The End of the String

Sometimes when I was a kid I would get my mom to buy me one of those black bat kites with glowing yellow eye stickers. I knew I was cool when I had a black bat soaring on two full rolls of string. The high flying bat ruled the big sky. Alone.

Sometimes if I let my mind fuzz over I could become the bat. Looking back down with my big yellow eyes at the ant kids playing in the street below. The wind crackling through my plastic vinyl wings. Pitying the dirty earthbound children.

Sometimes I would accidentally on purpose let the string go. There would be odd frozen seconds where the end of the string seemed to just hang in the air. Time stopped heart skipping with just flashing fleeting moments in which to dive for the life string and regain control. All the while fearing the big wind gust that could power the bat out of sight forever. Fear and wonder made for an intoxicating rush in the split second before grabbing the string.

Sometimes I would let go for real and dream of the bat soaring out into the highest thickest clouds, free from its string leash, free from gravity, doing loop to loops at will, no people in sight. Inevitably thought I would always find the bat nose-dived and battered in somebody's backyard, her kite string tail trailing over the uniform chain link fences separating the houses in our neighborhood. A sad sight, tattered and busted. My fallen broken angel.

Sometimes i would just play with Legos.