Freedom

As long as the boy could remember he had dreamed of freedom, but he was earthbound. He longed to see the world outside his little street in his little hometown. He knew there were greater things out there – exciting, adventurous things. He didn't have a name for these things, but he knew they were there.

For some time now, that greater world beyond his neighborhood had beckoned to him, waited for him. But he was earthbound; his only means of locomotion his two small, thin legs. He understood his limitations but he wanted to see more, to experience more. He wished to explore, discover, learn.

"You'll have to work for it," the elders told him.

"I will," he promised.

"It won't be easy."

"I can do it."

And he did do it. He worked after lessons and in his free time. He saved what he could. Finally there was enough.

"It's easy," his brother told him, pushing him forward from behind. "Just keep moving. Reverse to stop. You can do it."

But he couldn't do it. He was afraid. He couldn't keep his balance, nor brake properly. He despaired of success. He was ashamed. The dream of freedom eluded him. He felt a fool.

"Try it again," his brother said, pushing him on.

The boy did try, and hard, but he could barely keep himself upright. He took off down the hilly street out of control, his brother running behind calling his name. A fast-moving floater car came up the hill towards him. The curb on the side of the road stuck out treacherously. He was trapped and braked badly. He shot over the curb and flew forward onto the ground landing hard, rolling to a stop by a shrub.

"Are you okay?" his brother asked, worried but trying to hide a grin.

"Yes," he said, spitting out dirt and grass. "Stupid thing."

His left arm was scraped and he had skinned both knees – not bad enough to cry about but they felt tight and burned. Freedom didn't seem to matter much then, he only wanted to go home and hide. Too many people had been watching, too many had seen his stupid fall.

"Aren't you ever going to try again?" his brother asked several days later.

"I don't know," he said, face reddening.

Failure was a terrible thing. Everyone knew when you failed. And you felt a fool. When everyone else could do something and you couldn't, it was embarrassing. You had to try again. No matter what. But it wasn't easy.

He remembered hearing one of his old uncles say, a man who had flown far above, far into the deep, azure, double-sunned sky: "If it's too easy to do, it's not worth much." He didn't quite understand that but he thought it meant you should try and try again. So he did.

He stayed on flat ground and practiced when no one was watching. He got rid of the wobble that had caused his wreck, learned to turn around, mastered braking. He made safe forays on the streets around his house and began to get comfortable.

He went faster then, standing up as he roared past his house, around the corner, down alleys, seeing his neighborhood from a different perspective. He joined other kids from the neighborhood, zooming along with them in the afternoons. He got better and better each day, built his confidence, lost his fear and embarrassment. And then it happened.

It was a Saturday morning in late spring, school was almost out and the world was turning green again, the days warm and bright.

"Let's go down past the tracks," one of his buddies suggested, "back of the shanty houses and shoot over the big culvert to the depot."

The boy had never ventured outside his own neighborhood except on foot before and the suggestion filled him with nervous excitement.

"Yeah," another buddy cheered.

"Let's do it," a third agreed.

With enthusiasm, the boy followed his friends down a steep road near his house, made a sharp right onto a narrow lane that paralleled the railroad tracks. He worked hard to stay right up with his pals. At the end of the narrow lane their path crossed the tracks and then dropped down another small hill where they would turn back left and head for the big culvert and the train depot well beyond their neighborhood to the north.

Shooting over the railroad crossing, the boy heard his friends laughing joyfully as they raced along ahead of him. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a wave of emotion swept over the boy bringing a sensation he had never known before. He felt himself flying, cruising above the earth, shooting out into the heavens, to the very stars themselves.

He was free. He had made himself so. All the fear was gone, the shame, the embarrassment. He was competent at last, unafraid, happy. Yes, happy. Happy to be free. He could go anywhere he wanted to now, anywhere. He had broken loose. It was all ahead of him: the travel, the adventure. He saw himself flying unfettered through a great blue sky of possibilities.

Crying out happily, he soared on into the fine spring day. Nothing could dampen his spirits nor diminish this moment. Nothing could take it away from him. At this moment, on this day, all was right with the world; it was good place to be.

Find more by J.B. Hogan in the Author Index.

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