Hover

By Grant Jarrett

/ Fiction /    

It was early on a Tuesday morning in May when Leviticus Tate perceived that he had the ability to rise into the air, to hover. This wasn't just the residue of another aeronautic dream. It was a simple, indisputable fact; something he knew, understood, a part of him, like an instinct, like swallowing or breathing or scratching an itch. And yet this was unlike anything else. This was singular, exciting, life altering. There were questions of course. How high could he go? Would his body somehow know what to do? Would it just happen or would it require practice, the honing of technique? Would weather conditions have an impact on his ability? How should he dress? 

In spite of his exhilaration, Leviticus fought the impulse to rush out into the chill morning and levitate. He was taking no chances with this. Instead, he approached the morning, at least on the surface, as he would have any other. Inside he was trembling with the desire, the need, to soar. Nevertheless, he struggled through his morning ritual, the hot shower, the cold breakfast, a skim through the newspaper, and his morning evacuation, before finally venturing outside. 

And there on his front lawn, after several minutes of turning this way and that, bending over, sitting down, twirling around, running in place, and even flapping his arms, it happened. He turned toward the breeze, held his breath and leaned slightly forward, and within seconds he was airborne, rising slowly up past the tops of the shrubs, the second story windows, just beyond the gently swaying treetops, where he hovered without effort, the languid rural neighborhood beneath him swimming in tears of joy. 

The feeling of weightlessness was liberating, invigorating, like being swaddled in an ocean of soft, breathable water, unfettered and free, beyond the bounds of everyday existence. When he felt he was acclimated to the altitude, Leviticus rose higher. Below him and on all sides the horizon spread out like a great animate map. To the east was the downtown area, the light early morning traffic crawling along. To the north a haphazard clutter of malls and car dealers flanked Rte. 209 for a mile or two before the land began to open up, peppered here and there with motels, gas stations, ice cream stands, farm stands, small factories, and the few remaining farms. To the west the high school looked like a miniature reproduction of itself, a child's model. Beyond it the river that snaked around to the south hugged the rolling hills before disappearing around a thickly wooded bend. Farther south a tangle of four-lane highways and country roads led to the larger urban areas. The greater his distance from it, the more breathtaking was the land.

A practical young man, Leviticus knew that as magnificent as this was, it was no panacea. Certainly, he'd undergone a substantial change, but the facts of his life remained much the same as before. He would still have to go to work, pay bills, eat, sleep, and attend to life's rather strict and occasionally overwhelming requirements. With any luck he would marry someday, have children, and some sort of career. And so, after allowing himself a few more minutes of airborne bliss, he reluctantly determined it would be prudent to return to Earth and head to the major appliance department at Sears, where, according to his nametag, he was assistant manager of refrigeration. 

The realization arrived suddenly and was accompanied by the sort of dull gastric discomfort that might reasonably be associated with inadvertent public nudity. He didn't have even a vague sense of how to navigate a landing. There was, it seemed, no instinctive physical response to the simple desire to descend to terra firma. There had to be some trick. He'd gotten here by leaning into the wind, so perhaps facing the other direction would get him down. With a little effort he was able to rotate away from the wind: nothing. He tried leaning back: nothing. He exhaled, he held his breath, he made his hands into fists and punched rapidly toward the ground but still he remained airborne. But then, following an interval of sincere, heartfelt terror, he simply relaxed and floated gently downward, to a nearly flawless two-point landing on the hood of the green Subaru station wagon his father had left behind when he disappeared. 

The obvious choice was Emily. She was the person he cared most about, the person with whom he shared everything, or almost everything. But she'd been a little distant, well, more than a little. She'd threatened to break up with him if he didn't start getting his life together. Of course that meant getting a better job, a career, finding his own place, and committing to some kind of specific future. "I just can't take much more of your vagueness and apathy," she'd said more than once. But he did love her. They'd been together since he was sixteen and he wasn't looking for anyone else. Why wasn't that clear enough? And he wasn't apathetic. He just couldn't seem to muster any genuine enthusiasm for the single-minded obsession with the kind of future most people strove for, as though driven by some ineluctable instinct that had somehow been omitted from his own DNA. He knew he had to move forward, to progress, but all of that, to him, was merely a backdrop for the real substance of life, a rich hodgepodge of human relationships leavened by the fleeting moments of joy he found in his observations of the world around him. 

