Solo Flight

Solo Flight

By PygmyCoho (all rights reserved)

Crap! I thought. I wondered what she'd think of this. It reminded me of "Gran Torino" when Clint's character listened to the priest...

"Shit, you deserve better," I muttered.

"I think it's kind of sweet," I heard her say from behind my left shoulder. I didn't, couldn't, turn around. I had been drinking pretty heavily lately, but I was hours' sober now. So, what the--

"And the turn-out... wow!" Her voice waivered a bit, revealing the swell of her heart.

"Well, it is for both of you."

"Oh, that makes sense..." she trailed off at the end.

I swallowed what felt like a bullfrog in my throat as my vision blurred. This days-old struggle sucked!

"Well, it may be for both of us, but I know, like, ninety percent of the people here." She started sounding more upbeat as she said it. Then, "I hope Dave has a good turnout, too. Maybe we had a lot of friends in common."

"You sure didn't know him long, huh?"

"Nah, but I liked him right away. He did his best to take care of me."

"Are you always this happy?" I finally turned, more by instinct that anything else, and there she stood. Her brown eyes shown brightly, and her perfect, adorable smile was a mocking answer to my questions.

"Yep, pretty much." She looked to the crowd again as I burned her image into my mind once more.

"Hey, nice flight suit," she observed.

"Black is slimming. Besides, I hardly ever wear this thing anymore. Only graduation and, well, you know..."

"Yeah. But you still look good in it."

"For an old guy?" I teased.

"Stop it. You just look good.".

"Thanks. So--"

"So?"

My words dried up. Just as my mouth had. Just as I wished my eyes would.

"So, um, did it hurt?"

She gazed down and left, remembering. "No... I don't remember it hurting. It was more of a, um, like a, transition? Maybe? Like going through a doorway or, no, a curtain. Like going onto a stage, you know?"

"Oh, okay, I could see that, I guess." I nodded. "Yeah, okay."

She watched the minister. I watched her.

"I blame myself."

She shifter her attention. She shook her head and started to speak, but I talked over her.

"I blame myself. I blamed your new instructor. Hell, I blamed the mechanic, the plane, the weather." My voice was growing louder, but I didn't care if the others heard me. "I've got survivor's guilt, PTSD, it feels like my heart's been ripped out and I can't sleep, I'm drinking too much, and I can't stop crying--"

"Shh," she said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "Please don't do that to yourself. It was no one's fault. And Dave was pretty experienced. Navy, corporate, instructor. You woulda liked him. You guys were a lot alike. Maybe could of been 'beer buddies.'"

"I didn't know about that." Deep breath. "I'm, so, sorry..."

I lost it then, sobbing as the tears streamed down my face.

"You gave me my dream," she cooed soothingly.

"It turned into a nightmare!" I had to force the words out, but what they lacked in volume they made up for in intensity.

"No." She cupped her hand to my cheek lovingly and I dissolved again.

"I wouldn't of had it any other way. You gave me the sky, freedom, wonder, amazement. You gave me life that I'd never would've known without flying. You were there when I soloed."

"I was sooo proud of you. I am so proud...!"

"I know, and I was so happy to make you feel that way. It was perfect."

"You were supposed to have so many more perfect moments--" Jesus, why can't a stop...?

"Shh, it's okay. I got a new gig, now. Wanna hear?"

I nodded, sniffing, and wiping my eyes. "Sure," I croaked.

"Flight Instructor." She beamed that perfect-teeth smile of hers.

"Wha--"

"Yep." Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "Teaching the noobs how to land."

"Wha--wait. What?"

"Yeah," she turned a bit so I could see her back and she unfolded her wings just a little. "Word was the 'Boss' liked the way I flew, and saw I was--you know they know everything about you up there?--so he set me up teaching the new 'wingers' how to do some basic landings."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and oh, man, were you ever right. I didn't think students could make so many mistakes, but, like, wow! I just had this one guy from Calcutta who got the camber too curved and actually landed going backwards." Her eyes twinkled and she giggled a little, just as I remembered. "I mean, you can't get hurt, right? So, it was funny. He's small, and the wind kinda caught him, and he just, kinda... rolled, over, and--" she told the tale through her laughter. "--He looked like a ball, of, feathers. We ALL had a good laugh over that one! Even him. Then his next one--perfect--just beautiful! I think I know how it feels when you get a student soloed."

"Doubt it. I need 'hazardous duty pay' for solos. Should charge double. Always feel proud, terrified, and resigned, all at once." Then, in a quiet, serious tone. "But yours was perfect, too."

"Thanks." Her cheeks colored.

"Thank you. I'll never forget it."

"Me, neither."

"Got your picture on the class wall, along with your solo shirt tail."

"The picture of us standing by the airplane after?"

"No, the selfie you took before one of the takeoffs."

"Oh, yeah," she grinned. "I like that one. A lot."

One of the instructor's other students spoke of how mentoring he was to everyone. She listened briefly and nodded.

"I have to go. Wanna kiss mom and dad first. Please be okay until I see you again."

"Not sure about that. I've got a table with a standing reservation front row at 'The Devine Comedy Club.' My buddy's the opening act for the Devil."

"You shouldn't kid about stuff like that." Her eyes twinkled as she admonished me.

"Who's kidding?"

"Well, I think you deserve some o' these." She turned a bit and rustled her pinions.

"Thanks," I mumbled, unconvinced.

"And I'll get you checked out, 'kay? You should have a pretty easy time learning how to use 'em."

"Hmm, maybe."

"Promise?"

"No promises. Just, 'maybe.'"

"You have some time--I'll work on you when I can." She started toward where her family sat.

"Hey," I blurted out and she faced me.

"I never got to tell you-- In fact, 'cause of school, I never got to hug you after your solo, or anything. But... I love you."

She smiled. "I know that." She came over and hugged me (arms and wings), winked, and said, "Hell, I've known that for a long time."

My laughter ended in a strangled sob.

"You'll get through this." She kissed my cheek. "I love you, too."

She turned and I let her go. Or, more correctly at least, I began to let her go. I had to admit that her wings were, indeed, excellent. They suited her, and she deserved nice ones.

That was all I could take. I trudged to the car and grabbed my jeans. A quick change and I'd be just in time for happy hour at my pub. I kept threading the needle between enough to let me drive home while getting me numb enough to sleep. Without food I was usually good for two or three pints. Lately, with the extra practice, my tolerance bumped up by another round or two.

The bartender pulled my brand as I walked in, and the brew hit the bar about the same time as my ass hit the stool.

"How ya doin'?"

"Okay, I guess. Some days better than others."

"Service today, right?"

"Just came from there."

"Sorry. But you're strong. You'll get through it."

"Now how in the hell do you know that?" I smiled a little to take out the sting. "You've only seen me across the bar here."

"Dammit, I'm a bartender. I know shit." She grinned, then, "I know people. You're a good man."

"Thanks."

"Food?"

"Nah."

"If you change your mind--"

"Thanks. Won't."

"Gotcha." She turned as a server got to the bar with an order.

The head on my pint had settled, revealing a smooth, reflective brown ale. It reminded me of her happy brown eyes. I reached for it, paused, and thought over what she said about checking me out on a new set of wings.

"Wonder if I should cancel my reservation," I murmured expectantly into my glass.

The little fucker wouldn't answer...