From the sidewalk, the dock looked like a runway. I tried to imagine what it would be like if I could spread my arms, run off the pier, and take flight. I wanted to soar high above the ocean, glide on the breeze with seagulls, and look at the boats below from the sky. I wanted to run to the edge of the pier, jump, pull my legs up to my chest, and cannonball into the ocean, sinking slowly to the bottom, letting the air out of my lungs in bubbles. “Come, let’s go,” my friend said, and we continued walking along Commercial Street back into the fray. Somewhere on that dock, I left a six year old boy behind who still dreams of flying.