His mother was good to him and he had some close friends, but Emily would have to be the first to know. She, unlike the others, shared at least some of his appreciation for these moments, even if she didn't quite understand their significance to him. He would call her at lunchtime and tell her he had some news.

Throughout the day, customers drifted in and out of the store. Sales were made and lost. It was even more difficult than it would have been on any typical day to care about these things. Yet Leviticus did his best to conceal his cognitive absence from Ken. And Ken was in one of his better moods, talkative, supportive, almost avuncular—none of that mind-numbing blather about features and benefits that he defaulted to when he was tired or when he'd lost an argument with his wife and felt the need to exercise his authority where he knew he could. Leviticus was tempted to tell him, but that wouldn't be fair. He would wait until he and Emily were face to face, outside, somewhere he could demonstrate without creating a public spectacle. 

"Well, what's the big mystery?"

 They stood facing one another in the park next to the duck pond where they sometimes picnicked in the summertime. The sun was dipping below the horizon, their lanky skeletons fading into the lawn. 

She took his hand. "What's going on, Levi?"

"When I woke up this morning, I … I felt … no, I knew something had changed. I knew I could do something—"

"You can do anything you want. You're so bright and capable." She smiled. "I've been trying to tell you that."

"No. I mean, I know, but … but this is so … " He shook his head.

"Well, are you going to tell me?"

Still holding her hand, he took a step back. "I'm … No. I'm going to show you."

"Okay," she said, her eyes locked on his.

He released her hand and stepped back, waited until he could feel the breeze, then turned toward it and leaned forward. "Don't freak out."

"I won't. Just … show me, or tell me or, or whatever."

He leaned his body into the wind. "Close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?"

"Just for a second."

"Okay."

He tilted farther, a little farther. He thought he was going to fall forward when

he began to rise. When he was about twenty feet above the ground, he straightened up. 

"You can look now."

She opened her eyes and looked around her. "Levi?"

"I'm up here." 

She spun around. "Where?" 

"Rotate about forty-five degrees to your left and look up."

"Levi!"

"Isn't it amazing?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hovering."

"Yeah, I can see that. But why?"

"Why? Why? Because … because I can. Isn't it just … amazing?"

"Well, yeah. But what you don't need at this point in your life is another

distraction."

"What?" Something was wrong. 

"This is just one more thing to waste your time on when you should be going to college."

"What?"

"If you can't hear me, why don't you come down?"

"It's so beautiful, Emily."

"That's great, Levi, it really is, but it's not like I can just drift on up there and enjoy it with you. And I just don't see how this is going to get you, or us, on track."

She rubbed her neck. "I really can't talk to you while you're up there." 

Something was very wrong. This—her reaction, this conversation—was more unreal, more dreamlike and bizarre than the floating.

"Call me when you come down." She didn't look up as she walked away.

"I really do wish you'd let me know when you're not going to be home for dinner." 

"I'm sorry, Mom." He took his place at the kitchen table and sighed.

She put a plate of leftover meatballs into the microwave. "Is anything wrong?" 

"No. I'm just a little tired."

"Can I do anything for you?"

"No." He smiled at his mother. "I'm fine." She always tried to be there for him, though she'd changed since his father's disappearance. It was as if someone had crept in during the night and silently clipped the weary wings of her spirit. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know," she said. She sat down and took his hand. "I'm always fine."

"I'm sorry I didn't call."

"I just like you to have a good dinner." 

The microwave beeped and she began to rise. 

"Don't get up," he said and stood. "I'll get it."

When he was finished with dinner and his dishes were clean, Leviticus looked into the living room. His mother was asleep on the couch with the television on. He shut the television off and covered her legs with a blanket. 

Clayton was standing outside his apartment building smoking a cigarette when Leviticus pulled his mother's Subaru up to the curb. He shuffled over and leaned into the window. "What's up, dude." 

"Didn't you just quit a couple days ago?"

Clayton looked at his cigarette. "It didn't take."

Levi got out of the car. "At least you gave it your all."

"I'll quit smoking when you quit Sears." Clay tossed the butt into the gutter.

