.”

There was no use arguing, no use complaining to her, no use trying to get her to change her mind. He had made a mistake and he was going to pay for it. He raised himself on his toes again.

“Fly, fly,” Superman screamed.

“Shit,” Nick Strayte heard The Man of Steel grunt, and he felt himself falling into the puddle again.