Fly

The racing speedboats churn my lake,
cerulean with diamond-white sparkles in the hot afternoon sun

The rainbow sail in my arms

Brea dancing around me,
hot pink life jacket already on,
excitement shining in her hazel eyes

Dad groans with the weight of the mast
I shove the tiny steel pins through their holes
Only three thin cables holding everything together

The stiff, summer breeze lifting my hair from my shoulders

It’s time

Easing out of the beach,
watching the seawall and our cottages grow smaller and smaller,
shrinking into our past.
The wind swells with the sun

Faster! Brea yells,
dangling over the side with a single hand on a guidewire

Zipping past a stream of bubbles
Slicing through the choppy mess at the center
Weaving our way to the other side of my home

Dexterously,
he changes our tack
We spin back the way we came,
racing our shadows

The bright orange streamers parallel to the water
Our mismatched sails full

It’s the closest I’ve come to truly flying.