Fly Away

  “What is that, Peter? It looks important. You had better put it back.”

  “I know how to read, wanna hear me?” He read haltingly, sounding out each word. “‘Dear Mis-ter . . . Do-lan. Your . . . Avi-a-tion . . . Med-i-cal . . . what’s this word?”

  “Certificate.”

  “Certificate . . . is due . . . to ex-pi-re . . . on the last . . . day of . . . this . . . month.’”

  “Peter, not now. Please. I need you to help me find the balloon.”

  He stuffed the letter back into the envelope and peered out of the windshield. Wilhelmina negotiated the truck through the traffic, hopping and lurching comically as she struggled with the clutch.

  “I don’t see them no more,” Peter told her.

  “Any more—What! You don’t see them?”

  “Nope. I dunno where they all went.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll see them again after I cross the bridge. I’m going in the wrong direction at the moment, but it’s the only way to get across the river.”

  “We probably shoulda brought the walkie-talkie.”

  “There’s a walkie-talkie?”

  “Uh-huh. Uncle Max . . . well, he’s not really my uncle but that’s what we call him. Uncle Max always carries a walkie-talkie in his balloon so he can talk to us and—”

  “Oh, Peter! Where’s our walkie-talkie?”

  Peter grinned, revealing a gap where his two front teeth were missing. “I dunno. Probably still in Uncle Max’s truck.”

  “Of course. Well, we’re not going back for it now. We’ll just have to follow along as best we can. Keep watching the sky.” Peter peered intently through the windshield for a few minutes, then seemed to grow bored, squirming in his seat. Suddenly Wilhelmina spotted a splash of color against the sky. “Peter, look! There they are!”

  “We found them! And I see Grandpa’s balloon too.”

  “Yes, now let’s make sure we keep them in sight this time.”

  Peter squirmed restlessly on the seat. “Um . . . Professor Brewster?”

  “What is it, Peter?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  *****

  The people and cars in the park below Mike grew smaller and smaller as the balloon carried him silently upward. They crossed the river, a winding strip of gray steel, and sailed over the twinkling city. “I sure hope your lady friend has sense enough to follow us,” Max said. “I don’t feel much like sitting in a cow pasture all night.”

  “She’ll come.”

  “Yeah? Then why was she just standing there after we took off?”

  “I think she was in shock. She has never done stuff like this before. She spent her whole life in schoolrooms and concert halls.”

  “Sounds thrilling.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Mike leaned against the side of the cramped basket and looked down at the city as it slowly passed below them. “I thought we could get her on board if we didn’t give her too much time to think about it. But she was terrified. She shook like a willow in a windstorm. I’m sorry, Max.”

  “I’ll forgive you . . . providing she ever finds us again. Do you suppose she had enough sense to bring along the walkie-talkie?” He picked up his receiver and switched it on. They listened to the hissing static.

  “Pete might think to remind her. Then again, he might not.”

  “This is the last time I let you pick our pit crew.”

  Mike’s smile faded as the irony of Max’s words struck him. He turned away to gaze down at the passing countryside: rolling hills and fence rows; miniature houses and barns; scattered clumps of leafless trees.

  Tomorrow.

  Mike had to take his final flight tomorrow. After that, his pilot’s license would no longer be valid. He wasn’t afraid but deeply saddened. His life was over. He had reached the end of it at last. Why did he feel like he had just begun to live?

  “Do you see that chase balloon anywhere?” Max asked.

  “Yep, I see it. Up ahead of us.”

  Max fired the burners for about 10 seconds, and Mike felt the heat on the top of his head. Then everything fell silent again. He could even hear the sound of voices on the ground below him, and he watched the movement of tiny people and cars, scurrying about. The evening air smelled clean and pure as it gently brushed his face.

  It felt odd to be flying through the clear, evening sky with no Plexiglas windshield, no humming engines, no tachometer or air speed indicator to watch. Unlike an airplane, balloon flight offered tremendous freedom. Max had no gauges and dials to watch, no controls or ailerons to worry about, no need to even file a flight plan. In fact, there was very little Max could do to control which direction they went or even where they would land. Mike envied Max’s liberty. Maybe this random, uncontrolled journey, harnessed to a giant bubble of warm air, was really the purest form of flight.

  “You’re looking kind of thin these days, Mike. You been feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been on a diet. I needed to lose some weight.”

  “Well, it’s none of my business, but I think you overdid it. You lost a little too much.”

  “You’re as bad as Steve. He’s jealous too. Hey, it’s none of my business, but I thought you quit smoking?”

  “The cigar ain’t lit, is it?”

  “Not at the moment, but don’t you find it tempting to have it hanging out of your mouth all the time like that?”

  “You got a match, Mike?”

  He checked his pockets. “No.”

  “Well, I ain’t got one either. I decided you don’t quit smoking by not buying cigars. The best way to quit is to stop buying matches!” They both laughed. Mike turned around to look behind them.

  “Well, what do you know? That looks like my truck down there, Max. Only one headlight.”

  “Yeah, well she’s driving it down a dead-end road.”

  “You and I can see that, but she can’t. At least she’s following us.”

