Reese felt a pull at his navel.

His heart leapt. He even let out an exhilarated hoot.

Finally, some progress. And just in time too, as they were nearing the end of their supply.

“C’mon Miles, it’s working! We need to hurry!”

His brother, partner in crime, and only person he trusted to run such experiments with, leapt into action.

“I’m hurrying alright! I think we should run through the safety plan one more time though.”

He said all this through gritted teeth, trying his best to keep two balloons from escaping to the sky. He held 4 more balloons in each hand, making him look like an overworked circus performer. Miles was too young to really sell the image as he was in the third grade just like Reese, but perhaps he could’ve been a circus run away. This made Reese chuckle to himself, as the furthest Miles would’ve ever thought to run away was the end of the driveway—if that.

“We talked about this! I start floating away, you start shooting me down with the air soft gun, one balloon at a time,” said Reese, tugging at the many strings around his waist to make sure they were all secure.

“Yeah, what if I hit you in the eye?” said Miles, continuing to hastily tie more balloons around his brother.

“I’ll have my eyes closed.”

“Still could shoot your eye out,” said Miles, now unencumbered by holding any balloon strings in his mouth, “plus I’m such a lousy shot.”

“You’re not going to shoot my eye out,” said Reese, grabbing Miles wrist for a moment, “Besides, ill bring the scissors for an emergency eject if that will make you feel better.”

Miles finished tying the balloon and then stopped to look at his brother.

“That’s 880,” he said with a smile, “you feel anything?”

“Yeah, I can feel us making history,” said Reese.

“I’ll get the last ten,” said Miles, and he hustled into the garage, leaving Reese alone in the middle of the backyard, the only thing anchoring 880 balloons to earth.

Miles came sprinting out of the garage, five balloons in each hand.

“It really does look like your getting pulled up a little,” Miles said with a laugh.

He tied one balloon after another, seemingly holding his breath with each knot.

And then, with balloon 887, Reese felt it. Without any effort, both feet were slowly lifting from the grass until they weren’t touching it at all.

Reese was hovering.

“Get the last two on!” he shouted at Miles. Miles did what he was ordered, murmuring “oh god” the whole while.

“Done,” Miles yelled as he knotted the last balloon, and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Reese began to swing his legs as if he were walking, but his feet merely grazed the grass. The effort shifted him a few feet to the left. He let out a holler and continued to walk in the air, unimpeded.

“One small step for Reese, one giant leap for Orchard Street!” he screamed, as free as he’d ever felt.

Miles was now holding the airsoft gun, aimed shakily up at his brother.

Reese continued to float upwards, exhilarated by the flight.