The Kite Crasher

Unlike recent Sundays, I did not stay in bed and take lengthy naps for the majority of the day. Instead, I roused my friend and coworker Package (not her real name, but a pointless nickname that we actually use), and dragged her to the gym with me.

Going to the gym is a habit with us now. I'm generally one to venture into the world by myself, but going to the gym with an associate has had definite advantages. Mostly, I'd feel like a sissy if I quit while doing something difficult. After a month of mutually imposed torture, we're both looking quite fabulous.

I noticed at some point that a decent wind was blowing over the landscape of Culpeper. It made me think of my kite.

I've had this kite for over five years and never opened it. It was an impulse purchase. I'll admit it: I bought it because it's a unicorn. There. I said it. I'm not into unicorns like I was when I was eight and hoped I might one day grow a horn, but it was so novel that I had to have it.

I also strongly associate kites with my father, in the same way that I also think of him in association with zoos, badminton, and sawdust.

I know why I haven't tried to fly my kite. I presumed that I would need help, particularly due to my status as one of the vertically challenged. But there I was this afternoon, unrolling my unicorn's wings and legs, bending its wires according to the diagram. Assembly complete (and this, on its own, is quite a feat), I ventured out into the backyard. I held the kite aloft and waited for the wind.

There was one pristine instant, after several (dozen) tries, in which the unicorn, legs hanging with eerie limpness, ascended into the air, whipping back and forth. This moment lasted for about five seconds, before my unicorn took a nose-dive onto the thickening green of the lawn. Eventually I had to admit defeat and go back inside.

In a way, I wish that this were a story about my success in flight. In another way, I'm even more glad that it's a story about my contentedness in crashing.