A mummified sphere cuddles in the groove of my palms; my legs sink to a squatting position.
Suddenly, I’m animated. I become a slinky as I bounce upwards, and the sphere follows suit. Next, my arm turns into the pendulum of a Grandfather’s clock. It swings back, then forth, and the ball soars across the garden and over the fence. I sprint after my volleyball, becoming a lightning bolt. I came to a halt in front of the garden fence, watching as my volleyball hit my neighbor square in the jaw.
To me, he’s Prince Charming. Only in reality, it’s an entirely different story. I watch as his handsome face contract at the impact of the volleyball. He curses under his breath, his clenched fists unfurling from the shovel as it reaches up to caress his swollen jaw. He becomes a banshee, screeching in pain as he lets his shovel fall to the ground. It’s dark out so he can’t see the source of the volleyball. His eyes dart around the garden cautiously as he holds his sore foot and hops around. He’s Tigger the Tiger in Disney’s Winnie the Pooh; only difference is his expression: he looks paranoid. He loses his balance and he falls backwards into the well.
At this, I become Superman: I leap over the fence lightly, landing on my feet. My neighbour was gripping the edge of the well. His eyes are screaming for help. With my strong arms, I hoist the man out of the well. He folds me into his arms and whispers his thanks. We stood by the well for a moment in silence, and suddenly he throws me into the pit.
“Go to Hell,” he says.
I am Alice, falling into the rabbit hole on my way to Wonderland, just like in the movies; I’m also Superman: I’ve saved somebody’s life.
“Up, up, and away,” were my last words.