I told Janey not to invite anyone, but she invited everyone. At least when I told the smiley

mortician to keep the caskets closed, he listened. All I want to do is fly away. I think Janey

knows it, too. She brought our tether from home because she read an article that said funerals are

the number three event for unplanned, untethered flying. Begrudgingly, I agree to tether if I fly.

Mom and Dad are dead. I don’t want to talk to anyone. But I’m stuck with people when

the only quiet place is between the clouds.

Janey doesn’t know it, but I’ve flown untethered twice before. Those days were the only

times I felt like a human being in my entire life. Everyone can fly, but most are too worried

about the Odds. The duration of every flight is random and uncontrollable. A German calculated

the average to be sixteen minutes. But for every average, some people go over and some people

go under, and with these Odds, it’s a dangerous game. Some people have stayed up for weeks

until they starved to death. Some people think they have time but drop before they get high

enough for a parachute.

We stand in the church, trapped by the stained glass and exotic wood. I’ve got one of my

Dad’s suits on. It’s too big. People line up to shake my hand. They tell me how sorry they are for

our loss. What do they know? Janey gracefully does her job as elder sister and offers each

mourner kindness. I’ve got nothing for them. I hate that they understand.

At the back of the line, I see my coach. He’s a hard man. He runs a tight ship, and we’ve

won a lot of games because of him. He’s the most confident man I know. I’d have bet everything

that he’d walk into the church with a sly grin and tell me to buck up. I needed him to do that. But

as he gets closer, I see a tear stream down his lined, leathery face. It’s too much. I run. I can’t

take it. Janey and the priest call after me, but I’m already out the back door.

Behind the church, I angrily belt the tether on and fly. Twenty feet up, the line keeps me

from getting free. Hovering above the asphalt, I scream at the sky. I see the mortician leaning

against the wall below me, smoking. A weasel in a necktie, he looks less smiley away from

death, but he sees my pain and it’s his job to ease it today. He produces steel from his pocket and

flips open a glinting blade. My eyes confirm it’s what I want. It takes only a second. The tether is

cut, and I fly away.