"Hey. That's littering."

"It's a cigarette, Lee."

"And your point is—"

Clayton trudged over and picked up his cigarette butt. "You're such a tree fucker." He flung it at Leviticus.

"It's tree hugger, Clay."

"Not in this case."

Levi picked up the butt and slipped the into his pocket. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay."

"Have you ever wished you could fly?"

"Sure, when I was a kid. What I really wanted, though, was invisibility. I had these great fantasies about sneaking into girls' bedrooms and watching them undress."

"That would have been useful."

"Still would."

"But what if you could fly … or be invisible? I mean … wouldn't you still … wouldn't it be incredible?"

"You think it would help me get laid?"

"I'm serious."

Clayton was watching a woman trying to park her car. "Yeah, Lee." He nodded. "It'd be da bomb." He scrutinized his friend. "Is that it?"

"Is that what?"

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah. I guess that's it."

"Are you okay?" Clayton grabbed his shoulder.

"I'm okay. I'm just a little confused. Nobody seems particularly interested in my ability to fly."

Clayton laughed. "I went through the same shit when I got my first pubic hair."

"Am I a good friend?" Leviticus stood with his arms folded in front of him.

"You're a great friend. There's nobody I trust more. You're a little weird sometimes, but that's okay because it makes me seem more normal than I really am."

 "That's my purpose in life."

"You know, Lee, if you ever need to talk about anything, no matter how fucking weird, I'm here for you." He smiled. "I'm mean, unless I have something better to do. You know. Or I'm a little tired. Or there's a good game on, or if I have to take a crap or—"

Leviticus laughed. He thought about showing Clay what he could do, then decided against it. "Okay, well, thanks for giving up an episode of Cops for me."

"Hey, you're more important than some stupid show about a bunch of skeevy crack dealers and hookers." 

"You taped it, didn't you?" 

"What kind of loser do you think I am?" Clayton shook his head. "TiVo." He shrugged.

Leviticus took a couple steps and then turned back. "Clay?"

"Yeah?"

"I really can fly."

"I know, dude. I am totally invisible." He backed slowly into the doorway of his building, into the darkness.

That night, hovering just above his bedroom window, Leviticus gazed up at the firmament, a vast coruscating blanket, and let the night air coddle him. There just weren't that many people he wanted to share this with. He wanted to tell his mother, but something about the idea worried him. It might confuse or frighten her. She was already under too much stress and for some reason this seemed like an imposition. He'd thought about telling Ken, but realized now that it would be pointless. 

Hey, Ken. Come outside and let me show you something.

What?

I can hover.

Hoover? Like the vacuum cleaners!

No, Ken. Hover. Float in the air.

I really hope you're not talking about pot.

Pot?

Marijuana. Weed. Narcotics. Geez, I'd hate to think— 

No, I'm talking about rising up into the air and floating there.

Oh. Well, it certainly is a feature, but what's the benefit?

I like it. It feels good. It's gorgeous up there.

Do you think maybe you could hold up a big Kenmore banner?

"What are you doing out there?" 

A goddamned banner. 

"Levi? Are you outside?"

His mother stuck her head out his bedroom window and frowned. "Are you sure that's safe?"

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Never mind that. What in heaven's name are you doing?"

"Mom?"

"Your door was open, Sweetheart, and I saw you weren't in bed, and then I heard a noise. What are you doing out there? It looks like your just … floating in … in the air."

"Don't be afraid, Mom. I'm perfectly fine."

"That's not going to bring your father back, Levi."

"I know."

"Well, I just—"

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry."

"How in heaven's name are you doing that? Are you sure it's safe?"

"I haven't had an accident yet. But—"

"I'm not sure I like it. Why don't you come inside? I'll make us some nice herbal tea."

"Go ahead in, Mom. I'll be down in a minute."

"Now that I think of it, I believe your father might have said something about this kind of thing." She poured two cups of tea and sat down across from him.

"Something about what?"

"When we were first getting serious. One night I think he said something about flying."

"What did he say?"

"He was always teasing, so I just assumed it was another one of his … you know." She sipped her tea. "He said something like, 'what would you do if I told you I could fly.'"

"Was he serious? What did you say?"

