Print told my best friend I was in love with him. He told me he loved me too, "as a friend." Aren't those just the worst words you could ever hear? Well, I heard them. I was depressed out of my mind, and I was young and reckless. I decided to kill myself, as teenagers often do. Did I decide to shoot myself? Slit my wrists? No, I was going to jump off the roof of my parents' two story house. Would that have killed me? I doubt it, unless I landed on my head.

 

So I got up on the roof. I looked out at my parents' landscaped yard. The air smelled like freshly cut grass. The sky was blue and clear, not a cloud in sight. I could hear the marching band practicing at my high school down the street. In my head, I said goodbye to my parents and my friends. I said goodbye to my "friend." I had a moment's second thought, felt my angsty teenage depression, and then I jumped. It was one of those dramatic jumps where you really just fall, like you're planning to land on your stomach, or soar gracefully to the ground. I fell forward, then my feet left the roof. I closed my eyes and waited. And waited. Two stories really isn't that high, I thought to myself. 

 

I decided to sneak a peak and nearly threw up. I closed my eyes again quickly. I figured I was imagining things. I must be dead, I thought. No way those are trees underneath me. In my head, I could hear the medical examiner telling my parents, No, she didn't suffer. She was killed on impact. Probably didn't even feel a thing. I decided to open my eyes again, figuring the realization of my death would shatter the fantasy. Nope. Still trees. Oh wait, and houses.

 

My god, I thought. What the hell is going on? I mean, I knew I was flying, but it was a little hard to grasp, you know? It's not exactly something that happens every day. Well, it wasn't yet.

 

I flew around for a good hour that afternoon. By the time I "landed" by on my parents' roof, I was more exhausted than I'd ever been in my life. Don't let the cartoons fool you; flying's hard work. No, my arms didn't hurt from flapping. There was no flapping involved. But controlling direction, fighting wind, and just keeping it together really puts a strain on your body, especially your back and shoulders. Despite how tired I was when I got back, I felt amazing. Needless to say, I was over the suicide thing. I forgot about my "friend," old what's-his-face. I had a secret. I could do something no one else could. I could go places, see things. If nothing else, it made me realize something important: I really needed to start working out. 

 

So that's what I did. Every morning, I was at the gym, lifting weights, jogging on a treadmill. And every afternoon, I would come back less and less tired. Every time I landed back on that roof, I felt invigorated. Ask anyone who's done it: flying is the most amazing feeling in the world. To say it gives you a feeling of freedom is too cliché, and it doesn't even begin to cover it. You feel like you're on top of the world because, well, you are. I know, I know; that's cliché too, but it's true. It's not just freedom, and it's not even just power. It's hard to explain. I imagine it's the way a painter feels when she gets a really good image in her head. Or the way a writer feels when he realizes an ending is going to work, and the story is going to be great. I'm no writer, and I'm certainly no painter, but I'm guessing it's a good comparison. Only,