Dear Flexible Flyer

by Susanne Brent

     I miss you.  I loved how we flew together down the hill behind my house each winter. With your red metal frame, sturdy wood, and sleek rudders, I found my wings. 

     When the snow began to drift, hiding the yellowed grass, dirt, and rocks, I always knew you’d be waiting for me in the garage. You never were impatient with me. You never lost hope during the hot, humid days of summer that winter would return. You never were jealous of my bicycle because you understood my need to separate from you each summer. I never realized until I grew old how precious you were. 

     I wrote my name on you to keep you safe. There in the wood I scratched, Susy Brent. That sneaky girl next door, Nancy Miller, tried to steal you once when I wasn’t looking, when I got occupied eating handfuls of snow with mittened hands. But I got you back before she could hide you in her garage or leave you outside to rust as she did her own sled. I knew every mark, nick, chip on you, dear Flexible Flyer, and I never found you flawed. I loved you exactly as you were. I didn’t do as well with the loves I met after you. 

     Then I abandoned you. Please forgive me flexible flyer. Now I see my mistake. I got older, and no longer found it magical to fly down hills. I tucked you behind the snow tires, rakes, and lawn mower. I forgot how to fly with just wood and metal beneath me. Instead, I traded you for loud cars, and boys who decorated my neck with hickeys, and endless drinks made with rum. I danced beneath dimmed lights to loud music until the sun rose. I thought I was flying, but it wasn’t like flying with my sled. 

    Then the house with the hill behind it got sold. You were bought at a yard sale, but by then I had moved far away to a place with mountains ringed with clouds. I didn’t attempt to fly down them. I lost my wings. I forgot I ever knew how to soar with the wind. I thought you simple and childish. In truth, you were pure.  

     I think of you often my sweet sled, even now in the desert, thousands of miles from where we first met. Here sand covers the hills, and snow never blankets the rocks and sagebrush. This place wouldn’t be good for you. Still, I yearn to hold you again, carry you up the hill, my arms cradling you. Then I would lie upon you and hold tight. Just as I always did. It would be as if time never passed. We’d fit one another perfectly. As your rudders shot up sparks of snow, the world would again sparkle around us. Thank you for teaching me to fly, Susy