All characters in this story are over 18.
*****
I love summer.
Hot days are best. Hot, bright days that bring out beautiful women with long, smooth legs and deep cleavages. Bare shoulders and thin straps support light summer dresses and strappy sandals caress tanned ankles. Thin tops that cling to perky breasts and give a hint of nipple. Denim cut-offs that give tantalizing glimpses of the crease between thigh and buttock. Unexpected breezes that whips up the unsuspecting summery skirt, giving flashes of pale buttock and pink G-string.
This day was one of those.
But before I tell you about it, let me backtrack a few years. Well, a lot of years. Back to when I had just turned 18, discovering a whole lot of new stuff about the world, and one important thing about myself that made me, as far as I can tell, pretty much unique.
It happened when I was in the last year of high school. In Queensland "high school" goes right up until year 12. I was a good student, not athletic at all (the term "fat" wouldn't be too far from the mark) - and indeed it was being called "fat" that brought on the fight that day.
The kid calling me names was the local bad boy. He had the classic 80's mullet, compact hard-muscled body and a mean streak a mile wide. I found out years later that he got put away for heroin distribution. Unfortunately on the day in question he was not serving time, but at school (for once) and picking on the nerdy fat kid.
Normally I'd scurry away from confrontation, but I'd had enough. "Shut up!" I yelled. "Just go away!"
"Or what?" he sneered. "What're you going to do, you fat prick?"
Along with his words came a hard shove to the chest. I staggered back a pace, then threw a wild punch.
This was the first time I'd been truly, horribly enraged since hitting the start of puberty. As my arm swung into the punch I felt a weird wrenching sensation and the world stopped.
When I say "stopped", I don't mean that time seemed to slow, or my memory of the event has such clarity that I can remember every detail of the image. I mean that time, literally, stopped.
My opponent stood stock still. I couldn't figure it out. He didn't move at all. Then my eye was drawn to the other kids gathered to watch the impending fight. They didn't move either.
Next, it was sound. Or rather, the absence of it. It was like I'd suddenly been struck completely deaf. The background hum of traffic, the drone of kids chattering, the nearer cries of encouragement from those egging us on... gone. Completely. Even the just-remembered hum of a passing plane... I looked up.
And there it was.
A white Cessna 172 (yes, I was into plane watching too) - stuck in the sky like a fly in amber. Unmoving, unfalling, unfuckingbelievable.
I was paralysed with fear. What was going on? Why had everything, and everyone, just stopped? My legs went weak. Then, as I tried to slump to the ground, I discovered that I, too, was stuck in place like a butterfly pinned to a card.
Panicked, I struggled to move. It was like being inside a particularly strong jelly. I strained with all my being to move my arms, my legs, anything. Nothing. I was going nowhere.
The human mind is a wonderful thing, especially when you're young. After a while I gave up trying to move and just looked. It was like looking at the most detailed, high-res, 3-D picture you can imagine. Of course, in 1985 "high-res" didn't exist, but you get my meaning.
Slowly it permeated my brain that I was looking around, which meant my eyes were moving. Why them and not my limbs? Maybe I was too tense. I made a conscious decision to relax.
After a couple of minutes I was relaxed. After all, I didn't seem to be in any danger. In fact, right in that frozen moment I was the safest I'd ever been. The creep about to beat me to a pulp was doing a good impression of a scowling statue. As my heart rate returned to normal, I felt some give in the force holding me.
Carefully I tried moving my hand. It felt like I was pushing through a latex mattress, but suddenly my hand made it through the force and then the rest of me fell free.
I picked myself off the ground and walked around, marveling at the sight of everyone else standing still. People were standing in mid-stride, some with one leg in the air. One bloke had been jumping off a step and was fixed in mid-air, legs tucked up under him. A girl had just stepped into a puddle on the concrete and the splash had frozen like blown glass. I squatted down and ran my finger through the water. Where my finger went through the water there remained a line of air bisecting the splash. As I touched an individual droplet, it flowed onto my fingertip and ran down my finger.