She knew you could get to the water tower. It was easy; though the city had tried it’s best to keep people out. A couple years ago someone had even made it to the top and graffitied a message asking someone out to prom. After that incident the city went back through, added another layer of barbed wire and tightened the links that had fallen loose. However, that did not change the fact that the gated entrance, if pried, could accommodate the scrawny body of a young girl.
*
Gravel crunched and popped under the weight of thin bike tires. As the worn road began to slide beneath the tread, a skinny girl hastily kicked off her seat to huff her way to the hilltop on foot.
She reached a tall chain link fence, popped off her bike lock, slung it casually under her seat, and twisted it into security. In one fluid motion she approached the fence, looped her toes between the links, climbed to stand on the main catch, sucked in her stomach, lifted her backpack above her head and twisted her body through the gap in the gate’s entrance. Quickly, she dropped the pack, letting it slide firmly between her shoulders, gauged her jump and plopped down inside the perimeter.
Now came the difficult part. The ladder welded along the edge of the water tower did not begin until well over 6 feet off the ground. On top of that inherent difficulty was a sturdy padlock, which held a heavy, circular bit of metal over the opening of the cadged rungs.
The girl slung off her bag, and flipped out a very small, very thin folding stepstool. She placed the stool carefully under the hanging lock, wiggled it to check for stability and hopped her way to the top. Wobbling for a moment as the stool sunk slightly in to the gravel, the girl fished out a small, oddly shaped bit of aluminum from her pocket. Stretching as high as she could she tucked the aluminum around the arch of the lock and slipped it into the joint. She wiggled and twisted the small bit of metal, straining to keep her arms high above her head until thankfully there was a small click and the padlock sprang open.
The girl sighed and let her arms dangle, rubbing her wrists to move precious blood back into her fingers. When dexterity returned, the girl removed the lock and chain and pulled the cover free.
The girl hopped off her stool, flipped it back together and replaced it in her bag. Hoisting the sack, she double-checked every strap, ensuring that everything was secure before slinging it onto her back. With a few swift pulls she and tightened the straps around her shoulders and one thick strap about her waist.
This was it.
She walked over to the ladder and looked up. For so long she had dreamed of this. From this angle it seemed as though the tower could melt into the streaks of cloud coating the sky, As a tinge of dusky pink filtered through above, the girl felt for an instant that if she reached the top she might be able to taste it. That it would spread across her tongue like an over-ripe strawberry.
But now was not the time to dawdle. The girl made her way over to the ladder once more – jumped to catch the fallen rung from the reverse manhole cover and hoisted herself to the first cadged bars.
She spared a momentary glance for the sharp gravel below. That glance was surely a mistake, for even at this small height, visions of gruesome injuries filled her mind. She tore he eyes away, pushed those thoughts to the edges of her mind and pressed on.
Ten feet.
Twenty feet.
Forty.
Sixty.
Soon the tips of pines and maples were whispering below. Finally the hatch to the great ringed path appeared.
Steadily and cautiously this girl, who once felt so strong and confident, worked her way out of the ladders protective cadge and onto the creaking iron balcony.
For a moment she just stood, catching her breath. Both hands, white knuckled, held tight to the steel railing. The cool dusk air swept across her cheeks and filled her nose with the fresh scent of earth, which at the moment was so far away.
She edged further out onto the balcony, step by step, hand over hand, until she reached a spot with a large clearing below.
Slowly and carefully she sat, her legs dangling into emptiness.
With trembling fingers she unhooked her pack and fastened it to a railing bar. She undid flaps and zippers, taking out object after object, fixing layers over layers, clicking and twisting bits of metal into place. Out came one large metallic sheet to be folded and unfolded and another just like it to be assembled in the other’s image. Fixing, tightening and layering transitioned slowly into securing and double-checking.
The contraption felt cool to the touch – smooth and complete.
As a last step the thin girl affixed her creation to the straps of her now disassembled pack.
Her heart raced in equal parts fear and excitement. Adrenaline pumped through her body, making her light headed and giddy.
She stood and strapped on the reformed pack, gazed out into the crisp dusky air, gripping the rail with both hands for the last time.
Her heart soared as she released one hand, crossed her chest and flipped a switch on the left wing. A small vibrating hum crept from the center of the pack, smoothing into a pitch so low it was barely audible.
With one hand still gripping the rail, the girl felt her whole body lighten as though the butterflies in her stomach actually had the capacity for lift.
She shook with excitement as her feet slowly lifted away from the metal platform until her toes just skimmed the inconsistencies in the metal. And then, so soon, her feet lifted entirely from the surface.
The girl broke into a grin so wide she felt her muscles strain against the effort. Her feet rose higher and higher until she had to bend clear over to keep her one hand fasted to the rail.
Still grinning she stepped onto the ledge and held herself steady.
In a tremendous mixture of elation and mortal fear, the thin girl with scraggly, dirty blonde hair gripped the railing tight, tensed her legs against the bar, pushed off,
And flew.
Bits of Fiction 