I stare at Lori as she grows smaller and smaller, wringing my hands.  She's always been the brave one, doing dares, taking risks, while I just watch her in awe, and sometimes terror.

It's terror at the moment.  She's twenty feet up, and still climbing.

There's a little clump of 10-year-old boys from the neighborhood watching avidly next to me.  One of them got one of those new drone toys with lots of propellers for Christmas, he's been flying it around nearly every day since.  It was a little creepy, because the thing had a camera and I swear I'd seen it hovering outside my window once.  But if you watched him use it, it was endearing, that laser-like focus only little kids seem to be able to muster for gadgets or whatever incomprehensible collectible card game they're playing.

Now his expression is torn between anguish and hope.  The drone is dangling from one of the highest branches of a large tree, leaves jammed into the propeller openings.  Lori and I had been passing by and overheard the boys debating about how to get it down.  But the owner was adamantly against throwing rocks at it, and none of the kids had managed to successfully convince any of their fellows to attempt the daunting climb.

Lori had stopped, and craned her neck to look at the toy far, far above.  I'd seen that expression before, but I knew that trying to discourage her would only backfire, so I'd just waited.  It didn't matter though.   Lori sees life as an endless series of challenges, and she rarely refuses one.  She'd told him she'd get it.  And before the boys had even begun to form the properly derisive remarks about her gender, she was already six feet up the tree.

A couple of the boys begin describing, in exaggerated detail, how mangled she'll be if she falls.  They take turns, trying to outdo each other.

"Her ankles will go totally sideways!"

"And the bones will pop out!"

"Or her legs will jam straight up in her and stab her in the heart, from the inside!"

"Or the heart and the boobs!"

"Shut up!" I hiss, interrupting their laughter.  "She's helping your friend, what's wrong with you?"  They look surprised, and even a bit shamed for the briefest instant, but quickly rally.

"Oh, you like her, you totally want to gay marriage her!"  I say nothing, turn back to look at Lori, but their pre-adolescent instincts are finely honed.

"Awesome, she does, she totally loves her!  She wants to...touch her boobs and stuff!"  The boys nearly collapse in laughter at this while I try not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.  I don't deny it, though.  I really would like to touch her more intimately...all we've done so far is hold hands and kiss.  But that's a far, far second behind just wanting her not to die.

Lori is making her way out from the trunk now, she's reached the level of the toy, but the branches that high are thin and bending under even her slight weight.  Her face is small, she's so high, but I can picture her fierce concentration as if I'm right next to her.  Not a hint of fear, just determination and exhilaration.  She's everything I wish I could be, and oh my God, did I just quote 'Wind Beneath My Wings'...I must be hysterical.

"Get ready!" she calls out.  The boys share confused looks.  Lori had never discussed her plan, assuming she'd even had one before she left the ground.

"What?" yells up the owner.

"I'm going to push it loose!  Get ready to fly it if it still can!  Otherwise your friends can catch it!"  The boys leaped into action, pleased to have roles to play, and convinced to a man that they were future baseball all-stars and could catch anything at any time.

She gives it a shove, but it just wobbles slightly.  Another.  Another.  Finally she leans precariously forward and gives one last firm push, and the drone pops loose.  Three of the boys jockey for position underneath, while the owner frantically taps at his phone.  It looks like only three of the propellers are working, so it's flying, but he's having trouble controlling it.

The toy bobs and gyres wildly, diving near Lori's head.  She sticks a hand up to ward it off and then jerks it back sharply as the toy slides sideways and down.  I gasp...her fingers must have poked up into one of the spinning propellers?  But they're plastic, right?...it's probably ok, it just hurt but didn't cut...

Except she was thrown off balance by all the motion and tips off of the branch she'd been straddling, catching herself with just one hand, the other cradled awkwardly to her side.  Colorful swearing is drifting down to us, muffled only slightly by distance.  The owner of the toy is still occupied trying to safely land his treasure, while the would-be outfielders scatter away from the tree.  Apparently their athletic confidence doesn't extend to catching a girl bigger than they are.

"Hang on!" I yell up at her, redundantly.  "Call 911!  CALL 911!" I scream at the boys.  I don't have a phone, why do we have to be poor, why didn't I get a job like mom suggested...

I move directly underneath Lori.  She's still only using one hand, it must be more than just pain.  She's not panicking though.  She's trying to swing her legs up to catch onto the branch.  I can't believe how amazing she is, if it were me I'd be screaming for help and freaking out.

But the branch is too flexible and is bobbing with her motions, keeping her from getting a foot above it.  Her grip slides further down the branch a bit, small twigs breaking in her wake.

I'm shaking.  If she falls, I'll try to catch her.  Maybe I'll break my arms, but it doesn't matter, she can't get hurt.  From her motions, it's clear she's just trying to maintain her grip now, she even tries using her bad hand for a moment, but quickly brings it back down.

She's going to fall.  Please don't let her fall, please...let the fire department come, or neighbors with a big blanket, or a passing mattress delivery truck.  My desperate wishes get less and less coherent.  Let there be superheroes, or magic...let her become a bird and fly, oh God please, please, please.

I love her.  Please.

Her grip falters, and our screams blend together as time seems to slow, and for a moment I almost believe she's not going to fall, but then she does.

I tense my arms for the impact, my face unknowingly a mirror of that young boy's concentration.  I will catch her, I won't allow any other outcome.

She seems to fall impossibly quickly, so quickly wind hits my face before she hits my arms, but then I'm holding her and somehow she didn't hit the ground, my arms aren't broken.  I'm holding her tight against me and she's gasping in shock and relief.  More shock, actually.

"Tana?  You're...you...you're..." She can't seem to finish a sentence, she's nearly hyperventilating now.

"It's ok...I've got you."  I'm a little out of breath, she's heavier than she looks, and holding her up feels like it's tiring my whole body rather than just my arms.  She barks out one of her adorable little laughs.

"'You've got me...who's got you?'"  We'd just watched the ancient 1970's Superman movie last weekend, along with some episodes of the old Batman tv show and a bunch of other campy stuff.  Her quote is apt, except there's an edge of hysteria to her voice that makes me feel odd.

I look down and to the side, craning my neck to see around Lori.

Far below us, the boys are gaping.  The owner of the toy is holding his cell phone up towards us.  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of brilliant blue for a moment.  Then again.  Again.  I look over my other shoulder and see the same thing.

Feathers.

Big ones.