Why I Didn't Come to Lunch, Mom

February 12, 2010
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The sweet smell of the daisies wraps around my senses and up my nose. The bittersweet smell entrances me. My eyes wander to a bee as it buzzes by; there are more not so far away. I pick the daisy and turn away from the deadly killer bees. I sit in the damp, lush grass and watch the bees buzz just above the flowers. I hatch an idea. I walk over to our little-kid picnic table, slightly faded from the ever-so brilliant sun. I climb to the top, which is a huge feat for me. I expand my arms, like a bird extends its wings. I looked to the right, and saw my house, windows glinting in the sun. I closed my eyes before I was blinded. The sun was beating down, almost happy-like, so hot that I felt I had another thin layer of skin. My eyes opened slowly, now facing the woods. The birds were flitting in and out of the trees, singing happily, as if summer made everything better. I heard my mother open the door, and yell something about lunch being ready. I didn’t listen, just focused on what I was about to do. I summoned up what bit of strength I had left, and walked to the other end of our mini kids table. My feet were careful, cautious, stepping in the most secure places. I turned around when I got to the end of the table, and closed my eyes. My mom called for lunch again. Now, I told myself. I took a deep breath, and ran off the end of the table. I jumped, feeling the rush of the moment. I flapped my arms, as if wings. I could feel the wind rushing through my hair, caressing my hair ever so lightly. My legs sprawling, trying to catch some wind, any at all. My eyes, widening, realizing I couldn’t go up, only down. Me, falling, being pulled back to the earth, unwillingly. I felt the cool, soft ground again, running the grass through my fingers. I had fallen, but I was okay. I looked up to the sky, and a bird flew by. I wistfully watched the bird, envying it with every fiber of my being. I wanted to be with the birds. I sighed, knowing now, realizing this; I will never fly. My mother, now concerned because I had not come in, called one final time for lunch. I looked up at the sky longingly, one last time, then walked leisurely to my house. I took one good whiff of the daisy I somehow kept in my hand, then laid in on a small, smooth, rock and wished it the best.

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