Preflight Andrew sat at the all too familiar table in the airport coffee shop contemplating his morning cup. The waitress who knew him from previous flights came along and set down the cream and sugar he had asked for, nodded to him and disappeared. She returned in a moment with his silverware. “hey, Andrew! You with us for a while?” “No.” “Just here for breakfast?” “Yeah, just waiting for some passengers. Have you seen them?” “No, still too early around here for that. You came in early.” “Well, preflight’s done, so I have a minute.” He pointed at something on the menu. “That?” “Please.” “Okay.” The girl was blonde and small, and she tossed her head, ran off in the direction of breakfast. While he waited for her to return, he finished filling out some new info for a flight plan. He always tried to keep ahead of those. He’d been flying these routes so often, and he knew what had to be done. He finished writing something and laid aside his pen as she returned with two eggs and a pile of strawberries. “We had strawberries, Andrew. Imagine!” “Good.” His monosyllabic responses to her inquiries were an indicator of his primed condition. Usually anticipating flight, reviewing all the procedures, even after years of knowing them, he remained unswerving in his commitment to the finer details of his craft. He reviewed procedures in his head, mentally ran preflight, even after physically inspecting the plane. The waitress knew him. She did not try to talk to him, she whisked in and out, and then discretely disappeared, leaving the pilot to himself. If his mind was on preflight procedure and primed for work today, it was true that he had also committed mental faculties to reviewing his feelings about Anne chambers. Having thoroughly reinspected his plane in his head, he let his thoughts amble to the letter that had unleashed all his pent up and hidden feelings. Naturally reticent about the facts of his own life, somehow, she had induced him to open some hidden valve and poor out the contents into that letter. He hoped she wouldn’t think him too obtrusive, suddenly telling her all about himself. Their friendship was easy enough, but he, perhaps contrary to his own wishes, was being moved in a direction divergent from his own life style. This was all new to him. He knew he wanted to include her in his own life. It was going to take time. He knew, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself, this morning, that he loved her. He had discovered that fact plainly and simply on christmas day when she had come to see him after spending the day in the company of Angela Stanley and her courtiers. He heard her enter his room, where he had remained all day in a feverish existence, hardly aware of the passage of time. Coming to him, she sat next to him, and slipped her fingers into his hot, dry ones, catching his gaze. “How was it?” he wanted to know, surprising himself with the vigor of his question, just having awakened from a long, uneventful sleep. “The dinner?” “Hmmm.” “Oh, it was fun!” She was cheerful, but suddenly noticed her weariness. She leaned against the headboard, comfortable, still holding his hand. “Everyone missed you. Kids are all getting bigger and all plying me for quarters.” He laughed softly, starting a coughing fit that left him winded. He put his free hand across his forehead to wipe away sweat and sighed. “You are entertaining!” “Well, I had enough quarters to go around so they were all happy. And besides,” she said, pushing the blonde strand of hair away from his eye, letting her hand travel to his cheek, “it was nice. Those cookies were a hit.” “Those cookies,” he breathed, softly, “you brought some, I hope.” “Isn’t that what you asked for?” “right.” He breathed in, coughing a second time, turning restlessly. “Andrew?” she was solicitous, noticing his unease, “have you been like this all day?” “Most of it. A lot of sleeping. No energy.” “Poor Andrew.” He squeezed her hand. “Annie, you’re generous.” “Generous? With quarters? Well, generous or not, I’m tired. It was a long day. I’m ready for a nap.” “Could you do me a favor before you crash on my bed?” Anne sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry, am I about to go to sleep? How inconsiderate!” “Its okay Annie, if you want to nap here, I’m harmless. Could you bring this helpless pilot a drink? I don’t know if I can muster up enough energy to do it.” He was trying to smile, to let her know that he was partially teasing, but Anne was snapped into action, suddenly liberated from her lethargy. “Dear god, of course Andrew! What am I thinking?” She got up, she smoothed his hair from his hot forehead, and fairly leapt out of the room and down the stairs to aide him. When Anne returned to his side, she was carrying a pitcher with ice, and water, and a glass, and some broth and crackers. He drank the broth, suddenly feeling stronger. She produced an orange which he accepted gratefully. “Andrew, if I had known you were this ill I would