A story
Idris and the Kite That Needed Two Pairs of Hands
Idris had a brand-new kite. It was shaped like a diamond and painted like a sunset, orange at the top, pink in the middle, and deep purple at the bottom. It had a long tail made of tiny ribbon bows, and each bow was a different color.
His uncle had helped him build it. They had glued the sticks together, stretched the paper tight, and tied the string with a strong double knot. "Now it is ready for the sky," his uncle had said.
On Friday afternoon, the wind came. It rustled the palm trees on Idris's street and made the washing on the rooftops flap like flags. Idris grabbed his kite and ran to the big open field at the end of the road.
"Today," he said to himself, "I will fly my kite higher than the birds. All by myself."
He held the kite above his head. He held the string in his other hand. Then he ran as fast as he could.
The kite bumped along behind him. It flipped over. It scraped across the grass. Then it flopped down on the ground like a tired fish.
Idris frowned. He picked it up and tried again. He ran faster this time. His sandals slapped the ground. His breath came in big puffs. The kite rose a little, wobbled, and then spun around and crashed into a bush.
"Silly kite," Idris muttered, pulling it gently free. One of the ribbon bows had come loose. He tied it back on with careful fingers.
At the edge of the field, a girl was sitting on a low wall. She had two long braids and a yellow scarf, and she was eating sunflower seeds from a paper twist. Idris knew her. Her name was Basma, and she had moved into the house with the green door last month. He had seen her around, but they had never really talked.
Basma watched him try a third time. And a fourth. Each time, the kite flipped and flopped and fell.
"Do you want some help?" Basma called.
Idris shook his head. "No, thank you. I can do it by myself."
He ran again. The kite crashed again. This time, the string tangled around his legs, and he sat down hard in the grass. He did not cry, but his eyes felt hot and prickly.
Basma hopped off the wall and walked over. She sat down beside him and offered him the paper twist. "Sunflower seed?"
Idris took one. They cracked their seeds together quietly for a moment.
"It is a really beautiful kite," Basma said. "It looks like the sky just before the sun goes down."
"My uncle and I made it," said Idris. "But it does not want to fly."
Basma tilted her head. "In my old town, my big sister and I used to fly kites on the beach," she said. "She always said kites are a two-person job at the start. One person holds the kite up high and lets go at just the right moment. The other person holds the string and runs. Once the kite catches the wind, one person can fly it easily. But the beginning needs two."
Idris looked at his kite. He looked at the string. He thought about how hard it was to hold both and run at the same time.
"Maybe," he said slowly, "you could hold it up?"
Basma's face broke into a big smile. "I would love to."
Idris untangled the string from his legs. He walked backward across the field, letting the string out little by little, until he was far away from Basma. She stood with her back to the wind, holding the kite high above her head with both hands. The ribbon tail fluttered against her arm.
"Ready?" Basma shouted.
"Ready!" Idris shouted back.
"Wait for the wind," Basma called. "Wait... wait..."
Idris waited. He felt the breeze on the back of his neck. He heard the palm trees start to whisper. Then a strong, warm gust came rushing across the field.
"Now!" cried Basma, and she let go.
Idris pulled the string and ran. This time, the kite did not flip. It did not flop. It leaped up into the air as if it had been waiting all day for this moment. Up, up, up it went, past the rooftops, past the palm trees, past a surprised pigeon who flapped out of the way.
"It's flying!" Idris shouted. "Basma, look, it's flying!"
Basma ran over, her braids bouncing. Together they stood and looked up. The kite hung in the blue sky, a tiny sunset in the middle of the afternoon. Its ribbon tail danced and wiggled like it was laughing.
Idris let out more string, and the kite climbed even higher. He could feel it tugging, gently, like a friendly animal that wanted to play.
"Do you want a turn?" Idris asked.
Basma's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Really," said Idris. "You helped it fly. It's only fair."
He showed her how to hold the string, with one hand in front and one behind. Basma held it tight and laughed when the kite swooped to the left and then to the right. "It's pulling me!" she giggled.
They took turns for the rest of the afternoon. They gave the kite a name, Sunny, because of its colors. They made it dip and rise. Once, they made it swoop so low that it nearly touched the top of a palm tree, and they both gasped and then laughed until their tummies hurt.
When the sky began to turn the same colors as the kite, Idris's mother called him from the end of the road. Slowly, carefully, Idris and Basma wound the string back in. Sunny floated down and landed softly in Idris's arms.
As they walked home, Basma said, "My sister is far away now. I miss flying kites with her."
Idris thought for a moment. "Next Friday, the wind might come again," he said. "We could fly Sunny together. And maybe," he added shyly, "we could build a second kite. My uncle has lots of paper."
Basma grinned. "What color?"
"You choose," said Idris.
