Dissolve the Sky and Float Away

April 13th, 1964 - The Girl Who Can Only Dream

Every day when the sun is high, Mother comes in to read me a story.  I can read but, I like to listen to her telling me stories.  That way, I can focus on the pictures the words paint rather than the words themselves.

My favourite stories are the ones about flying.  I would tell her that if I could speak.  If I could speak, I would tell her my stories about flying across the sky and touching the clouds.

Today's story was called The Flying Trunk by Hans Christian Anderson.  A merchant flies across the world, in his magic trunk, to win the heart of a Turkish princess. Before he can marry her, he must win her parent's approval by writing the perfect story, deep and moral yet funny as well. 

If I had a magic trunk, I would fly around the world telling tales of dragons and princesses, magic and mystical creatures.  One day I will-

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a soft thump comes from the floor beside my bed.  I peek over the side of my bed to see a large, brown, leather suitcase planted on the floor. It looked worn, and the edges were frayed, but when I reached over and brushed my fingertips over the cool surface it sent an energizing warmth up my arm and down my spine.

"Where has it disappeared to now?" the voice of a man, words clipped in annoyance, sounded outside my room.

The door swings open suddenly, startling me back into my bed.  A tall man, maybe in his early twenties, steps into my room and tips his hat towards me.

"Pardon my intrusion m'lady," he looks around my room, "would you happen to have seen a flying suitcase around here anywhere? It keeps disappearing on me."

I giggle and lean down, pulling the heavy suitcase onto my lap, "is this the suitcase you speak of?"

His eyes brighten, "would you look at that!" he exclaims grinning.

His trenchcoat flows behind him on a phantom breeze as he walks over to my bed. He reaches out and grabs the suitcase, dropping it back on the floor, opening it up. 

Confusion and sadness wash over me as I look down at my bedsheet, dejected. As fast as they come, everyone leaves me alone in here.

"Well," the man's voice interrupts my thoughts, "are you just going to sit there, or are you coming with me?"

I quickly look around to see the grown man sitting cross-legged in the suitcase, looking at me expectantly.  What a bizarre sight, I think to myself laughing. I quickly shoot out of my bed and sit in front of him in the suitcase.  I was not hesitant or scared because I knew, deep down, that soon enough I would be home.

I had to hug my knees to my chest tightly to be able to fit. There is a click, then suddenly the suitcase was hovering above the floor and shooting up the chimney into the night sky.

"I'm terribly sorry I never introduced myself," the man yells over the roaring night wind, "my name is Hanson, I'm the son of a merchant."

"It's nice to meet you, Hanson," I smile turning my body to awkwardly shake his hand, "I'm Bridgette, the daughter of a dressmaker and professor."

"Fascinating, I have always wanted to make a dress," he exclaims, his words being swallowed by the roaring wind around us.

I laugh at the awkward handshake, "Well one day, I will have to teach you! I was able to make them once."

We fall into a calm silence as we soared like shooting stars across the sky. 

I reached up to feel the familiar cool, softness of the clouds wrapping around my fingers.  The sky was so filled with clouds tonight that I couldn't see the stars. I didn't mind, for the clouds were enough for me. Every time I touch them it is as if I was touching them for the first time.