have come earlier,” she apologized, quickly repentant. “Honey,” he said quietly, sucking the juice out of the orange, surprised that he was hungry, “You really are generous. It’s what I like about you. You’ll go out of your way to help anyone. Anyway,” and this time he did smile and he did catch her eye, “you’re here now. It’s nice to see you.” He sat half propped up, he smoothed her cheek with his hand. “You’re a doll! Here. Lie down beside your pilot. I guess teasing the kids and dealing with Angela wore you out.” Anne had been surprised at her own willingness to acquiesce. She found herself next to him, and was surprised to awaken later, with his head on her breast. Suddenly he was restless, and then he was drenching his covers and himself with sweat, the fever breaking. She felt him stir beside her, awaking slowly, stepping one moment at a time into consciousness. She lay beside him, her eyes half open, watched him get out of bed, disappear into the bathroom, reappear, shuffle to the dresser and put on a T-shirt. She turned on her side. “Andrew? Do you have new sheets? Let’s change these anyway, make you more comfortable.” After they had worked together to change them, she came up beside him. “What do you need me to do?” She hugged him, put her hand on his now cool forehead. Her natural and uninhibited gesture of affection suddenly caused Andrew to wonder if he needed to be slammed in the head with absolute truth before discovering it for himself. He looked at her, standing in his room, seeing him like this, half dressed, barefoot, his hair disheveled, his body wracked by some virus some unthinking passenger had communicated to him in the close confines of flight, and he realized, suddenly, deeply, that he wanted her. This woman who had faithfully proven to be his friend over the last year and a half had suddenly, completely, and unobtrusively found his way into the heart of this man who had been foot loose, loved by a few less stout-hearted women. The suddenness and transparency of the realization stunned him. Standing here in this intimate display of his life, he suddenly wanted to hold her like this, her own hair disheveled, her clothes a wrinkled disarray, her eyes half blearily contemplating him. What I need, thought the pilot, in a bewildering array of discovery, is for you to stay. His mind traveled back to the distant time when she had sat beside him while he slept off a headache and the general shock of his accident. Hadn’t she looked comfortable and contented there? Had he not told her this? But he hadn’t been ready to ask her to stay, not just for the night, but for the rest of his life. The rest of his life was a long, long time, he figured, if God gave him his allotted number of days and if the environment and general circumstances did not conspire to bring that life to an end. Perhaps it just seemed natural to want to marry her. They did get along easily, merciless teasing about his commitment to the Yankees, watching movies, talking, writing out bills, driving to the tops of hills to look at the stars, riding together in the Cessna and seeing the sunset, or the glorious colors of morning. So why did he have a hard time asking her to stay? Well, for one reason, he decided, finally realizing that he had a headache, it was just way, too soon. He would have to mull this over for a while, turn it, twist it, play with it, discover it. High overhead, looking out of the window, locating coordinates, communicating with ATC, turning, trimming, readjusting, he would think of it. All he knew now as he stood there looking at Anne chambers, the teacher who had so unexpectedly changed his life, was that he loved her. Yes, he did. But she was waiting for an answer. She had asked him if he needed anything. He rubbed his forehead, gestured to the table. “I need my medicine. I have a headache.” “Andrew!” the name snapped him from his reverie. He looked up and saw the waitress and three people with her. “They’re here!” January 24 Hi, Andrew, Wow, that was some letter you wrote me from New Mexico. Apparently the weather cleared because I didn’t get any calls from you. But I know you’re thinking of me and that is rewarding, especially when you say you are. I’ve known it for a while, of course, but saying it is good, too. I’m sending you this email because I know you can get that since you took your laptop with you. I don’t know when you’re going to have time to hook up to the Internet, and if you have email then you’ll have this one in your inbox. I liked your letter. In our short times together we’ve really never discussed how you got interested in flying, so it was nice to learn about that. I didn’t know that you and Rachel came from Missouri or that you lost your parents so early. Thanks for those wonderfully personal details. Of course, there is a lot we haven’t said yet. I don’t know your relationship history, but I’m certainly willing to let you come running to me if you like. Remember once I asked you