That night, Idris hung Sunny on the wall above his bed. Before he fell asleep, he looked at it and smiled. He had wanted to fly his kite all by himself. But flying it with a friend, he decided, was much, much higher.
His uncle had helped him build it. They had glued the sticks together, stretched the paper tight, and tied the string with a strong double knot. "Now it is ready for the sky," his uncle had said.
On Friday afternoon, the wind came. It rustled the palm trees on Idris's street and made the washing on the rooftops flap like flags. Idris grabbed his kite and ran to the big open field at the end of the road.
"Today," he said to himself, "I will fly my kite higher than the birds. All by myself."
He held the kite above his head. He held the string in his other hand. Then he ran as fast as he could.
The kite bumped along behind him. It flipped over. It scraped across the grass. Then it flopped down on the ground like a tired fish.
Idris frowned. He picked it up and tried again. He ran faster this time. His sandals slapped the ground. His breath came in big puffs. The kite rose a little, wobbled, and then spun around and crashed into a bush.
"Silly kite," Idris muttered, pulling it gently free. One of the ribbon bows had come loose. He tied it back on with careful fingers.
At the edge of the field, a girl was sitting on a low wall. She had two long braids and a yellow scarf, and she was eating sunflower seeds from a paper twist. Idris knew her. Her name was Basma, and she had moved into the house with the green door last month. He had seen her around, but they had never really talked.
Basma watched him try a third time. And a fourth. Each time, the kite flipped and flopped and fell.
"Do you want some help?" Basma called.
Idris shook his head. "No, thank you. I can do it by myself."
He ran again. The kite crashed again. This time, the string tangled around his legs, and he sat down hard in the grass. He did not cry, but his eyes felt hot and prickly.
Basma hopped off the wall and walked over. She sat down beside him and offered him the paper twist. "Sunflower seed?"
Idris took one. They cracked their seeds together quietly for a moment.
"It is a really beautiful kite," Basma said. "It looks like the sky just before the sun goes down."
"My uncle and I made it," said Idris. "But it does not want to fly."
Basma tilted her head. "In my old town, my big sister and I used to fly kites on the beach," she said. "She always said kites are a two-person job at the start. One person holds the kite up high and lets go at just the right moment. The other person holds the string and runs. Once the kite catches the wind, one person can fly it easily. But the beginning needs two."
Idris looked at his kite. He looked at the string. He thought about how hard it was to hold both and run at the same time.
"Maybe," he said slowly, "you could hold it up?"
Basma's face broke into a big smile. "I would love to."
Idris untangled the string from his legs. He walked backward across the field, letting the string out little by little, until he was far away from Basma. She stood with her back to the wind, holding the kite high above her head with both hands. The ribbon tail fluttered against her arm.
"Ready?" Basma shouted.
"Ready!" Idris shouted back.
"Wait for the wind," Basma called. "Wait... wait..."
Idris waited. He felt the breeze on the back of his neck. He heard the palm trees start to whisper. Then a strong, warm gust came rushing across the field.
"Now!" cried Basma, and she let go.
Idris pulled the string and ran. This time, the kite did not flip. It did not flop. It leaped up into the air as if it had been waiting all day for this moment. Up, up, up it went, past the rooftops, past the palm trees, past a surprised pigeon who flapped out of the way.
"It's flying!" Idris shouted. "Basma, look, it's flying!"
Basma ran over, her braids bouncing. Together they stood and looked up. The kite hung in the blue sky, a tiny sunset in the middle of the afternoon. Its ribbon tail danced and wiggled like it was laughing.
Idris let out more string, and the kite climbed even higher. He could feel it tugging, gently, like a friendly animal that wanted to play.
"Do you want a turn?" Idris asked.
Basma's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Really," said Idris. "You helped it fly. It's only fair."
He showed her how to hold the string, with one hand in front and one behind. Basma held it tight and laughed when the kite swooped to the left and then to the right. "It's pulling me!" she giggled.
They took turns for the rest of the afternoon. They gave the kite a name, Sunny, because of its colors. They made it dip and rise. Once, they made it swoop so low that it nearly touched the top of a palm tree, and they both gasped and then laughed until their tummies hurt.
When the sky began to turn the same colors as the kite, Idris's mother called him from the end of the road. Slowly, carefully, Idris and Basma wound the string back in. Sunny floated down and landed softly in Idris's arms.
As they walked home, Basma said, "My sister is far away now. I miss flying kites with her."
Idris thought for a moment. "Next Friday, the wind might come again," he said. "We could fly Sunny together. And maybe," he added shyly, "we could build a second kite. My uncle has lots of paper."
Basma grinned. "What color?"
"You choose," said Idris.
That night, Idris hung Sunny on the wall above his bed. Before he fell asleep, he looked at it and smiled. He had wanted to fly his kite all by himself. But flying it with a friend, he decided, was much, much higher.