  “What’s with you and this Brewster lady? New girlfriend?”

  “No, just a friend.”

  “Then you won’t mind me saying she’s awful homely.”

  “She’s got a different kind of beauty, Max,” Mike said quietly. “And she’s a mighty fine piano player too. But she’s one of the unhappiest people I’ve ever met. Rarely smiles, always stern, you know what I mean? She’s got plenty of money, but I don’t think she’s ever had a day of fun in her life. I read in the paper that her father died recently, so I thought I would cheer her up, give her a chance to live it up a little in your balloon. But she was just too scared to try.”

  Mike watched as his tiny truck reached the end of the dirt road and stopped. He turned to face Max. “I can’t figure people like her out. I mean, what good is it to live on this beautiful earth if all you do is eat and sleep and work and die? Life is for living, taking risks, trying something new.”

  “Yeah, I agree. But there’s an awful lot of people who live their whole lives in the same rut. Too scared to climb out and live for a change.”

  “I know, and it’s a shame. Why can’t people stop being afraid of their mortality and take a few chances? There’s nothing any of us can do to hang on to our lives anyway, so we may as well die living.”

  Max grunted and gestured with his soggy cigar. “You’re getting to be a real philosopher. I’ll have them put that on your tombstone. ‘He died living.’”

  Mike met his friend’s gaze. “I’d appreciate that, old buddy,” he said quietly.

  Below him, Wilhelmina had turned the truck around and was speeding back toward a main road. Then a sudden movement on the horizon caught Mike’s eye. The bright blue balloon dipped down behind a hill, momentarily out of sight, then soared up once again.

  “Look! The chase balloon is going down. I’ll bet it’s making the drop.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re sharp, Mike. They dropped that so fast, if you’d have blinked you’d have missed it. I’ll tell you something, that guy’s an excellent
balloonist!”

  “And so are you, my friend. He dropped it right behind that hill over there. Let’s win this thing!”

  With the precision of an expert, Max fired the burner just long enough to give them lift and momentum. Then he let the wind carry them to where the chase balloon had made the drop. When they got beyond the hill, Mike scanned the ground until he spotted the large, florescent-orange marker.

  “There it is, Max. And you’re headed right for it.”

  “Quick, where’s our flag?”

  “I thought you had it.”

  Max nearly bit his cigar in half. “You mean we forgot the blasted flag?”

  Mike laughed as he pulled the weighted flag out from behind his back and waved it at Max.

  “What the blazes are you trying to do, Mike, give me a heart attack or something? Give me that thing!”

  “You mind your burners and get us down there without crashing. I’ll drop it over the side. Tell me when.”

  Max guided the balloon down as low as he dared to go without landing. Mike leaned over the side, dropping the flag within inches of the marker. As Max fired the burners to ascend again, they cheered.

  “I’d like to see some joker beat that,” Max said. “This calls for a cigar.”

  “I thought you were out of matches?”

  “Maybe I can light it on the burner.” They laughed uproariously.

  As they sailed effortlessly into the darkening sky, Mike felt at peace. “You know, Max, I’m glad I got the chance to come with you, after all. Look at that sky. Isn’t it a gorgeous night? This has been a fantastic flight.”

  “Yeah, I hate to see it end, but I’m almost out of fuel. We need to look for a place to land where there’s nothing growing. I just hope your friend can find us in the dark.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t see us, I’ll bet she can hear us. We’ve been laughing like a couple of hyenas.”

  “Look, there’s a perfect spot. Hang on and I’ll try to put us down over there. By the way, I’m not famous for my smooth landings.”

  “I teach flying lessons, remember? I know all about rough landings.”

  “Hang on, then. I’m gonna let the air out.”

  Max pulled a rip cord that detached an entire panel of nylon near the top of the balloon. The giant bag began to collapse as the air rushed out of it. The decision to land was irreversible. The ground rapidly rose up toward them. The gondola bounced once or twice, then landed with a jolt, tipping over on its side. Mike and Max tumbled out on top of each other, a tangled pile of arms and legs. The deflated balloon drifted gracefully to the ground beside them.

  “You all right, Mike?”

  “Yeah, how about you? I think I kicked you in the head.”

  “I’m fine. Good thing it was you, though. I don’t think that Brewster lady would’ve appreciated landing on top of me. This field is bumpier than it looked from up there.”

  “Every runway in the world looks smooth until you land on it. Hey, here comes my one-eyed truck. She did a pretty good job of chasing us, for her first time at it, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, but after today . . . leaving her stranded in the middle of the park like we did, do you really think you can talk her into a second time?”

  They both laughed until their tears came.

  Chapter 12

  Wilhelmina was extremely distressed to learn that they had won first place in the balloon race. She stood grimly between Mike and Max, who was still chomping on his cigar, as the two men raised champagne glasses. Flashbulbs blinded her. Mini-cams whirred. Her picture would be in all the morning newspapers, and since tomorrow was Sunday, it would probably be posted on the church bulletin board again. How would she ever survive the notoriety? If her friends thought a kite contest was disgraceful, what on earth would they think of this?