if you liked running and you said “sometimes.” That was the day we, no I should say, I almost burned the chicken! And you never did tell me where you went rock climbing that day. I think you were just too rapped up in “Flying Tigers.” Haha, Anne, laughing. Or we were too busy trying not to admit we were sort of “interested” as you might say. Whatever the reason, I’m sure you’ll end up telling me, soon. We have a lot to say. Remember New Year’s Eve? It was an absolutely gorgeous evening. I came to your house so we could spend that evening together. You put your arm around me and I rested my head on your shoulder. It was comfortable just standing there for a while with the scent of your roses and the lights of your Christmas tree framed behind us. When I found you on Christmas sleeping upstairs I knew we wouldn’t sit together and look at the tree that night. What a night that was! Remember? I never got to tell you as I was running up and down the stairs that I thought your tree looked nice. I guess your housekeeper did it for you, or maybe Rachel did it. The painting on your window of Santa flying a plane was a good one. Now who came up with that idea? It would beat a slay, I suppose, hurtling through the sky at Mach 4, he’d probably get done faster! You asked me if I could identify all the pictures of planes on your wall? I think most of them. I’d have to look through all your magazines. You have a lot more than I do. I just know the easy ones: Cessna, Piper, there are some I don’t know like that Martin Mars on your wall, and I think one is a Corsair. Well, I’m going to keep this letter short as I have to go attend a meeting on some new school disciplinary actions. Call, email, write, when you can. Love, A January 24 Hello A, Cute. I actually got to look at email tonight. John has me running around taking some business people to a bunch of different meetings up here, they’re all very serious. You probably wouldn’t recognize that part of my personality. I just do my job and say please and thank you and try to be a professional. John says he doesn’t have much in the next few months so I’m going to talk to the companies about giving flight lessons since I have a CFI rating. He might have some local work, too. Relationship history? Not much, a few things, usually ended mutually. One very messy one once. Almost got married, found out she was seeing another guy; devastating. Kind of made me draw inside for a while, stayed busy with my work. I am surprised at myself, figured out it’s not as painful as it was, maybe all those gorgeous sunsets helped me deal with it. Mostly there have just been a lot of friends who thought about falling in love with me, we just could never agree about my work. That’s a very hard one. This line of work can be rewarding, but dangerous, very demanding on me and anyone I’m with; kind of stayed away from that for the past five or six years to avoid trouble. Guess I’ve never found anyone who would understand. Perhaps being married to a pilot is like being married to the wind, you know where it comes and where it goes but not how it gets there. Isn’t there some passage in the bible like that? Well, I don’t think it has to do with pilots, per se, but maybe appropriate. Oh, Annie! I have to admit I like you. I like your style. You are a straight shooter, don’t pull any punches. Tell it like it is. I saw you handle that math teacher---what’s his name, Mark something---who was trying to flirt with you at Angela’s birthday party. Remember the one where you brought the cookies? It was my revenge for routing for the Yankees, you said. You just told him where to put it! Please keep me around a while, okay? Begging for permission to land! I want to call you from AZ when I get there. That will be our last leg. When I come home, could you meet me at the airport? I’m going to be tired and hungry, mainly just want to go home and go to bed. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see you. I do have to eat. If you can stand a bleary-eyed, non-communicative pilot…AC Feb 28 Andrew, Call when you can, I’ll meet you if I’m not teaching. I could pick you up so you don’t have to do any driving. We could go get soup and salad at your favorite restaurant in town, then you could just go home and sleep. Bleary-eyed pilot? I would love your eyes whether they were open or not. Just keep them open when it counts! Re: A guy seeing your girl please tell me more about that, soon. Painful. Married to the wind? Lots of pilots get married. She’s there if you’re looking. But I know about almost getting the wrong one. Believe me, I know, the hard, hard way. I almost got married once, a very nice person, just didn’t work. Sweet as anything, had some baggage I didn’t want to unpack. About the marriage thing: remember we talked about you giving up your planes? I remember. Oh, and Mark something, yes, I’ll have to tell you about him. He got married suddenly after christmas. Don’t know all the story behind that