A week of high school passes by like the snap of one’s fingers. A full week of homework, assignments, workloads beyond my poor midget brain’s capacity and furthermore, sappy teenagers. See, despite my attempts to steer clear of anyone apart from Kev and Thomas, the girls of my classes and beyond always manage to make uninvited reappearances. They ask basic questions about my stature, ruffle my hair or pat the top of my head with their fingers like a freaking dog. It’s gotten pretty annoying, actually -to be treated like a pet- for a week. Maybe mum was right; I shouldn’t have taken to school.
But in saying that, school has also become my favourite thing to look forward to in a day. I’ve become quite accustomed to hanging around with Kevin and Thomas during lunchbreaks and while practicing our new drama scripts. My role of Tom Thumb means that I have to picture Thomas as my father and Kevin as the kind old man next door. It’s put me in a bit of a piffle really, because I get manhandled heaps more than usual and have to pretend to step out of a tulip whilst wearing a baby’s diaper in the beginning, where Tom Thumb is born.
I’m set to start working part time at Alex’s shop in the coming week, which is something great to look forward to. This journal’s been chock a block as it is, so I hope I’ve still got room to describe my new job. And to top that off, there’s cross country coming up (which I’m determined to participate in) as well as my birthday! I get excited just thinking about it.
On Saturday morning, nothing really latches onto my mind as I open my eyes and find myself staring at the checked ceiling of my bookshelf. I shimmy further under my covers instantly, the winter morning chill setting in. I’ve got to be extra careful in the winter months, being smaller than everyone. Most people walk around outside in shirts and shorts on an Aussie winter.
Unfortunately for me, though, even the slightest drop in temperature can send me into a shivering, frostbitten frenzy. At this size, germs are too big physically to capacitate my smaller lungs so I won’t get the flu or anything, but that doesn’t stop me freezing to death. In bed during these months, I sleep with two thick blankets, one of those Kleenex super-soft tissues beneath me, a beanie that stretches right over my face and three pairs of socks.
Please god, let me open my eyes and be normal. I think hopefully, before counting down from ten and finally ripping off the covers. As soon as I’m on my feet, I feel like someone’s set up a miniature wind storm in my room. The beanie flies off my head, revealing shaggy blonde hair that sticks out at odd angles. I shield my face against the gust, my nose already beginning to redden and grit my teeth. The watch face, that’s had its straps removed so that it resembles a regular sized clock reads ten in the morning. As usual, I’ve slept in. And like every weekend, it’s my family rule that no one can disturb me till then unless it’s an absolute emergency. I’d probably sleep through anything like that, as it is.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I wander across the small section of the shelf to a small shard of mirror blue tacked to the wall. A tinted version of myself stares tiredly back. It’s taken so long for me to find my sanity that I’d forgotten what the heck made it all so windy. Probably just someone opening the front door or something. I spose I’ll never know.
“Up and about already?” A taunting voice sounds from outside, the pitch just as low as usual to my uncovered ears. Not bothering to strain my neck meeting Cameron’s eyes, I throw up a weak thumbs up and continue my morning routine, which is walking aimlessly around until I can find something worth making an effort in doing. And after a few laps of pacing, I find that something.
“Hey Cam?” I ask, finally deciding to acknowledge my giant brother. He drops down to one knee in front of my shelf to see me better as I come to a halt at the very edge of the shelf. Cameron’s face is so close that I can see my reflection in his huge, glassy eyes.
“Yeah, bro?”
I quickly tug off one of my two hoodies and straighten the denim jeans I’d slept in. The multiple layers of thick woollen socks can stay. “You think you could get me a plastic bag?”
I’ve asked him this too many times for him to simply ‘shrug it off’. Cameron’s eyes glint in interest. “You wanna parachute downstairs again… right?” The knowing look he gives me causes me instantly to roll my eyes.
“Actually, no. I’m making something…” I laugh.
“Like what?”
