I was three years old when it happened.
See, I didn't know much at the time. To me, the sky was blue, the grass was green, and the sun shined. There was no way around that. But, you know, everything else was possible. I mean, remember all those times when you were little and thinking, Okay, this is it, I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and suddenly learn how to fly. Remember that?
Well, I was three years old, thinking- knowing that anything in the universe was possible, and I woke up in my bed with a feeling. It was the feeling that, out of nowhere, the world gave me the power to fly. And, since I was only three years old, I knew that if I went outside, climbed on top of the moldy ladder up to the roof of the old barn and jumped off, I would be able to flap my arms- wings, grow feathers like the black raven from those stories my mom told me, and fly off into the sky, which was blue, and go up toward the sun, which was always shining.
The sky was blue and the sun shined. I knew that when I was three. But I didn't know much else.
So I went and did what the world told me to do. I threw my blankets off, ran out of my room and down the stairs, passing my mother along the way. She was cooking breakfast, as per usual, and shouted out a warning to be careful as I opened the door and went out to the backyard. But, you know, I was three then. I didn't- I never listened to her warning, took it to mind and thought, even as I climbed the highest branch of the oak tree or waded up to my neck in the creek, that I should ever heed her words of wisdom. The warning that she always shouted out. Because, you know, I was three. Nothing could ever happen to a three year old, right? The world didn't allow things like that.
So I ran across our large yard, never once thinking that maybe, just maybe, the world might've been lying, and went to the old gray barn. The barn, my dad said, was even older than your grandpa, so never go near it because it just might collapse on you. And I listened to him. I always listened to my dad, because he was always one to be listened to. But the world gave me the power to fly that morning and it told me to do this. To go on top of the old gray barn, jump off, and fly into the blue sky and up to the shining sun.
When I was three, I knew that the sky was blue, the grass was green, and the sun shined. I was proud to say that those were the only things that were absolutely certain and that anything else was possible. But I was three. I didn't know anything.
So I climbed up the moldy ladder, decayed and unused in years, up to the roof of the old gray barn, thinking that I was going to fly. Only thinking and not knowing. I'm older now, so I know that. I'm not three anymore, but then I was.
When I was three, I climbed up to the roof of the old gray barn from the decayed and moldy ladder, knowing that if I just jumped off and flapped my wings, I would fly off into the blue sky and up to the shining sun and look down on the green grass, knowing that I would never have to use my legs ever again.
When I was three, on the roof of the old gray barn and looking down on the green grass that I always walked on every day, I was struck with fear and the thought that maybe, just maybe, the world lied to me and I would never fly. But I was three, so I ignored that thought and jumped off.
When I was three, I realized that I wasn't meant to fly. At the age of three, falling rapidly to the ground and flapping my wings- arms to try and fly, I realized that the world did lie to me.
When I was three, instead of flying, I fell to the green grass from the old gray barn, looking up at the blue sky and the shining sun, screaming and writhing around from unbearable pain. I fought the urge to close my eyes, because I wanted to keep the things that were absolutely certain in mind.
The sky was blue, the grass was green, and the sun shined. I've always known that. But I had to learn other things too.
It was only when my mother held me in her arms and trying to comfort me with inaudible words that I realized something.
The world did lie to me sometimes.