Flying in Circles

Why am I telling you this? It's where my talent came from. This wasn't my only experience of people dying I knew well without warning. I'm telling you this so you can see why parting from almost anyone with something unfinished could leave a whirlpool of emptiness in my middle. Death stirred resolve in me; it permeated my every action. Now I always took time to find what I have to offer or give with everyone I encountered. Maybe I wasn't going to have another chance. My thinking was if I lost the odds to death before I saw that person again, I would have also lost my regrets.

I have had some amazing opportunities with this attitude. For instance, this ride in the air.

The way that I came to be riding airborne happened earlier today. Just this morning, I asked this old guy if I could sit in the shade of his open fly door, while he pulled apart pieces of what looked to be his air-bor. I'm waiting for a friend of mine, so I have an hour or so to talk. A waiting storm makes the sun and humidity oppressive.

This old guy says, "Here, meet my friend who flies up-side-down as soon as his wingtips clear after take-off." I can't help but glance at what shoes he is wearing as I shake hands. I see yellow tennis shoes.

I decide to ignore my usual urge to poke the tennis shoe wearer in his emotional blind spot to see what his reaction will be. He teases me, clowning around a bit, showing off his own airbor. I re-evaluate checking him off as a fool who might try anything twice.

His bor is clean and multi-colored. I walk back to his car with him to retrieve a part he has just bought new for it. Through the window I see an oddly shaped instrument case. I ask what it is, and he shows me the hurdy-gurdy inside. Snapping the case shut without demonstrating it for me, he apologizes that the summer storm will be here soon. He invites me to go up flying with him before it arrives.

I look at this man with his face that could be anyone's face. It is really odd to see someone who has methodically subtracted all unnecessary signals from their mannerisms. He had done it. This skill was fascinating to me, in this man. Is there a risk in being taken for a ride?

Usually, I don't take risks, though it may seem like I do to others. I just act on messages others miss or count off as inconsequential. I can play the edge pretty close this way, as I am guessing what we have to offer each other. It helps me pay attention, keeps me alert.

I decide to go with him.

My pilot walks around the length of the bor to make sure none of its vital parts are missing. The ignition jumps to attention. Over the noise, while buckling me in, he is yelling classic pre-flight information. Not as good as the stewardesses, but I listen because he is in my face, yelling conversationally.

The bor-plane creeps like an insect downfield. I wait for some type of reaction in my body to know I have done the right thing. The grass is pulsating underneath us, now faster, now blurring into lush acceleration. I wave as the two of us roar past people on the ground standing below a tin roof. They wave back.