Free Entry 1, Week 15

When I woke up this morning, everyone was floating,
legs suspended in the air, heads just below, arms
holding their own against pockets on the ceiling
that we never knew existed. We tried driving into
Atlanta, our seatbelts fastened tightly against our
arched backs and puffed-out chests, hearing that a
doctor had a cure, knew why we all suddenly decided
that now was the best time to learn how to fly.
But it turned out that it was only a casting call
for a new telenovela, starring whichever young lady
the good doctor decided had enough potential despite
her sudden ability to fly. I wonder how the girls
on America's Next Top Model are doing. Do they float
with more grace than we do? Does it matter? Why not?
I lie on the floor like we used to do in the pool
when I was a child, sliding down the water to land
belly-down on the bottom of our personal lake in
Heather's backyard, but this time it was dry,
and I laid my hands flat on the floor to push upward
and found that I could float through the air just
as we practiced doing when we were tweens, showing
off our backflips and handstands in weightless fashion.