An Impossible Distance to Fall

by Miriam McNamara

  Then it was time to get back on the wing.

  She relaxed, and the weight of her legs pulled her into a somewhat upright position, although the slipstream blew her backward a little. She reached over her head, following the cable up. There was the spreader bar. She tightened her fingers around it and flexed. The top of her head caught on the cable. She wiggled her head around it, but then the cable snagged over her shoulder.

  She had envisioned doing a pull-up to get back on the spreader bar, but the cable was connected to her back, between her shoulders, and it was getting in the way.

  She was stuck.

  She grasped the bar tighter and strained, feeling all of the muscles in her arms and stomach burning as her palms grew slippery—

  You won’t fool anyone.

  She let go, panic rising in her throat. Oscar couldn’t land the plane unless she got back on the wing. She would be ground to a pulp if he landed with her dangling like this.

  They’ll remember nothing but how badly you messed up.

  Maybe she could somersault forward and tuck her feet into the landing gear. She took a gasping breath, grabbed the bar again, and started to swing her legs back and forth. Back and forth, in bigger and bigger arcs—but the slipstream was too strong, keeping her from swinging forward very far. She wouldn’t be able to use momentum to get herself up.

  She tried one last big swing and tucked her knees up, carful to avoid the propeller. She contracted every muscle in her body—her arms, thighs, and stomach screaming—she squeezed every bit of air out of her lungs. She flailed her legs, trying desperately to get them through the slipstream until it pushed her in the right direction—she was almost there—

  Or maybe you won’t be worth remembering at all.

  Someone grabbed her foot and pulled. Somehow, her foot connected to the bar. She fumbled her hands around and lifted her head, gasping for breath.

  “Geez, that was close!” Oscar shouted. He crouched on the wing beside her, both cockpits empty. “You almost had it—just need a few more tries I think—but thank God I—”

  “I could have done it myself,” she wheezed. Everyone had watched him rescue her. “I didn’t need your help.”

  His eyes widened behind his goggles. “I’m sure you could, but we might need to tweak—”

  “Oscar!” she snapped. “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”

  He threw his hands up, then lunged for the rear cockpit.

  She clambered up onto the wing and lay down, shaking as she waited for touchdown.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BIRDIE STEPPED OFF THE WING ONCE THE PLANE BUMPED TO A STOP AND WAS immediately tackled by John and Henry, their double hug tipping her off-balance. “HolymolythatwasINCREDIBLE!” John shouted.

  “IthoughtyouwereDEADbutinsteadyou’reAMAZING!” exclaimed Henry.

  She could practically see a poster with her face on it already printed. She held the image in her mind, focusing hard on it, trying to calm her nerves. She felt damp all over from a cold sweat, strands of hair sticking her to cheeks.

  Colette was standing with her arms crossed, of course, but she looked impressed—a look that, for Colette, Birdie had previously thought impossible. Milosh gave Birdie a lopsided grin and a thumbs-up. Bennie was beaming like nobody’s business, running his hands up and down his suspenders. Birdie let all her breath out in the whoosh and found herself smiling back. She’d taken a chance and pulled it off.

  She squeezed John and Henry and scruffed their hair before turning to find Oscar—she should let him know that everything was all right between them. He was with Hazel, of course, bare-headed, hair pressed flat by his helmet. The air was so warm, Birdie was starting to sweat into June’s flight suit again. She unbuttoned the collar and the flap as she walked toward Oscar. She actually hadn’t been introduced to Hazel yet. She watched as Oscar pulled the girl in close and kissed the top of her burnished head. The sun shone down on the two of them, the cover of a romantic novel. A fashion plate. A circus poster. Birdie’s steps slowed, harness straps swinging.

  She detoured towards the Studebaker where June was perched on the dented green hood, wearing the same trousers she’d worn to the boarding house yesterday. “Nice suit,” June drawled, nose wrinkling. “Funny, I’ve got one the exact same make and color, but I don’t remember anyone asking to use it.”

  Birdie shrugged. “I heard you’d gone to visit a friend—Ruth, was it?—otherwise I would’ve asked.”

  June’s eyes narrowed. “I went to get Hazel,” she clarified. “Hazel! Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Hazel bounded over, grabbed Birdie’s hand, and shook it enthusiastically, looking darling in another dress, mint-colored this time, which eschewed fashionable looseness and a drop-waist in favor of a trim line that flattered her curves. “That was incredible! It’s Birdie, right?” Birdie nodded. “June told me all about you. I was devastated when I heard about Darlena, but now I see we’ve got nothing to worry about.” She swallowed, eyes welling up. “Except for Charlie, of course …” Oscar, who had walked up behind Hazel, grabbed her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

  “I’m sorry,” Birdie said. “Nice to meet you. Gosh, I’m all flustered from—I just—sorry.” She sounded like a complete goof.

