A Tightrope to the Moon

"La-da-ding!" Hear Lottie Sing

 Waking up is one of my most favorite things. No one I know likes it—but I do. I don't even need an alarm. The city and all the beautiful things living in it is my alarm. The city wakes me up every morning around the same time, usually at seven or eight.

I hear the cars, first: beeping and honking to make sure I'm awake. I shoot out of bed like the old Jack-In-The-Box toy my mom kept from her childhood. A silly toy, if you ask me. I open my window enough to prop a book under it. The windows are old and don't stay open on their own. I use a book I finished reading a while ago to hold them open. A book I didn't like, about a werewolf who falls in love with a human. Yeah, okay—and I'll fly to the moon one day. Psh, what a joke. Most girls my age love those books, but not me. I'm not like the other eleven-year-old girls. —I love a good fairy tale, don't get me wrong. But Werewolves? Vampires? No thanks! I'd rather barf.

Anyway, the edge of my bed reaches the window and makes for a comfy seat. I crawl my way to the edge, rest my elbows on a pink pillow I placed on the window sill, rest my chin on my fists, and watch.

Up so high, I feel like I can see the entire city and beyond. The people below look like ants, and they sort of walk like ants, too: the way they move in a single-file line, going from place-to-place with so much focus on where they're headed. They never look around to see the world around them. They look down at their phones, or straight ahead to where they're supposed to be. And they certainly never look up. Which is probably a good thing. I'm sure they wouldn't like the feeling of being watched. But I think the reason they don't look up is 'cause of the pigeon poop that rains from the sky like a faucet drip.

There aren't many, but every now-and-then songbirds will fly by my window. Beautiful birds, with red bellies the same color as the red-ribbon streaks in the morning sky. They fly by and sing—just for me. They'd sing my name, Lottie! La-ta-ta-ti! And they'd ask me to join them as they soar in the sky. Oh, I wish I could fly like that! When I see them I close my eyes, spread my arms as wide as can be, and imagine the wind whipping my hair, feeling the freedom to go anywhere. Oh, the places I could go and the things I would see. But I can't. I'm stuck here. I feel like I'm glued to this wooden floor, and it's so cold. I can barely feel my feet. One day, I'll be free. And I'll fly and never come down...one day.

As much as I love to watch the city—shine under the sun. It is nothing compared to the city at night. At night, when the songbirds rest their sweet voices, and the rest of the world goes to sleep, I feel most alive. I feel more alive than a dolphin, flipping free in the sea. At night is when my dreams feel so real to me. It feels like maybe, just maybe, my dreams will come true.

The buildings in the city light up the sky, and I picture myself singing and twirling under the brightest of them all, while the entire city claps and applauds my every move. They notice me, Lottie Anderson, dancing under the spotlight—the center of attention. The lights never seem to go dull. On some nights, when the stars sit in perfect alignment, I can see a church in the far-off distance, illuminated by the stars. The church is so tall. I'd never seen anything like it. At the tippy-top sits a rusted cross that shoots! up to the sky, so high it pierces the clouds. A bell sits underneath it, hidden away in the smallest of towers. I wonder if the bell feels like me: hidden, wanting to be saved; to be rescued—to be set free. Like a princess! The most beautiful of princesses are hidden away in towers. I feel just like them...but maybe I'm not pretty enough to be saved.

When the bell ding-ding-dings, and rings for all to hear, I dance to it's sound. I leap and twirl and sing along: La-ling! Da-da-ding! Oh the bell, I wish I could ring. If I could, I'd ring the bell every night, and shout, Hello! Can you hear me? I'm up here! Then, the whole world would wake up and see me, and only me.

I love watching it all: the church, the lights, the stars. But there is nothing like the moon at night. The moon hovering over this city is the biggest moon I'd ever seen. It's bigger than, than—I don't know! It has to be bigger than all the oceans put together. It's magnificent. It looks like a circus ring, filled with enough white cocoa for the world to drink. And I want more than a sip. I want the whole thing! I want to live in its white glow. To wake up next to the stars in the sky. Close enough to grab one and skip it across the white-mocha moon. Oh...if only dreams could come true.

Tonight, the lights, the stars, the moon, all shine on me. But I can't smile. Not tonight. —Not when I'm...here! Stuck here in this dark, damp—dumb-closet-sized room. I can feel my tears roll down my ugly, dimpled cheeks and splash onto the floor. I don't feel like dreaming anymore. Maybe I'll never dream again!

I crawl back in my squeaky bed: it sounds like dead trees, rattling in the wind, every time I move. I throw the white-stained sheet over my body, and I watch the only spotlight willing to shine on me: a dim light bulb hanging down from a wire attached to the ceiling. I don't even blink the tears away. I let them fill up my eyes and fall down my face like a waterfall...maybe they'll drown my sadness away.