Sydney Wayser is the key. The toy bells tinkle and my feet arch like fish flipping through the air. Her voice emanates from her left lung, just above her heart. My arms are ribbons tied around a tree branch. Frogs legs kick out from underneath me. This is not my body.
I am in a very busy bookstore, standing on a tall ladder in a leotard and knee-length gossamer skirt. He asks me to just move and whatever I do, they will be there to catch me. One is a thin, pale, woman. Her dark hair is neatly tucked into a bun, she has vampire lips, she has long curled lashes, light blue eyes, and a straight nose that ends in a tiny square. She is smiling warmly. Behind her, is a gymnast in black. He is holding a net made of stiff, heavy rope. They are suspended by wire and expect me to jump off the ladder and dance in the aisle of the bookstore. There are people looking for fantasy, how-to, and philosophy in the longest aisle I have ever seen. I am going to dance over their heads. He will capture it all from below.
La Di Da. I tell them I need to find it on my iPod mini (so, so, so mini). La Di Da. Once I find it, my lungs fill with helium, my heart beats irregularly. Beats as the chimes, the piano, the snare, the bass, and finally her voice. I'm an arrow. I shoot through the net. I bend like a bow and fall back into the gymnast's chest. An unpleasant kitchen memory leaves me. I can make any movement and they will catch me. I can zing! A pine tree tall man sweeps child me up! He spins me longer, longer and faster, faster until I feel I am flying. La Di Da.
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