For the Love of Flight, and Each Other

It was not a stormy night. Roy pulled 174RT out of the hanger. I pushed the button to slide the hangar door closed, and tilted my chin toward the sky. I smell rain, I said. Roy looked up. I think its fine he replied. I nodded. It was fine. The ceiling was high above us, in rolls and bumps and long tatters. Dark upon dark, I could tell they were clouds because they hid the stars in patches. Between the tattered clouds, the moon glowed with enormous effort, as brightly and warmly as it could. It was Valentines day and there were lovers below on earth. The moon longed to be a part of them, to illuminate their smiling faces and reflect the sparkle in each others eyes when they kissed.

The propeller was no longer off the plane. The plane had a new propeller, fresh from the factory. It replaced the old, oil throwing propeller. The new propeller was shiny, sexy, red and silver. It had been blessed by the hangar neighbors as looking fast even when standing still. Roy and I admired the sexy new foil, running hands along its smoothness, patted it, then climbed into the cockpit. I snugged my headphones down on my ears. The seat was leathery warm. Roy flipped switches, pushed buttons, lights came on and instruments beeped. A push of the big red button and the snazzy new propeller flew into action.The engine hummed with a rapid heartbeat. Roy called the tower with information Oscar, and asked me if I was ready. After three months of the airplane grounded for repairs, the flurry of the holidays, and weeks of fog and ice, I was more than ready. ATC gave the word. Roy pushed the throttle forward, tilted the stick back and our little plane ran down the runway, and leaped to the air. Roy and I were back in our element. We exhaled, smiled, whooped. In moments we were an arms length away from the tattered, dark, rain-breathless clouds that hid the stars and thwarted the eager moon.

There was no fog on the ground. The earth was scattered with man-made stars from houses, shops, restaurants. Streetlights were strung in long rows, dotted with cyclical red, yellow, green, brake lights and traffic lights. We flew over it all, past the lights, to the hills where the lights were scattered and dim, far away stars and hidden galaxies. We flew below the bumpy, full dark clouds, below the stars, below the yellow, eager moon and above the lovers, with stars in their eyes.

A click-click-click on the radio activation button and we were gliding back to earth between our own starts, our runway stars. Roy set the plane gently on the ground. The instrument lights reflected in his smiling eyes.

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There was no hurried work-day schedule or school-night to get home to. There was no distance between us. We held hands and walked on crunching gravel past the plane, through the gate to the cheerful, noisy, Valentines Day packed restaurant. We sat side by side in the booth, our palms still pressed together, our fingers entwined. Waitresses bustled between tables. Women were dressed in red and men in suits. The noise and chatter felt a world away. My ears till buzzed with the airplane hum, and the adrenalin of flight. My eyes were still full of the clouds, the stars, the bright yellow, reaching moon. Roy smiled at me. I smiled back. It's good to have the airplane back, isn't it, I said. It was more a statement than a question. Uh-huh, he replied and squeezed my hand.

For the Love of Flight.