Reflected in my work is my belief that what separates me from everything else, is only a thin wisp of breath.
When I was six or seven years old I thought, how come I don’t know what someone else is thinking? I pondered this question over and over. To me, it was a mystery greater than whether there was a God.
In Kindergarten, I drew a picture of me standing on a tall bridge peering down into a river and seeing myself inseparable from the water.
While I was in college, I learned to fly an old, two-seater, single prop airplane. It was the first time in my life I found something I loved, something I wanted to do. I didn’t want to study for school anymore; I wanted to fly. I forgot to do my homework. In class, I’d close my eyes, lean my head back and dream I was flying.
“Are you kidding,” my father said. “That’s dangerous if you don’t stop. I’ll pull you out of school!” My Dean said, “If you don’t quit this, I’ll call in your parents.” My boyfriend said, “When we get married I could never support your flying.”
I left my boyfriend and lied to the rest.
I snuck out of my dorm on sunny days and continued to fly over green fields and a herd of running horses. I soared into the clouds. Soon my body filled with weightlessness. Swooping and diving, I played with the air. With arms for wings, there was no plane anymore.
Yesterday as I washed the dishes, I got a bad feeling; my good friend is ill. I hadn’t seen my friend for more than half a year. I went to the phone and called to see if she was okay; she wasn’t home. A day later she returned my call to say she’d been in the hospital where they discovered something suspicious on one of her tests.