Flora & Ulysses

Flora watched Ulysses fly over her, his tail extended at full length and his front paws delicately pointed. It was just like her dream. He looked incredibly, undeniably heroic.

“Holy bagumba,” said Flora.

She climbed on top of the booth so that she had a better view.

When Incandesto flew, when he became a brilliant streak of light in the darkness of the world, he was usually headed somewhere, to save someone, and Dolores was always flying at his side, offering advice, encouragement, and wisdom.

Flora wasn’t sure exactly what Ulysses was doing, and it didn’t look like he really knew, either. But he was flying.

“George Buckman,” whispered her father. “How do you do?”

Flora had forgotten about her father. He was looking up at Ulysses. And he was smiling. It wasn’t a sad smile. It was a happy smile.

“Pop?” said Flora.

There was a long, loud scream from Rita. “It was in my hair!” she shouted.

Someone threw a donut at Ulysses.

A baby started to cry.

Flora climbed out of the booth so that she could stand next to her father. She slipped her hand into his.

“Holy unanticipated occurrences,” said Flora’s father in the voice of Dolores.

It had been a long time since Flora had heard her father say those words.

“His name is Ulysses,” she told him.

Her father looked at her. He raised his eyebrows. “Ulysses,” he said. He shook his head. And then he laughed. It was a single syllable. “Ha.”

And then he laughed longer. “Ha-ha-ha.”

Flora’s heart opened up inside of her. “Do not hope,” she whispered to it.

And then she noticed that the cook was leaping and twirling, waving his knife and trying to reach the flying squirrel.

She looked up at her father. She said, “This malfeasance must be stopped. Right?”

“Right,” said her father.

And since her father agreed with her, Flora stuck out her foot and tripped the man with the knife.