I was the ripe age of 16 when I first realized I could fly. I’d always suspected there was something different about me. These suspicions were especially strong at certain times, like when my friends would say things to me like, "Hey Brian, your feet aren’t touching the floor right now," or "Hey Brian, get back down here with our potato salad!" Looking back, it really should have been pretty obvious to me that I had the ability to fly, considering all the times I went to bed and woke up the next morning floating somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

When I got home, dripping wet and on the verge of pneumonia, my mom always said something like, "Aw, you must have been sleep-flying!" I never really understood what she meant, and often assumed that she was just falling off the deep end, like all old people do. I even considered putting her down on occasion.

Someone should have sat me down one day and said, "Hey Brian, you can fly!" It should have been something my parents planned out, like the "Where do babies come from" discussion. And I guess my sister was being literal every time she asked me to "fly down to the store" for her. I wish I would have realized that she was just asking me because I could fly and not because she didn’t want me around. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten into so many fights with her and broken her nose that one time.

And no wonder I was asked to leave the track team! When the coach asked me to go, he told me that "it just wouldn’t be fair if you flew ahead and won every race." I thought he was using a flattering metaphor. Now I realize I won all of those races because I could, in fact, fly.

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Maybe this is why my mom dressed me up as a ghost every single Halloween when I was a kid. I thought it was just because she didn’t care about me. And this must be why no one ever wanted to play hide and seek with me. All of my school nicknames are starting to make sense, too, like "flying boy," "Casper," and "freak." You know what else? This must be the cause of all those games my friends and I used to play, like "Push Brian Out of That Window," or "Quick, Let’s See What Happens If We Push Brian Off That Cliff." My therapist told me that all these experiences have definitely contributed to my low self-esteem.

Well this sucks. Someone should really have sat me down one day and said, "Hey Brian, you can fly!" It should have been something my parents planned out for when I hit a certain age, like the "Where do babies come from" discussion or the "You’re adopted" talk. Or the "Son, you were born a girl but we cut those bits off so don’t worry" chat.

Hey, I just had an idea. Maybe I could get up and fly really really fast around the Earth and rewind time like Superman did in that movie, "Superman: The Movie!" That way I can tell my past self about the whole flying thing. Then I won’t have low-self esteem! Wow. Maybe I’m also super smart in addition to the whole flying thing. Okay, here I go!

I’m back. That didn’t work. I flew as fast as I could around the Earth hundreds of times but nothing happened. Stupid Superman. Lois Lane should have died. I’m going to tell everyone about this. My whole life has been feeling like one big lie lately and this is just the icing on the cake.

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I’m going to fly into a building now. Not like you care. No one is even going to miss me. I’ll just be some story that people tell at barbeques. "Remember that kid who could fly? Yeah, he ended up flying into a building. Everyone says he was depressed but I’m pretty sure he was just stupid."

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