My eyes wander back across the shelf I stand in to the far corner, where my unfinished project lies. I’ve been studying aerodynamics and mechanisms used for human flight for months now, and I’ve taken a particular interest in hang gliding. Since my body mass is one; less reactant to gravity than others and two; smaller, it’s easy to create a structurally sound glider for someone my size.
“It’s a surprise.” I tell my brother with a sly wink. “Could you grab the bag, though? I’m pretty tired and don’t want to get-“
“Yeah, yeah, Marco!” He drones. “You don’t want to get it yourself.” He pauses before adding. “You can’t even hold one without it turning into a mini parachute…”
“Can you just get the thing!?”
“Fine.”
“Good boy.”
As Cameron bounds away, his movements sending a sharp rumbling through the bookshelf, I slip down into the shelf below my ‘bedroom’, where I keep everything I can possibly use for building. Straws, pipe cleaners, thin rolls of wire, hooks, thread, match sticks, paper clips and the likes have a home down on this level. My old IPod Nano’s here as well, so I can listen to music while working. I weave around a few spools of thread the size of kitchen stools, rummage through a lunchbox container filled with softball sized magnetic spheres and glance through a collection of bottle caps before I find what I’m looking for.
Before you judge me for all this, let me say that I’m no Leonardo Divinci. Nope; I simply utilize what I can and work around all the flaws. The project I’m working on right now, as I said before I think, is a glider. I invented it, actually. It’s actually a combination of a glider and an umbrella.
So far, the framework’s nice and secure, being constructed of long lengths of wire connected with PVA glue (which is seriously a bitch to work with at midget size) and a few other rods of metal for the actual glider shape. The length of metal is padded at the base with a small square of felt and two straps extend from the wire, fitted so they’ll slip nicely over my shoulders like a backpack. A strap goes around my waist, too.
My glider can essentially fold into a smaller, easy to wear form of a backpack. But, like an umbrella, the plastic bag material will spread out like a pair of wings behind me, if I pull a string cord at my shoulder. The glider is one of the many inventions I’ve built to help tackle life at a hair under five inches.
I barely register as Cameron appears again at my shelf, clutching a flimsy green bag, and a pair of scissors. He kneels down again and makes a note to quickly snip the bag into smaller pieces before handing them to me. I stretch the plastic a little to test its strength. As usual, the thick blanket sized piece doesn’t even budge in my grip. “Thanks, bro.” I smile up at him, before continuing with my work. Sensing this as a ‘go away’ signal, Cameron departs my peripheral vision and I hear his bus sized feet as they clamber down the stairs.
“And now…” I mutter as I set to work at measuring out the plastic sheets before me so they fit the frame of my glider. “…the world’s first human to create a backpack hang glider!” Rushing across the room, I gather a handful of rope like thread in my arms and slide a sewing needle into my belt. The metal could potentially double up as a sword at this size, but I still use it for sewing. Slipping the thick string through the eye hole, I begin the process of stitching the sail to my glider.
“Let’s see if this baby can fly…” I mutter, once my creation is complete. I slip the straps around my shoulders and wrap them around my waist tightly, before standing up. The frame, combined with the plastic bag material makes me look like a being with bat’s wings protruding from their back. Hopefully this isn’t another failed experiment. I slide the frame back into its folded form before standing at the very edge of the shelf, to a point where my covered toes curl over the side.
“Here goes, then.” I say. “God, please don’t let me break something again…” And without hesitation, I leap starfish style off the side of the shelf. It’s like falling from a block of skyrise units. After a split second, I release the glider and the wings spread out on either side of me. For a second I think that it hasn’t worked but suddenly the drop lessens and I rise high over the shelf, carried by unseen wind currents. Laughing out loud, I spread my arms wide as I soar down the hallway, almost touching the ceiling.
As I drop a little towards the ground, I tug two straps connected to the wings forward, causing them to flap. It takes a lot of my muscle power to rise back to the height of the ceiling but I’m not particularly fazed.
“CAMERON I’M FLYING!!!”
Knowing me, this one isn’t going to end well…