by Compilation
Each believed he was the best.
A boy, a foot too short and half too small, walked his bike to the end of the line. Thirty heads turned to look at the boy.
“Hey, kid,” one rider said. “Did you lose your mom or something?”
“No,” the boy said. “I’m just waiting to make my first jump.”
The riders looked at each other in surprise. Then they laughed. They laughed long and hard and loud.
A rider with a long beard on his chin but no hair on his cheeks smirked at the boy. “What’s your name, bitty bro? We can put it on your grave after you splat.”
All the riders laughed again.
“Eli,” the boy said. “And don’t worry about me. I won’t splat. I’ll fly.”
The bearded rider opened his mouth to speak again, but a shrill whine interrupted him. Louder than an ambulance roaring through the street, the whine sounded as a spark cut its way into the sky. High above, it exploded into streamers of hot white light. Soon after, a blue explosion followed, then red, then a combination of green and flashing silver. The noise sounded like giants heating popcorn.
As the fireworks burst above them, the bearded rider pointed at Eli. He mashed his hands together in a splat motion. Grinning, he showed Eli two dark holes where teeth were missing.
As the fireworks ended, the crowd roared and clapped. Thousands of people on Eli’s left, and thousands of people on Eli’s right, all stood and stomped and clapped their hands. “Jump!” they chanted. “Jump! Jump! Jump!”
The bearded rider looked into the sky, which was filled with a cloud that had not been there moments before. Smoke from the fireworks.
“I bet I can touch it,” the bearded rider bragged.
“No way, Goat Boy,” said a rider with a ring in his nose. “But I can!”
“No, I can,” said another.
As every other rider argued that he and he alone could reach the cloud, Eli looked at the smoke filling the sky. He looked, and he studied, and he thought.“I can reach it,” Eli said softly to himself. “I can fly.”
The bearded rider heard him and snorted. “Have fun splatting, itty-bitty Eli. I’d ask for your bike, but it’s too small for a real rider.”
Eli looked at his bike, easily half the size as any other rider’s. But it was just right for him, and that was all he cared about.
A voice so big and loud it seemed to come from the cloud itself roared to the X-Games crowd: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final event of the games and the greatest show above the earth! The BMX Big Air Final! Riders, up the ramp!”
Every rider put on his helmet, each decorated with a frightening image. Some showed skulls, some monsters with huge teeth, and some with mean-looking cars that spat fire from their tailpipes. Eli put on his helmet: simple black with a red stripe.
The line of riders rode up the tower. Up, and up, and up. The higher they rose, the less they spoke. They stared at the smoke in the sky in awe. As high as they climbed, the cloud had not grown any closer.
“I don’t think I can reach that,” one rider finally admitted.
Another nodded. “Give me an airplane, then maybe.”
“I can do it,” the bearded rider said again, but he didn’t sound like he believed himself.
Eli stared along with the rest, but softly he said to himself, “I can reach it.” This time no one laughed at him, because no one heard.
The first rider walked his bike to the edge of the ramp, which, from the top of the tower looked like a cliff. Shaking just a little, maybe from the wind, maybe from fear, he waited at the top. Then, in a moment of courage, he plunged.
Eli didn’t even watch his trick. Instead, he stared up at the cloud.
Rider after rider followed, each one standing at the edge, shivering, then taking the plunge down the ramp. As points began to show on the huge scoreboard, causing the crowd to cheer or groan, the riders shook their heads. No one came anywhere near the cloud of smoke.
“It’s not possible,” the bearded rider finally admitted. Toeing his way to the cliff’s edge, he pulled down his visor. “I won’t even try.”
“I will,” Eli said. “I can fly.”
“You can’t fly,” the rider snarled. “You aren’t even brave enough to ride, not Big Air. Not once you’re standing here.” After taking a single big breath, he put his foot on his pedals and tipped himself over the edge.
It was now Eli’s turn.
