As a hairstylist, Ellen spent her days on her feet. The more hours, the better. Having downtime between clients meant she was losing money. She paid rent on a fifty square foot workstation in a prestigious salon. Years of standing in place, a sedentary after-work lifestyle, and habit of buying breakfast or lunch at nearby grab-and-go restaurants caused the loss of her previously slim waistline. It had, in fact, become inverted. With her cinnamon caramel hair, mocha skin, and olive eyes, she was a striking and exotic beauty. But her shape, once something like an hourglass now looked more like a mango. The added weight swelled her feet, leaving them tired and sore by the end of the day. Once home, she would crack a can of wine, microwave a Weight Watchers frozen meal, and soak her feet in a vibrating bath until she fell asleep.
Then one day after work, she noticed her feet didn’t hurt. As the days passed, they felt better and better until it was almost as if she was standing on air. She attributed it to the keto diet she was trying to follow, yet didn’t feel like she’d lost any weight. Anxious to find out if she had burned off some unwanted pounds, she put batteries in her scale and discovered her weight was down by nearly seventy pounds. She looked in the mirror and was certain this was wrong. She still looked like an avocado. Plus her clothes fit just the same—unflatteringly snug. She went to her doctor to get weighed, and by that time she had lost another twenty pounds. Her doctor agreed she was still obese. It felt like a cruel hoax, a cosmic tease—take away the weight but keep the fat?
As the weeks passed, Ellen felt better and better. Not only did her feet not hurt, her back felt better, and she had more energy at the end of the day. Clients noticed that she seemed lighter on her feet and she moved like she’d been taking dance classes or doing yoga or something.
“What’s your secret?” a client asked.
“I wish I knew. I just feel better. Not sure why.”
“Was it gluten? I bet it was gluten.”
“I eat bread and pasta all the time. They’re my favorites.”
“I’ll bet it’s the gluten.”
One morning as she took her shower, Ellen looked down and noticed that the water was no longer moving around her feet, but under them. She stepped out of the shower and onto a bathmat which remained free of her footprints. Still unsure of what was happening, she stepped into the hallway and found herself gliding over the floor like a feather in a stiff breeze. Naked and wet, she coasted around her apartment, banging into tables and chairs. She jumped, half expecting to fly off like a comic book hero but found her jumping skills unchanged. In midair she remembered her feet were wet. She braced for slippery thud to the floor but landed as softly as a cat on a thick pile rug. Some kind of force slowed her just before she made contact, stopping her just a macaroni-width above the floor. She was thrilled. Knick-knacks in the apartment would no longer rattle in her wake. How much higher could she go? She jumped over and over again, landing on what felt like a gentle cushion of memory foam. Then she realized she was still naked, and if anyone saw a papaya-shaped woman jumping, squatting, skating and lunging around the floor they might call the authorities; or possibly a reality show. She put on some clothes and went to work.
She waited for someone to notice her lack of contact with the floor but soon realized nobody looks down. And even if they did, her flight was so close to the ground they’d ignore what they saw. A trick of the light. The shape of her shoe. Maybe she was in love, and it seemed like she was floating on air — anything except what was actually happening. Ellen wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. It seemed like what had happened was a significant event. She was flying! People have dreamed of flying as long as there have been humans. She decided to start gliding around to get noticed. As she banged around her work station, her coworkers suspected she was drunk. Clients became nervous about the scissors she had in her hand. She then asked clients if they would like bottled water or coffee, and offer to fetch it. She’d glide to the coffee bar like a pat of butter in a pan, then bump to a stop. Eventually, someone noticed.
“Oh, did you get some of those roller shoes? My son has those; he’s twelve. He loves them. Are they good exercise? Firming up your butt?”
“I’m flying! Can’t you see?” Ellen yelled. She removed her shoes and socks, pushed herself toward across the floor to a pile of hair, undisturbed as she hovered over it. “See? I can fly!”
Ellen had the full attention of the salon, as she demonstrated her new-found gift.
“It’s really hovering, not flying, right? I mean, it’s amazing and good for you, but are you flying?” a stylist said.
“It’s not really about the height though, is it?” another stylist offered. “If a bird flew an inch above the ground, it’s still flying, right?”
“Yeah, but a bird can fly into a tree or across the ocean. Can Ellen do that?” Everyone turned to Ellen.
“This is as high as I can go right now. And I’m not sure about water. But look! I’m not touching the ground, you assholes!” Everyone turned away and went back to cutting, dying, curling, and drying. Ellen’s client, her hair still wrapped in foil, took off her drape saying, “I just remembered I’m late for yoga,” and scurried out the door. Later that day Ellen’s workspace lease was revoked.
***
Ellen was flying an inch above the ground, whizzing along at twenty miles an hour. It took her seven years to work up to this height. She found it didn’t matter if she wore something aerodynamic or not, her speed was the same. Friction and weight made no difference. She was able to zoom over water and jump off buildings landing as safely as a kid bouncing on a bed. After losing the lease at the salon, her interest in the beauty industry quickly waned. Ellen could fly. If that as true, why waste time washing other people’s hair?
She eventually found a home in a Las Vegas casino as “The Amazing Ellen” where she performed various stunts of skill and daring to audiences who thought it was all just a clever illusion. Ellen didn’t mind.