As she stood there on the promontory, the whole of the city at her feet, and then the Bay, and beyond, darkened mountains and a deep lavender sky, a plane emerged from the left horizon, threading the checkerboard mother-of-pearl clouds, illuminating, dulling, glinting, and then fading, she realized that she, too, had the power to defy gravity, because she truly believed she could, no one having taught her differently, never having anyone in her life at all up to that point, and so she leaned forward and dropped off the red clay jag, falling gracefully 45-feet straight down toward the sidewalk below, and then at the very last second, straightened her neck and with a suppleness native to every single one of her gestures, swooped up across the wide clearing, soared through the air, and alighted, toe-first, on a solar panel atop an adjacent apartment building.
Just then, a door from the building opened, and out stepped a Caucasian man with a long, thin body and a tidy swoosh of black hair atop his head. He was holding a tray of raw hot dogs and a pitcher of frozen margaritas.
“A bit early, eh?” he said as if he knew her.
“I guess so,” she said.
He shrugged and moved around her toward a grill at the far end of the roof.
“May I have some of that?”
He paused and turned.
“You want a Nick’s Specialty Frozen Silverado Cadillac Jimmy Jam Margarita?”
She looked around the rooftop. “Yeah.”
“First one to the BBQ and you’re already making requests? I like your style.”
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