My Little Red Kite

I hate wind. Mama always would scold me when I said the word "hate". 

"People that hate have that much less room for love," she'd lecture me.

Remembering this makes the past flip in it's grave. The breeze, the color red, the sky; they all have a sour taste. Mama, I can't cry this hate away. Years have made my anger go stale, but still it lingers all the same.

Mama always told me to hold onto that little kite or else I would loose it in the wind. I would raise that kite into the troposphere, high into the clouds, unwinding the string until only a few inches were left.

Red would bob against the sky, dancing with the pale blue ocean above.The breeze would become more wild there. I watched as the kite whipped back and forth. It dipped and dived through the air as if in a frolicking frenzy. Wild... but I still held it in the grip of my fist. I had the power and control.

Mama always said I was too obsessed with my little red kite. She would sigh as she saw me take out my toy for the third time that day.

"There are other things you can do," she would try to explain.

But nothing gave a tiny child more joy than to watch something, that had once been held in their hand, reach far above the tree line.

"All the kids in the state will see my cool kite," I'd reason with her.

" Very few children," Mama would answer, " look up as much as you do, but you keep at it, okay."

Mama always was sick. She attempted to hide her coughing and choking but I could hear it through the windows, even when she closed them.

" Come see me fly my kite," I would say.

"I will watch from the window, today. Maybe when the breeze is a little calmer I will watch outside," she replied through a cracked voice.

Mama never said she would die. The day she did not have breakfast ready in the morning was the day the wind rattled the windows. Thunder rumbled. Darkness covered the sun.

"Mama, I'm gonna go fly my kite before it rains. I think it will go really high up today," I yelled to deaf ears in my mother's bedroom, " I will be back for breakfast."

I yanked my kite from the closest and zipped up my coat. A flash lit up the windows. Rushing outside, I scrambled to untangle the string. I threw my little red kite up into the thick gray sky. The wind yanked it quickly and pulled me right and left.

" Hold on tight," I recited what Mother had told me.

Higher and higher the kite rose. It twisted and bent violently.The string tugged against my finger's hold.Tears welled in my eyes.

" Don't break it!" I shouted to the wall of clouds churning above my head.

But it was in vein. The string became strained in my hand. I fell to the ground and struggled to stand. Dirt filled my lungs. The kite's line slowly slide through my palm. Drops of rain began to splash my bare cheeks.

"Stop!" I tried to yell again. I couldn't see, I couldn't breath, my hands felt raw... I had to...please no... I had to let go...

My little red kite flung into the ominous sky. Thunder echoed across the dark clouds as if in a mocking reply to my plead. I squinted my eyes, falling to my knees for mercy, before it disappeared from my sight.

That was the last I saw of my little red kite.