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| November 3, 2008 Last Christmas, I flew to Tampa to see my parents. And by "flew to Tampa" I mean "flew to Kansas City, Indianapolis and then to Tampa." At least I got great seats, because I could move during the layovers. During the flight to KC, I was sitting by the window (rare for me) and I suddenly had the kind of urge that could only happen in the movies: I envisioned myself standing on the wing with my hands pressed to the fusilage behind me. With an abandon I don't think I've ever known, I run as fast as I can and fling myself off the tip of the wing, in a perfect swandive. I fall through the clouds, feeling them slip past my fingers until I finally flip in mid-air and drop onto a cloud, as if I were falling on to a soft bed. All I can hear is my laughter. I feel like I'm standing on the wing. Will I run? |