Calmly, little Eli rolled his little bike to edge of the biggest ramp in the world. He looked down. The ramp was as wide as a highway and fell nearly straight down. The surface was bright and slick and brown, like a basketball court or bowling alley. Only it plummeted down nearly a hundred feet, then curved into a ramp the size of a small mountain. Across a gap as wide as a canyon, the other side of the ramp rose into a straight lip for riders to perform their final trick.
Every rider who looked from the edge saw something frightening. Some feared the drop. Some feared the huge gap and the hard ground below. Some feared the far end of the ramp, with a sharp edge that, when hit, could snap bone.
Eli didn’t look at the drop, the gap, or the ramp. He looked at the cloud and, one more time, said, “I can fly.”
Rolling his front tire to the edge of the ramp, he looked over the cliff of smooth wood. Pausing, he looked at the wind gauge beside him. It trembled between eleven and twelve. Too strong. If he jumped in that wind, it might push him sideways. Eli did not want to go sideways. He wanted to go up.
When the gauge read three miles per hour, Eli did not tremble, he did not take a deep breath, he simply rocked forward and plunged. The world became a blur of speed as he fell. Then, suddenly, he curved up, so hard and fast his stomach hid in his shoe. He sped to the edge of the jump and then over.
Eli soared into the air. Higher. And higher. And higher!
The cloud, once as far away as a star, grew large. Higher, Eli urged his little bike. The bike obeyed.
Eli flew.
Seeing the smoke draw near, so close he could see swirling embers in the blackness, Eli kicked his bike with his feet. The bike shot out from under him. Using his arms, he swung the bike upside down and into the cloud. It disappeared.
All Eli heard was the air high-fiving him as he flew, alone.
For just a moment he looked down on the world and the thousands and thousands of very little people in it.They were the size of Legos, mouths open. Then, pulling his just-right bike between his legs, Eli angled down and fell. And when he fell, he fell with the speed of a rocket.
The far edge of the ramp looked so far away it would be like trying to land on a candy bar. Quickly, it grew to the size of a table, then the size of a building. Eli aimed for the flat surface just on the far side of the edge.
He hit his landing spot perfectly. His bike’s fat, sturdy tires grabbed the slick ramp like cat’s claws. Placing his feet perfectly on his bike peddles, Eli pumped as hard as he could—one, two, three! More speed!
Curving upward to the ramp’s end, Eli swept once more into the sky. He pulled in his legs above the bike seat. Holding the handlebars, he kicked the bike so it spun around beneath him. One tailwhip. He kicked again, spinning it even faster. Two. Again, he kicked with both feet. Three.
The brown glint of the ramp rose up ahead of him. He thought of the bearded rider, and he thought of going splat.
One more, Eli thought. I can do one more.
Kicking as hard as he could, he spun the bike in a tailwhip one more time, straightening his leg to stop the spin.The bike slammed into his knee. Finding the seat, he barely managed to set his feet on the pedals when the bike, with him on it, crashed to the ramp.
Eli felt his stomach, which had been hiding in his shoes, leap onto his head like a hat. He rolled down the ramp, turning to shed his speed. Then, in a cloud of smoke and scratching rubber, he braked to a stop.
The crowd stood silent. After a moment they cheered so loud the ground shook.
“That was the gre
atest jump I’ve ever seen!” the voice shouted from the megaphone. “No one will beat that score!”
Eli calmly rode his bike back in line for his second jump.
All the riders stared at him. This time no one laughed.
“I can get higher,” Eli said to himself. “I can fly.”
The bearded rider knelt by Eli and looked at his little bike. He reached out as if to touch it but stopped. He acted as if the bike was magic. It wasn’t. It just fit Eli really well.
“Dude, really?” the bearded rider said. “I mean, really?”
Eli grinned. “Watch.”
When it was his turn again and he stood at the ramp’s edge, they did watch. Everyone watched. Except Eli. Once again, Eli looked at the cloud, then looked at the gauge, which said two miles per hour. Then, smiling, he plunged down the ramp again, knowing he could fly higher.
