Houseplane

“The whole house is a plane!” Ollie said, swinging his arms wide.

I smiled. A warm breeze blew from the lake up through the trees, and only a motor from the distant road reminded me that anyone outside our cabin existed. I put my book on my chair and stood. “Great! How do we fly it?”

“We fly over here.” Ollie ran over to the deck. “You stand here, I stand here. You’re flying, I’m shooting the guns.” He started making boom noises. Across the lake, someone was setting off fireworks.

“There are guns?” I took up the imaginary steering wheel and piloted the plane back and forth. I must have stood up too fast, because I felt a little unsteady on my feet. The distant motor grew closer, and I wondered if someone was coming to visit.

“We’re fighting pirates,” he said. He shot more. The fireworks sounded closer. “Turn that way!” He pointed. I turned the wheel hard and nearly fell off my feet. The deck beneath us vibrated in time with the motor, and I could feel the wind in my face.

I peered down at the land far below, and hoped I was a good pilot.

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