one. Very fast. You know the other teacher I told you about? The one who got the Masters degree in something about John Steinbeck? He’s the one that escorted me to the principal’s retirement party when you were on some other flights and you left that absolutely adorable message on my machine and I had spent that whole evening in **such** boring company? That was funny, Andrew. You diagramming airspace and me performing my teacher duties and kicking John and Mark off of me! Anyway that teacher is history, now, works out of state somewhere, went back to New Jersey or something! They can have him! You are right my drifter pilot, I do know how to give someone their walking papers! Not you! Please stay! Permission granted! You are cleared for visual approach. Waiting to see you, Annie March 1 Annie, Life keeps moving along, doesn’t it? You can handle those types, I know it. Your pilot wants to stay around, if you’ll let him! Marriage to a pilot, well, hopefully it’s not such a bad wind. Have to reduce plane to VA if it is too bad! Oops, kind of technical! Hmmm. Cleared for visual approach? Ok, be there! I’ll be back in your neck of the woods in two days. Meet me on the west side of the airport. We’ll have to do breakfast, I’ll be there in the morning. You are sweet, you make me blush when you say you like my eyes. I don’t think anyone has ever said that before. Always hiding behind glasses. Sorry, forgot to tell you who put up the tree. Betsy Stills, the housekeeper. I’m thinking of dismissing Miss Stills, she always complains about my habits, says I’m too clean. What do you think? I want your advice. Yes, I remember christmas, maybe for something I haven’t told you yet. I’ll tell you. Don’t know when, but I will. I remember being too ill to come downstairs till Dec 29, and those cookies were waiting for me. But that isn’t what I want to tell you. Please be patient with your pilot. Please. New Years eve was very nice. It was very pleasant, the cool, winter breeze on my face, touching your hair, you were a welcome sight for a man who sees a lot of airports. Speaking of which, see you in one. Admiringly yours, Your Pilot March 2 Andrew, Talk techy. Love it. I’ll be there to meet you. Whatever you want to tell me, take your time, my drifter pilot. Surprise me. Maybe you will. Sweetly, Annie “Breakfast is on me,” she announced as he turned from his last order of business and devoted his full attention to her. “Annie,” the pilot smiled, “I’m tired of making decisions. If that’s how you want it it’s okay with me.” He stepped up to her and gathered her into his arms, putting his mouth over hers, exploring, expressing, sweetly probing and receiving permission. She responded to his movements, weakening in his embrace, returning his pressure, holding her head steady and still, till finally, replete, his longing for her satiated, he gently disengaged her and turned her head to look at him. Holding him in her eyes, she could only meekly breathe his name. “Andrew!” Then, suddenly, she was teasing the man who heretofore had only practiced the most courteous restraint. “My God, Andrew! Is that all you thought about at 1800’ AGL? It’s a wonder you got the plane down!” he stood still spellbound by having her so close to him. “Only one of the many things between dialing in positions and locating coordinates.” “Well,” Andrew, she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and gently stepping away from him, “I think you better stop. Don’t do that again. At least, not here. Not now.” Now they sat across from each other looking at glasses of orange juice, peering shyly at each other over their tops. “You look nice,” he said into the comfortable silence, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices around them. “glad you could make it out to meet me.” “Conference day. Work catch-up day.” Anne picked up her menu, glimpsing his face over the top of it, the weary lines around his eyes, his fatigue. He quickly glanced at the menu, made up his mind, put it down, looked at her, sweetly, gently. “It’s nice to see you.” Their conversation was sparse in the quiet room, their eyes communicating, then straying, remembering. The waitress came, put water glasses before them. They refused coffee, and ordered pancakes and eggs and strawberries. “Strawberries,” Andrew sighed, “hmmm.” He smiled, lightening the lines about his mouth, brightening the eyes. He reached with slowed movements for his glass, drank from it deeply, sighed. “How long are you here?” “Probably till June. John says if these people don’t cancel in June there’s a charter off to AZ again. He wants me to take it.” “So we’ve time for wine coolers and chocolate chip cookies?” His face brightened, their eyes caught, sharing their personal memory. “I think so,” he smiled, pushing a glass aside and reaching for the teacher’s hand, claiming it possessively. “And flights in the 150 if you like.” “I like.” She caressed the hand, turning a ring on his finger, getting a look at it. “My class ring,” he explained pointing out the eagle. “High school?” “college.” Breakfast came, the warm plates, the round flat pancakes, the color a golden brown, their forks clattering sometimes unceremoniously against the plates. “You didn’t answer my last email,” he spoke again into the comfortable, yet charged silence. “Yes, I did.” “I asked for advice about the housekeeper. Remember?” Andrew let his hand touch the top of the pile of napkins. He took one off the top, meticulously pulled one across each finger, wiping away all traces of the syrup and the flaky batter. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! Andrew. Your place looked good when I was there over christmas taking care of you. Of course you were gone most of the time before that, no real time to make a mess, I don’t know why you need a housekeeper.” “Maybe I need something else,” he said, biting off the words, and then realizing they had been spoken. “Like what?” Having already started down the slippery path of descent, the pilot forged his way ahead. “Maybe I need a wife.” She held his hand, squeezing his fingers against the ring so that he flinched, pulled it away. “Sorry,” she choked through her pancake, seeing that he looked as if he had suddenly reached a very dangerous precipice. He rubbed his hand, easing the ring from its now too tight position, pushed his plate back, cleaned the place in front of him for the third time. It was spotless. “So,” she tried to tease him out of his discomfort, “are you doing any preflights on candidates?” His pained expression suddenly turned lighter, his discomfiture relieved by the returning brightness of his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know,” said the sixteen-year veteran pilot, “maybe.” “Well, if you want to buy any planes,” she got up, taking the check, “just let me know. Come on, my drifter pilot, let’s get you home so you can get some rest. It’s nice to have you back.” She had to wake him when they got to the brown, stucco house with the wrought iron gate. The sun was overhead, the roses greeting them with their sweet perfume. She went as far as to the door with him. They stood on the wooden porch, the place of so many different scenes: her first introduction to this house almost two years earlier after the accident, the times she came to check the mail, and now standing here, their relationship changing and growing. She stood in the circle of his embrace, staring at a spot over his right shoulder, a painted address board. “What are you looking at?” “the numbers are chipped here.” He turned and looked. “So they are.” He reached up with his hand, placing his thumb and forefinger on each side of her chin, gave it the slightest of turns so that her eyes looked into his. “I’m going inside.” She leaned against him. “Sleeping?” “That’s about it. I’m beat to the limit.” Even though they seemed weary, Anne couldn’t help thinking that his eyes held something bright and sparkling, something that kept him on the step, holding her, looking into her face. His arms were about her and she stepped into their circle, turning her head so that she caught those eyes. “Andrew? Is there something you wanted to tell me? You kept hinting in your emails about something.” She stood expectantly. She felt him tense, his hands tighten only slightly on her back. “there is,” he said gently, the dulcet tone filling her head and her heart. She caressed his hand, his arm, let her hand rest on his shoulder. She waited. “Anne chambers,” said the confident, controlled man who had wrestled with this very thing all the way from the last airport to this one, through the final approach, confidently stopping the plane on the runway, discharging its passengers, accomplishing one more flight, “I am in love with you, Annie.” Suddenly, there, it was out. He had said it. He turned her face to him. “Christmas. That’s when I knew it. That was what I wanted to tell you, just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I guess I just had to see you.” This time she guided his head to hers and their kiss was less demanding, softer, but perhaps just as expressive as the one at the airport. He quietly pushed away from her, took her hand, led her to the steps. “Go. I’ll call you.” Anne did not argue with him. She only took the hand, kissed it. “Me, too. It’s the truth.” She let the hand fall to his side, and turned, slowly, first, then with more purpose, more understanding, walked down the three steps to the grass, past the rosebushes which had beckoned her from their first introduction. His eyes followed her lovingly across the grass, to the gate, saw her turn and wave. He heard the clink of the iron latch against the post, heard her car pull away from the curb. The sun fought bravely to peek through the cloud cover overhead, somewhere someone’s sprinkler turned on, someone’s car engine purred into life, and Andrew took out his keys and slid them into the door.
Copyright © 2002 Shelley J Alongi |