Clint Johnson
Clint Johnson is a writer and teacher of writing. In addition to his creative writing, he currently teaches developmental writing at Salt Lake Community College and is a contributing writer for ESPN’s TrueHoop Utah Jazz site, Salt City Hoops.
http://ClintJohnsonWrites.com
Rae
(Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Giloma or DIPG)
Meet Rae! Rae is a beautiful, fun little girl with a personality that is completely bubbling over. She has beaten the odds and is an absolute inspiration. Only five percent of people diagnosed with the type of brain cancer she has survive more than a year. She has passed that benchmark and, as of this writing, is still going strong.
She is a perfect example of never giving up, that hope should never be lost. Every day she is alive is another huge blessing to her family. I recently discovered that Rae’s tumor has actually decreased in size, which is a miracle. We hope it will keep on getting smaller!
Rae’s dream is to become a princess, and I have no doubt that she will be one someday. For now I hope she can look at her images and dream away. May we all recognize how special we are every time we look in the mirror.
www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2015/4/11/rae-royal-princess
The Princess in the Mirror
Linda Gerber
Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, lived a kind king and his very gentle queen. The king, riding through the woods one day, came across an old woman stranded in the middle of a swift-moving stream. He leaped from his horse and waded into the current to carry the woman to safety.
“There now, Grandmother,” he soothed as he wrapped her in his kingly cloak. “What an ordeal you’ve been through. Come, let me take you to the palace, where you may rest.”
The queen, seeing her husband return home with a shivering old woman on his horse, ran to the courtyard to meet them. “Dear lady,” she fussed, “your skin is blue with cold. Quick, let us warm you by the fire.”
In the palace parlor, the queen settled the old woman onto her own soft chair and exchanged the woman’s sodden shoes for slippers lined with fur. She summoned her lady-in-waiting to find a dry frock the woman could wear.
“Thank you, dear,” said the woman, “but that won’t be necessary. You two have already proven yourselves to be both gentle and kind. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Felicia, your fairy grandmother. I would like to reward your kindness with a gift.”
“Grandmother?” asked the queen.
“Gift?” asked the king.
Felicia smiled a crinkly smile. She flicked her wrist and a sparkly—though somewhat bent—magic wand appeared. Her rags fell away to reveal a rather wrinkled but nonetheless splendid taffeta gown. Similarly creased but beautiful diaphanous wings sprouted from her stooped shoulders. Her silver hair arranged itself into a smart French twist. “A gift,” she repeated. “For you, or for your child.”
“But . . . we have no child,” said the queen.
“Not yet,” said Felicia. And with that, she was gone.
The next spring, the queen gave birth to a tiny baby girl. The princess was a beautiful child, golden, like a ray of sunshine.
“We shall call her Rae,” said the king.
“A lovely name,” said Felicia.
“Oh!” cried the queen. “Fairy Grandmother! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m quiet that way,” said Felicia. She crossed to the silk-draped bassinet and peered in. “Hello, sweetling. My, you are precious.”
The king leaned closer. The queen held her breath. Their child was about to receive a fairy gift.
Indeed, Felicia pulled out her bent magic wand, but she didn’t conjure anything with it. Instead, she sang to Princess Rae, beating out the tempo as if she held a conductor’s baton.
“Beauty is what beauty sees,
Strength inside is what will be,
Reflection is your kindest friend,
To give you hope around the bend.”
Before the king and queen could ask what that meant, the fairy grandmother disappeared in a poof of silver dust and sparkles. In her place stood a tall mirror in a simple black frame.
“What is that?” asked the king.
“The gift,” guessed the queen. “It’s very plain. Do you suppose it’s magic?”
The king drew back. “Oh, no. No magic mirrors. You saw what happened a few kingdoms over with that witch queen and the pale princess. Out it goes.”
“No!” cried the queen. “One does not toss out a fairy gift. It’s bad form and bad luck.”
