QUEEN OF THE SKY by Laura McHale Holland

QUEEN OF THE SKY by Laura McHale Holland

Mommy says now that I'm eight years old I get to be queen all day. So early this morning, she put my queen costume from Halloween at the foot of my bed. I was so excited. I got out of my jammies and into that dress quick as a greyhound dog. It's this beautiful deep red with one of those accordion style collars that kinda makes me look like I don't have a neck, but Mommy says that's how the very first Queen Elizabeth used to look.

I put on my fancy black ankle boots, too. They're tight, but not too bad. I danced all around. Mommy gave me her sad, dented-can smile. It wasn't long before I knew why. She pulled out the bridal veil from my dress-up basket and said she'd looked and looked but couldn't find my golden crown anywhere.

I couldn't tell her I put it on at recess one day, and meanie Mindy ripped it off my head and ran away. I coulda caught up with her, but Mindy's Queen of the Playground, and if you want any teeny tiny bit of respect from anybody, even the squirrels that run along the fence, you can't cross Mindy. I made that mistake back in first grade, and nobody talked to me for a whole month. So at my humongous party today, I'll be wearing the queen costume minus the crown and with the veil instead. Mommy fastened it on my head with a tiara that came from a Happy Meal. Then she left and said she'd be right back with balloons and streamers and paper plates and favors and everything else we need for the party, which will be in the playground shared by everybody living in the five apartment buildings in our complex.

Sometimes Mommy goes out, and she's gone a long, long time. On school days, I keep our key way down at the bottom of my Hello Kitty backpack, which Mommy found at a garage sale. I let myself in, do my homework, load the dishwasher, and watch TV. And once a week, ever since I turned seven a whole year ago, Mommy lets me take our laundry down three flights of stairs with change in a beaded purse she got me at GoodWill, and I get to wash and dry and fold like a grown up. But since today is my big queen day, not a laundry day, as soon as Mommy's back, we'll take all our stuff downstairs, and the party will begin.

Mommy says we'll put up a Happy Birthday banner on the play structure. She's getting a great big cake from Safeway, too. She's probably there right this minute. I don't know why it's taking her so long, though. She's been gone for hours and hours. I would be crazy bored if there weren't so many people to watch down below. I'm watching at the window, right this minute, looking for Mommy's zippy red Datsun.

There's Freddy and his dad throwing a football back and forth. Freddy's gonna be a big, NFL player one day. And there's this girl with a long black braid. She moved in last week. I'm not supposed to go anywhere except the laundry room when Mommy's gone. I'm never, ever supposed to go outside, but I do so want to invite that girl to my party. I don't think Mommy'll mind if I go downstairs just to see her. I'll be quick. It'll be like I never went out at all. Our elevator's broken, so I'm on the stairs. I go so fast that I'm forcing air out like a dragon, except minus the fire, by the time I reach the swings. But where is she? Gone already? I'll swing for a while and see if she comes back.

It's a beautiful day. I love the sunshine and all the people poking around. There's this boy, Stuart, over by the trash cans. Well, he's a teenager, not really a boy, and Mommy says he's up to no good and I should stay away. But he's walking a bicycle. A bicycle! It's got a big front wheel and a little back wheel. I bet the very first Queen Elizabeth rode something like that. Maybe he'll let me borrow it. Uh, oh, he's on the move. I run over, calling loud as I can, "Hey Stuart, can I borrow your bike?" He smirks at me like I'm some sort of court jester, not the queen that I am. "You can have it if you trade something," he says, and I ask him, "but what do I have that you want?" and he says, "I'll take your boots. I'll sell them way quicker than this old thing."

So off my boots go, because who needs boots when you have a bike to ride, especially since the boots squeeze my toes. I'm sure glad I learned how to ride a two-wheeler last year. I fell down lots of times, but I got the hang of it. Riding this one's a little different with the giant front wheel and the tiny back wheel, but I'm managing. I really am.

It's the coolest thing ever, and the girl with that long braid is back, and she's waving at me, and Freddy and his dad are standing still, staring at me, and I'm confused because nobody notices me even when I'm all dressed up, but now more people are gathering, and Freddy calls out, pointing, he says I've grown wings, and I think that's crazy until I look over my shoulder, and it's true. I have gorgeous wings like a huge monarch butterfly coming right out of my back. And I'm off the ground. How can that be? I'm rising, rising into the sky. The new girl is screaming now, and Freddy's dad is on his cell phone, and the world below is a living, breathing game board, and my heart is beating like a captured bunny. Then I see Mommy's car.

I think at first she's heading home. I'd better figure out how to land, but the car's parked in front of The Last Stop Bar and Grill. I'm only eight years old, but even I know there's no grill inside. Mommy promised she'd stop going there. She promised to get everything we need for my party. She said it would be fantabulous. She promised, but it won't be. It'll be like every other day when I wait and wait for her, and she stumbles home with scraps from the trash bin behind some restaurant where people in clean clothes can't be bothered to clean their plates. I'm going higher and higher, and I don't care. The bar she loves better than bubble baths and kittens and ribbons and stories and stars and dreams we dream together is small as a speck of dust now. And I'm flapping my wings, and pedaling, and my dress is the best, and my veil is streaming behind me, and it doesn't matter that my feet are bare because I'm Queen of the Sky, and this is where I'm going to stay. Who cares what Mommy says?

Laura McHale Holland writes stories long, short, true and untrue that tend to bend reality—often with characters (including herself) whose lives have gone terribly wrong but are ultimately redeemable. She has won several indie publishing awards and tells tales on stage occasionally. To learn more about Laura and get a free book of stories, please visit https://lauramchaleholland.com.