It was patently impossible. Newton proved it with the theory of universal gravitational attraction. He showed that there is a force of attraction between two objects in space, proportional to their masses, and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. Man cannot fly under his own power without some kind of mechanical aid.
But Joe did.
We were playing softball one Saturday; it was a typical summer afternoon game. We were swillin' the brewsky, jammin' the tunes, and having a killer time. Steve hit a popper over my head (I was at second base), and when Joe jumped for it, we all thought he'd miss it too, because it should have gone over his head. But he kept going up. And up. Then he caught the ball—at his chest, no less--and stood there, grinning at us from thirty feet in the air.
He says, "Wat'cha starin' at, guys?" Then he turns around and looks up and behind him, thinking it was something else.
"Joe," I say, "What the <bleep> is going on?"
"Nothin'. What're you staring at?"
"You. Do you <bleep>ing realize you're floating thirty <bleep>ing feet in the air?! You've got no <bleep>ing wings, no <bleep>ing wires, and not to mention, no <bleep>ing respect for gravity!" (I tend to <bleep> when I get stressed)
He looked down and examined the lack of ground underneath him, then sat indian style to ponder (Which was interesting, because his legs moved up under him, instead of him down to the level of his feet).
"Throw me up another beer. This is gonna take some synaptic lubrication!"
We threw another brew up to him, and he reached out and caught it without losing his position. We surmised he was taking this so calmly and not panicking because that was about the fifth beer this hour, and the twelfth of the day. How we remained as rational as we did, what with reality taking a vacation after the fifteen of us had polished off over seven cases of beer, I still can't figure out, but we did. Now that I think of it, it probably was the beer.
"Can you move?"
"Sure... I think. Lemme' try."
Joe stood up (again, a feat for the imagination) and felt out with his toes for the edge of whatever he was standing on. Which turned out to be everywhere to his hands and feet (and any other body parts for that matter), but nowhere to his beer bottle, which he tried to set down and dropped instead. Then he tried walking around. Then running. (Okay, mild staggering and then wild staggering, but at the time, it seemed like walking and running.) No end.
"Watch out for the curb!" Dean called, trying to find humor in an increasingly weird situation (People do that, you know.). But Joe tripped over it anyway (Huh?) and ended up another three feet higher instead of falling. He slid another few feet, then came to a stop. We experimented around a bit, and soon had Joe flying on a level, first by running and sliding, then by just willing the motion. That's when we figured it was all in his head, and asked him to "please come down so we could go get another load a brewskies and forget the whole thing."
But Joe didn't have any idea how to get down. Then it dawned on me—"All in the head!"
"Joe," I yelled, "use the steps"
"What steps?"
"Take two steps left... There, right in front of you."
"Jim, I don't see any friggin' steps"
"Feel for them, Joe, with your toes."
"Oh... Hey—here they are!"
Just before he got to the ground, I stopped him. "Do you remember where the steps are?"
"Of course. Hell, what do you think I'm standing on?"
"Good. Now grab my hand and lead me back up."
He shrugged his shoulders and took my hand; when I placed my foot next to his, I felt the step. It looked like air, and five minutes before, it was only air. I stepped up, and now, sure as sunrise, it wasn't "just air" any more. It supported my weight, just like the ground. We took two more steps, and I was standing two feet above the ground.
"Now, let go of my hand. I may fall, but somehow, I doubt it." Joe let my hand free and nothing changed. There I stood. Knowing I could get back up with Joe's help, I turned and walked back down the steps. I stepped to the ground, put both feet down, and broke contact with whatever it was. I walked around a bit, climbed a fence, splashed water on my face, and walked back to Joe. He was sitting ten feet above the ground, chin in his hands, elbows on his knees, wishing he had another beer (we had finally run out and–suprise, suprise–nobody went to get more). I went to where the air-stair was and took a step. It was still there.
I called Dale over. "Did you see what I just did?"
"No." (Mother Nature had called, so he was indisposed)
Good. "Feel over there, about six inches off the ground."
He walked over, stooped and waved his hands around. "Nothin'. What am I looking for?"
"Nothing."
"Huh?"
"You needed to verify that there was nothing there before I tried to step on it."
"Huh?" (Dale has a one track mind)
"Watch." I went over to the patch that Dale had just walked through, decided where my steps would be, and climbed right up.
"Oh shit," Dale breathed, "not you too. Okay, what's the trick?"
By six o'clock, all fifteen of us were above ground, flying in our own little way. Tim figured out how to walk upside-down, and the change didn't even fall out of his pockets; Dale discovered a loop-de-loop.
The way I figure it, some power of our minds was unlocked that fantastic afternoon; during our drunken stupor we made fools out of reality and every physicist on the planet. We were flying! We simply willed it.
We knew we were defying gravity, and probably even sneered at it a couple of times as well. Joe accomplished the first bit by willing it. He wanted to make the catch because he needed a new beer, but couldn't leave the field to get one until we made the last out, so he willed himself up that high. Then his subconscious noticed how high he was, and decided that falling from that height would be painful, and "please would it be okay if we just waited up here instead of dropping the thirty feet to that rather hard looking bit of ground under us." So there he stood, grinning. But then I already said that.
We haven't told too many people about this, and we always have to prove it to get them to believe us, and then we get corralled into showing them how. We've been practicing ever since then, though, and I've gotten pretty good. I don't even need to think that hard to get myself started. It just happens like reflex; I don't even sleep on a bed anymore, because I can will the support as soft as I want.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We figured out how to apply it to water, so don't be suprised if you see somebody doing just that; if it isn't Jesus walking on the water for the Second Coming, it's probably just one of us.
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