“Fine,” conceded the king. “We’ll put it in the dungeon.”
So into the dungeon it went, but the next time the king and queen entered Princess Rae’s bedchamber, there the mirror stood.
“The attic,” suggested the queen.
And so the mirror was stowed in the deepest shadows of the attic, behind four large crates of outdated heraldry. But, as before, by the time the king and queen returned to the princess’s side, there was the mirror, leaning casually against the wall.
“May as well let it stay,” said the queen.
“Keep a close eye on it,” warned the king.
But as these things go, days and weeks and months passed without incident, and soon the mystery of the mirror was forgotten.
Meanwhile, Rae grew from a beautiful baby into an adorable toddler, and from an adorable toddler into a perfect princess. She was kind like her father and gentle like her mother. Her parents’ only concern was that, although Princess Rae charmed the knights and amused the ladies-in-waiting, she had no friends her age to play with in the palace. Instead, she spent what they considered to be an unprincessly amount of time alone in her room.
“We should arrange a royal playdate,” suggested the king, “so she can meet people.”
“We should throw a princess party,” suggested the queen, “so she can make friends.”
“But I have a friend,” said Rae.
“You do?” asked the queen.
“Who?” asked the king.
Rae smiled. “The princess in the mirror.”
The king and queen exchanged worried glances. Was their poor daughter so lonely she was keeping company with her own reflection? It was all well and fine when she’d been a baby, gurgling and giggling in front of the mirror for hours on end, but recently they’d heard her talking to the air, carrying on complete conversations with herself.
“An imaginary friend,” whispered the queen.
“I’m not so sure,” whispered the king. “This is the fairy mirror that couldn’t stay put.”
The queen grew pale. “Rae, darling,” she said. “I would like to meet your friend.”
The king and queen followed Rae to her royal bedchamber, worry weighing their every step. But when Rae proudly showed them her mirror, all the king and queen saw was their own darling daughter reflected in the glass. No alarming green-tinted masks. No magic.
“No harm,” said the king.
“No alarm,” said the queen.
They left Rae with her mirror and gently pulled the door closed behind them.
�
�What was that all about?” asked the princess in the mirror.
Rae shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you,” she said. “One never knows with grown-ups.”
“Your move,” said the princess.
Rae settled into her chair and considered the chessboard before the mirror. She cautiously moved a piece. “Check,” she said.
“Ha, ha!” crowed the princess in the mirror. “You underestimated my pawn!” She moved the piece on her reflected board. “Checkmate.”
Another year came and went. Palace procedures and kingdom commitments overtook the king and queen, and the mirror was forgotten once again.
Rae began her princess training. Her days were soon filled with a parade of tutors, music maestros, archery instructors, and one very finicky manners mistress. Each day, Rae shared with the princess in the mirror all the things that she had learned.
“We start dance instruction today,” Rae said sulkily one morning. “I’d much rather take up something practical. Like fencing, for instance.”
“Well, fencing is rather like a dance,” said the princess. “Just pretend you have a foil in your hand, like so.” She whirled about with an imaginary weapon. “Balestra! Lunge!”
Rae giggled and followed the footing. “Passe arriere!”
“Very good,” cried the dance instructor, who just happened to be passing by the room. “Pleased to see you are practicing. Shall we continue in the studio?”
Rae bobbed a quick curtsey and grabbed her dance slippers. “Thank you,” she whispered to the princess in the mirror. “You saved me.”
“You saved yourself,” the princess whispered back.
Princess Rae and her mirror companion continued to spend countless hours together. They played together, studied together, and when a new, strict riding master took over in the stables, they complained together.
“He doesn’t think I can ride the Turk,” Rae pouted. “Says I’m too timid for such a spirited horse.” She slouched in her chair. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s right.”
“Humph,” said the princess in the mirror. “We shall see about that.” She ran to her own stables, pausing at the door to listen. “Come on,” she said softly and tiptoed inside.
