Can You Fly
Copyright© 2026 by TMax
Chapter 1: Longing and Belonging
Can you fly? I can. When I leap from a building, the air through my hair, the genetic fear of heights and speed, my heart races, my focus pulls in tight, and nothing else matters, just gravity and air pressure, until I appear somewhere else.
Ok, I don’t actually, technically, fly, but close, so close. Better than gliding, parachuting, or that stupid water jet thing, you know, the one with the hose, and the boat, in the commercials. I haven’t done that, but it can’t compare to what I do. Nothing does. Except maybe actual flying.
I have a favorite spot to jump from. A tall building, at night, in Tokyo, no idea the name or address, but the tallest in the area. The roof has a small garden, with those twisty tree things, and a smoking area, clean though, no butts or anything, just the faint odor. More important, most important, the safety net around the top has a hole, which I totally didn’t make and then cover up.
Ok, I did make it, but the view, the lights of the city, the cars, people, vibe, atmosphere, oh, my goodness, like, unreal. I once saw a festival with a real live dragon thing, with all those people under it. Unreal.
Ok, fine, you want to know where I flippered to. Flippering, what I call it, sounds so cool, and I guess, in a way, totally cool, but flying, what I would give for that power.
This time, into a house, beiges and whites, with a family around a scarred dinner table. The daughter describes a day with her friends and the latest about a boy and how a former girlfriend just doesn’t understand. The father nods, the mother pushes peas around her plate, and the younger brother stares at his phone in his lap.
Unseen, invisible, I sneak into the father’s downstairs office. Yeah, invisible, I can do that. The reason I don’t get in trouble for jumping off buildings, nor do people freak out when nobody lands. You can’t worry about what you can’t see.
Honestly, I hate going invisible. No clothes, so often too cold, and people bump into you, and cars don’t see you, literally. And it causes me to wig out a little bit, because I can’t see my body. You don’t realize how much you use your eyes to make sure your foot lands in the correct spot, or your fingers press the right buttons, until you can’t see them anymore.
And of course, I can’t let anyone know, because they would call me a pervert, and assume that I spy on people in the shower all the time. Have you seen naked bodies, not model naked bodies, nor porn naked bodies, but real naked bodies of people you don’t like? In clothes, they may look ok, because clothes hide so much, like blemishes, pimples, and misproportioned bodies.
Anyway, yeah, totally not trying to distract you, because, invisible, annoying but cool, and flippering, awesome, not as awesome as flying, but still awesome, but what I do with my powers, well, super boring and mundane.
I needed this guy’s projections for a new start-up, a miracle of modern accounting and finance, uses AI and Quantum computing, and some other techno-babble thing, maybe augmented reality, or cold fusion, something. Which, while ultra cool and all, I didn’t care what they used or claimed to use. I just needed the numbers.
Numbers. Projects. Graphs. Yeah, that kind of boring. Accounting. Money. But a guy’s gotta eat, and no, think about it, you try hanging around naked, eating food that people can totally see until my body absorbs it. And sure, yeah, I could walk into someplace, grab food, and flipper away. But think about it, three meals a day, plus snacks. People gonna talk. Government agencies gonna show up and try to arrest me. They can’t arrest me, not with my abilities, but still.
So, I needed money. And more importantly, a legitimate way of getting that money, and work sucks, so I do what the rich people do: get insider information and bet on the stock market. When you know how to load the dice, you can make bank.
The designer wooden desk, made in Italy, dominated the small room. It held three monitors and a keyboard. I sat in the black leather chair, worn along the front edge and on one of the armrests, but it held me like a lover’s arms. Not that I have had many lovers. Lots of one-night stands. Drive a nice car, you will get lots of one-night stands, but no real offers. Which, again, awesome. A new woman whenever I wanted, but also sucks, because no one to talk to, like really talk, and no one to cuddle with, or even fight with, because you only fight with people that you care about.
A bachelor’s diploma from the University of Southern California hangs on the wall to my right, above a Certified Professional Accountant certificate, and a 1969 twenty-dollar bill in a dark wood frame. In front of me, a bathrobe hangs from the back of the door, while to my left, floor-to-ceiling filing cabinets, all locked. Behind me hangs a picture of a calm river hidden between old curved trees on the right bank and rocks on the left, a Monsted. I like his paintings. The room smells like coffee and mayo.
Why so many details? Because searching a computer takes time. Everything takes time, so I tend to study my surroundings.
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