"Oh, I don't know." She wiped her eyes. "Who knows what went on in that man's mind?"

In the days that followed, Leviticus took advantage of every opportunity he could find to practice rising higher. When he was able to climb high enough to feel the change in the air and he had control of his altitude he began carrying things with him, increasing the weight a little bit every day. After almost a month he strapped two backpacks stuffed with potatoes, a bowling ball, a bag of sand, and two steam irons onto his shoulders and slowly rose into the air. It required concentration, but he could do it. 

On a Friday evening at dinner he took his mother's hand. "Mom?"

"What is it, Sweetheart?"

"Maybe Dad … maybe he didn't run off."

"Well, I guess I'd rather think that than think something horrible happened to him."

"I know. I know, but I mean, what if he could, you know, what if he could fly?"

"You're a sweet boy." His mother smiled at him. 

"We could look for him. I could carry you, and … "

She laughed. "Even if I thought such a ridiculous thing was possible, I'd be terrified. Anyway, if your father wanted to be found, we'd have found him."

"But—"

"I'd rather not talk about him anymore, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

That night Leviticus dreamed he was rising up into an early morning sky of the palest apricot. The world below him was shrinking and the air was getting cold, almost effervescent, miniature bubbles sprinkling his nose and mouth with every breath, skipping tiptoe down his windpipe. He was climbing higher and higher, drifting through sheer clouds, laughing as the planet below him receded. It was all so unspoiled, so lush and magnificent, so perfect and pure at this distance. He looked up and saw hanging in the air above him the worn soles of a pair of men's shoes. He reached up with both hands and pulled the shoes toward him. Above them were a pair of pants, a jacket, a tie, a familiar gray suit containing a man. Hovering there in front of him, with his briefcase in his hand, was his father. Leviticus motioned to the briefcase and laughed.

"I didn't want to drop it on anyone."

"You've been holding onto it all this time?"

"I don't really see an option, Son. Someone could get a concussion. Then what?"

"I've come to be with you."

"No." He shook his head.

"What?"

"You can't."

"You're here."

"I was sick. I was going to die."

"So you just left."

"Well, it was an accident. I hadn't done this since I was your age, maybe a little older. I was trying to decide what to do and I started to rise. Next thing I knew I was stuck. The view is nice enough but I can't really go anywhere."

"I want to stay here, with you."

"You know you can't do that."

"Well, maybe I can take you back."

"You're dreaming, kid."

"Why? Why can't we try?" 

"You're dreaming, having a dream."

"You mean none of this is true?"

"I wouldn't know about that." 

"I miss you," Leviticus said. "I—"

"Yes, I know. Go back now. Your mother needs you."  

"I don't want to go back."

"Go on. And take this damned briefcase with you."

He started descending and then stopped himself. "Dad?

"Yes?"

"Did you enjoy your work … your life?"

"My work was just what I had to do. My life was pretty good, though. I enjoyed my family. That made it worth it."

"Am I going to have to play the game?"

"The game?"

"You know what I mean. I mean … it's my dream and I think you know what I mean."

"You're still quick as a whip." His father laughed. "It's mostly up to you. Find a game you love, or someone or something worth playing for. You still seeing that cute girl, Ellen?"

"Emily?"

"That's the one. You two still together?"

"I don't really know. We've been on a … a little break."

"I'm not so sure I like the sound of that. But, hey, it's your life."

"Is it, Dad?"

"Some of it is, anyway. Find that part, nurture it. You'll do okay."

When Leviticus awoke, he surveyed the bed. He rose and searched the room. No, the briefcase wasn't there. The hovering was as real as his pillow he'd slept on, as the room that surrounded him, but he'd never see his father again. For reasons that would remain a mystery, he'd decided to leave his job, his home, and his family. Perhaps he'd changed his name, remarried. Perhaps he really was up there somewhere hovering. It didn't matter. No, it did matter, but Leviticus would never know the truth. What he did know was that he needed to talk with Emily. He'd stayed away too long.

"First, I want you to promise not to do that … floating, hovering, whatever you call it."

"I told you I wouldn't."

"Well … "

They sat across from each other at a park bench next to the duck pond. He'd called her and said he wanted to talk, to try to sort things out. It was after nine o'clock and the only light came from a shimmering moon, low in the sky and about a quart shy of full. 

