We were walking three feet above the ground to keep our bare feet clean. The jesters walked in oxfords with scuffed soles and business suits. They walked in such a hurry to get to where they had to be. Their feet bottoms were all dead skin. They didn’t feel the rigidness of the sidewalk, anymore. But their crooked backs glared at us with green eyes. They wondered how we did it. It was as simple as floating.
You noticed that I had stopped looking the people, the jesters, below us in the eye. Glaring at me, you ran into a man and kicked him in the groin. “What the hell in god’s name!” The man tried to follow us, but his testicles whined for him to slow down. And we floated through a side alley to lose him.
As we approached the house, you impulsively said, “We have to be humble.” But I wasn’t listening. Instead, I was trying to figure out a way to walk higher. And belly down towards the ground. Clearly above the heads of the jesters. So that their babies may point and shout, “A plane!” And their mothers would look in disbelief.
“If our parachute fails, we will not be safe. It was a fluke that we became gravitationally lighter than the others. One day we may become heavy, honey.” You grabbed my hands as you spoke. The top of your golden head nearly touched the patio ceiling as we stood outside the door.
“No, it was our higher brains. We will never be like them. Now, I have to eat before I go to work.” And I ducked my head as I walked into the living room.
You sat down outside for a long time. Your ass never touching the steps. The spring air lifting you up. Thinking about me before, when my weight was restricted to earth’s gravitational pull, you smiled. The mailman saw and smiled, too. Failing to notice that your were levitating three feet above everything else, untouchable.