  By the time the trophies were awarded, the victory speeches given, and the celebrating finished, it was nearly eleven o’clock. Little Peter could barely keep his eyes open. “Do you mind if I drop him off first, Professor? He’s tuckered out.”

  “I’m not in a hurry.” Within minutes, Peter was asleep in the truck with his sweaty head nestled on Wilhelmina’s lap. Mike glanced over at them and smiled.

  “This was the third time now that I’ve run off and left you with one of my grandkids. I’m sorry, Willymina.”

  She smiled to herself as she thought of her day at the ballet with Lori, fishing with Mickey, and now chasing a balloon all over the countryside with Peter. “You know, I’ve never had much patience with children, but yours are really rather special. Peter reminds me a lot of my younger brother at that age.”

  Mike pulled the truck to a stop. “We’re home, Pete. Say good night to Professor Brewster.” Peter sat up and looked around, blinking sleepily. Then he wrapped his arms around Wilhelmina’s neck and hugged her. She blinked back her sudden tears.

  “Good night, Peter,” she murmured. Then added something her mother always said, “Sweet dreams.” She watched Mike carry Peter inside, and when he returned to the truck, Wilhelmina felt her heart begin to race. The time had come. She was finally alone with him. What should she say? How should she begin?

  “I hope you had a good time tonight, Willymina.”

  “Oh, I did! I really did!”

  “Next time you’ll have to go up for a ride, though. It’s a fantastic experience.”

  “I’m really sorry about that, Mike. I should have gone, but . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I froze.”

  “I know the feeling. That happened to me the first time I had to make a parachute jump. I got as far as the open door of the plane, looked down . . . and froze. My first mistake was to look down, of course. Never look down before you jump!”

  “So what happened? Did you finally get up your nerve to jump?”

  “Nope. Never had to. My C.O. booted me in the rear end and pushed me out. What a feeling, falling out of that airplane the first time! I never will forget that. I thought my life was over.”

  “But your parachute opened, didn’t it?”

  “Sure it did. They attach the rip cords to the plane so it opens as soon as you jump . . . or get pushed. They don’t take a chance that you’ll faint or forget to pull it yourself.”

  Wilhelmina shivered. For a moment she envied his many experiences, his sense of adventure. “What’s it like to parachute?”

  “Once you get past the open door it’s fantastic! You fall through the air for what seems like a year, but it’s really only a few seconds, then there’s a whoosh and the chute opens. It pulls you up in the air, like you’re a marionette and God’s got a hold of the strings. After that, you can relax and enjoy the ride.”

  When Mike mentioned God, Wilhelmina saw her opening. She felt like she was standing before the open door of the airplane, trying to muster her courage. She drew a deep breath and jumped in clumsily.

  “Do you believe in God, Mike?”

  “Sure I do. I’d have to be blind not to.”

  “Are you a Christian?”

  “I never could figure out how to answer that. I was brought up going to church—went to Sunday school every week with my mother. All of us kids did. So, I always figured I was a Christian. Then one time during the war I was sitting around with the guys getting ready to go out on a mission over Germany escorting a bomber formation . . . an awful lot of planes had been shot down before us, you know? Well anyhow, me and another pilot started talking. He asked me if I was a Christian. I said, yeah, I go to church. He said that wasn’t enough. Going to church didn’t make you a Christian. Wouldn’t you know it, I got hit that time out and my plane went down, so we never did get to finish our conversation. And I never saw the guy again after that. I guess he didn’t make it. So, I still don’t know how to answer that question. I haven’t been inside a church, now, in years. Not since Helen died.”

  They pulled into Wilhelmina’s driveway. She fumbled for something to say. “Would you like to come in for a while? I can make some coffee . . .”


  “Well, it’s late. I don’t want to keep you up past your bedtime.”

  Wilhelmina had never entertained a man all alone in her life. Her brothers would be horrified. But she looked at Mike’s thin, pale face and saw that time was running out. “Please, Mike. I would like to hear the end of your story.”

  “What story’s that?”

  “About your plane being shot down.”

  He looked at her curiously, “Are you insisting?”

  “Yes. I’m insisting. Come on.”

  He turned off the truck and followed her through the front door. She heard him whistle softly as he walked into her elegant living room. “Quite a place. Lori told me it was like a mansion.”

  “Don’t be silly. Sit down, please, and make yourself at home. I’ll put some coffee on.”

  When she returned a few minutes later Mike was standing in front of the fireplace, admiring the trophy she had won in the kite contest.

  “Where are all the others?” he asked.

  “The others?”

  “Yeah, the trophies you won for playing the piano.”

  “Heavens! That was ages ago. I haven’t kept all those silly things around.”

  “You’re too modest. If you win something, you should be proud. Brag it up a little bit.”

  Wilhelmina’s hands shook as she set the cups on the coffee table. How was she going to draw the conversation back to religion? “I meant it when I said I would like to hear the rest of your story,” she began.

  “OK, but it’ll cost you. If I tell you a story, you’ll have to play me a song. Fair enough?”

  “Do you have a request?”

  “Whatever you want,” he said, laughing. “I don’t care. Hey, maybe you can play that ballet thing you took Lori to see.”