"Okay, so what do you want to talk about?"

"It's nice to see you," he said and reached across the table, placed his hand next to hers.

She smiled. "I hope so."

"Emily, I've been thinking a lot about … about what you want for me, for us, and why I've been—"

"Resistant?"

"Well—"

"Distant?"

"Okay. Yes. Both, I guess."

"That's a good response."

"I just can't quite figure it out, and then there's this … hovering—"

"Try this, Levi." Now she took his hand. "I think you're afraid of something. I don't quite know what it is, but maybe it has to do with your father, with his leaving."

"Yeah, I guess, maybe."

"Maybe you're afraid of becoming the man who left."

"I don't—"

"The problem is that you've already started leaving."

"I just don't know."

"I don't know either, but isn't it possible?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'm afraid of failing. I mean, you have such high expectations, and I don't want to let my mother … " He squeezed her hand. "I just don't want to let my mother down."

"You won't fail. Not unless you give up before you've tried. I don't expect you to be a business tycoon. I expect you to do something good, something that matters. And, yes, I want you to make a living, and I want you to want marriage and children, not this week—I'm in no hurry—but sometime. I need a sense of future, some kind of plan, no matter how vague. I need to feel like I'm … like we're going somewhere."

"We are."

"Where? Where are we going? I know I'm responsible for my choices, and for my future, for the most part, and I've still got a lot of work to do, but I have some sense of direction. I want you to come with me, to share my path, but not if it doesn't … not if we don't matter."

"Of course we matter."

"Okay, that's a start. But without your active participation it's just words, and that's not enough for me. And if you really don't want to strive for something more, to live up to your enormous potential, then we shouldn't be together. I don't want you throw yourself away. I just couldn't stand to see that. That would be worse than losing you to … to whatever." She stared down at their hands. "There are different ways of disappearing."

"But I can't abandon my mother, and I don't even know what I want to do."

"You won't abandon your mother. You won't. And as far as what to do, do something that matters to you, something you care about." 

He wiped the tears from his eyes.  "I care about you and Mom, and … and the outdoors, nature."

"What is nature, Levi?"

"What is it?"

"Yes. Use … use other words."

"It's life. Plants, animals, people, stars and planets, this planet, everything but the crap people make I guess."

"The earth?"

"Yeah, but … "

"Do something, Levi. Don't just float around up there by yourself. Please. Please come back down and do something. You're bright and passionate and special. You can matter if you want to. Make something valuable from your passion, turn it in to something, something you can share with me, with your mother, with the planet you love."

"You think I should become some kind of environmentalist? Isn't that what half the people in college these days say they want to do?”

"I’m pretty sure Biotechnology, Finance, and Business Administration are in fashion now, but I'm not particularly concerned about what anyone else does. I’m concerned about you. Just do something you can care about, something you can believe in and be proud of."

"What about my … " He raised his eyes toward the sky. "You know. I don't think I could give that up." 

"I don’t know. Just don't fade into the scenery while you're up there. Maybe you can have both, but please try to find your way down here, with us."

"Do you think you could help me?"

She stood up and walked around the bench. "Please get up. Please get up and let me hold you."

High above his home that night, Levi floated, his naked body bathed in the creamy moonlight, the air as still and cool as river fog. Would there still be time for this or would he have to give it up? Would it remain a part of his life or end the way it began, with an understanding, a knowledge that came in the night? Would Emily come with him, just once, to see the staggering beauty that surrounded him now, to share the jubilation of floating weightless and unencumbered in the crisp night air? Or would it be different for her, just a passenger clinging to him, her body still constrained by gravity? Leviticus Tate surveyed the sleepy neighborhood that lay below him. Most people were home now, or on their way to their homes, their families, to watch television or read, to talk or to ignore each other, to fight or to laugh or to make love. To sleep and to dream. To do what people do. Doors would be closing, lights would go out. Bit by bit, the long day would fade into memory and then beyond, fragments appearing in dreams or drifting in the breeze, perhaps returning, shorn of context, on some other day. Tomorrow would come and it would all begin again. He needed only to be there, down there, where lived everyone he loved. He only had to care, and to try. 

That might just be enough.