Sideways

By Mark J Rankin

I first saw Harold levitate when he was fifty years old. I’m not sure how long he had possessed that capability before then, but when he showed me, he seemed pleasantly surprised it worked, so I don’t think it had been with him long.

We had been sitting outside on the deck on a warm summer’s day, perhaps two beers in, when he stood up with a child’s grin.

‘Want to see something cool?’ he asked.

I sipped my beer and nodded.

He took a deep breath and then slowly bent his knees.

He smiled. 

But I didn’t see it at first.

‘Look at my feet!’

I gazed down and saw that his feet were no longer on the ground, but hovering about six inches from it. His knees were slightly bent, but otherwise he looked like he was standing. 

He then began to slowly drift around, neither rising nor falling, just hovering as he glided back and forth across the deck like he was being pushed by a breeze only he could feel. After a minute or so of this he stopped, stretched out his legs, and then walked back to the chair next to me and sat down. He reached across the table and grabbed his beer. He sculled it and cracked another, then held the bottle up in triumph.

‘Pretty fucking cool right?’ he gloated.

‘Fuck me sideways…’ I gasped.

I took a sip of beer and slowly shook my head. ‘How the fuck did you do that?’

‘I’m not sure, I just get this pleasant tingling sensation in my head, like I’ve just had a cap of nitrous oxide, and then everything becomes…clear. Crystal. Like we’re all glass puppets in a glass forest. Once it hits I know I can do it.’ 

‘Could you keep doing it?’

‘No, it fades, and my body feels heavy again, and then my floating time is up.’

‘Can you do it again?’

‘I don’t know. I’m never sure it will work. Sometimes I can’t do it for weeks. It’s not in my control. I can feel it coming on, and I definitely know if it arrives, but I can’t consciously will it to happen. Once I’m floating, I feel I can embrace it and move around with it, but until it occurs, me wanting to do it has no effect. It happens when it happens. You’re the first to see it.’ He shrugged and took a sip of his beer. ‘It’s not a good party trick.’ 

‘It fucking is when it works!’ I exclaimed.

Harold laughed and opened another beer. We clinked bottles and smiled warmly at each other. Over the course of the afternoon, we discussed his ability in depth, or rather I did, but he never gave any more detail.

In the end, in the face of this extraordinary feat, we shrugged our shoulders and continued with our lives. It was simply a skill that Harold now possessed, and it usually came out on a warm summer’s day while drinking beer on the deck.

My skill in such situations was an ability to fart like a trumpet. It’s not as impressive as Harold’s floating, but it has its moments.

About the Author

Mark J Rankin is a published author of both fiction and non-fiction and works as an academic to pay the rent and buy cigarettes.