  “It’s fine,” said Hazel, giving her a small smile. “Really. I know what it’s like to come down from up there. Don’t feel like you need to say the right thing.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Merriwether clamped a hand on Birdie’s shoulder and flipped her around. “Jiminy, girl, give a lady some warning next time you decide to pull a stunt like that!” She steered Birdie toward the porch. “Tell me what you did up there. I figure we can expand the act. We might still just have a chance to pull off some sort of show! Come on, I need details.” She gestured for the others to follow them.

  Birdie let herself swagger just a little on her way to the porch. The stunt really couldn’t have gone better, even if the ending had been a bit sloppy. Everyone had seen its potential.

  “Okay, so the boys tell me it’s a Peter Pan thing,” said Merriwether when they’d all settled. Colette slammed through the screen door holding a sketch pad, and sat with her legs dangling off the porch. “You, Birdie.” Merriwether pointed at her. “Give us the shortest version of the story possible, with the least amount of characters. I think a popular storyline might really give our show an edge. Make it stand out, sell it to the NAR people.”

  Birdie thought of where to start. “There’s three children, and Peter Pan comes and takes them to Neverland.”

  Colette began scribbling furiously.

  “Let’s make it one kid.”

  That could work. “It’ll have to be Wendy, then,” said Birdie.

  “Okay. So that’s two characters: Wendy and Peter.” Merriwether held up two fingers.

  “There’s a fairy, Tinker Bell.”

  “Forget the fairy.”

  “Henry wants be the fairy,” said John, snickering.

  Henry howled and shoved John off the porch.

  “Jonathan and Henry Merriwether,” boomed Merri. “Settle down. Now.”

  “Okay,” said Birdie, raising her voice as the boys settled back on the porch, arguing under their breaths. “Wendy and Peter and the Lost Boys get in a battle with the Indians—”

  Merriwether held up another finger. “Can we make the Indians just one character?”

  “That would work, Tiger Lily’s the main one. They also get in a battle with the pirates—Captain Hook. And he ends up getting eaten by a crocodile. And Wendy goes home, and Peter Pan never grows up.”

  “So we add Captain Hook, and a crocodile. That’s five.”

  “There’s ten of us!” said John. “Me and Henry can be the Lost Boys! Or pirates!”

  “I’m not flying,” said Colette, still scrawling something on paper. Birdie leaned toward her, trying to see what she was doing.

  “And boys under fourteen aren’t doing anything but helping out like they usually do,
” said Merriwether. “We’ve got four planes and the Studebaker. I think it’s best if we stick to five characters.”

  “I’ll be Peter Pan,” said Birdie. She could see it now, details filling in around her face on the poster. “Me and whoever else is going to fly the plane.”

  “Of course,” said Merriwether.

  Bennie stood on the ground beside the porch, looking over Colette’s shoulder and nodding. “Yeah, the Studebaker would make a great crocodile! It’s already the right color, just needs a few details to get it to read crocodile to the audience.”

  “That’s good,” said Merriwether. “I’ll be the pirate captain. I’ve got an idea for a stunt, for when Hook gets eaten by the crocodile—oh, I think this is gonna be good! But I’ll need someone to fly my plane.”

  “I’d love to be a pirate!” said Oscar. “We can paint a Jenny brown like a ship, and paint the wings white for sails—”

  “Just this once,” said Milosh, then stopped as everyone turned to him, his smooth cheeks flushing. “I c-could, uh, maybe do some pyrotechnics up on the wing of the pirate ship? During a battle scene or something, like cannons firing?”

  “Yes! Milosh!” said Merriwether, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now you’re talking! Oscar, you fly Peter Pan. I’ll pilot the pirate plane while Milosh does his fire thing—nuts, who’s gonna fly me when I do my stunt?”

  “There’s only the four of us with licenses now,” said June. “Between the four planes.”

  “I’ll fly the pirate ship!” said John. “I can do it, you know I can!”

  “No,” said Merriwether. “Not at Curtiss airfield without a license, you can’t.”

  “This is going to be wild,” said Henry.

  “Hazel’s the best aviatrix here,” said Oscar, “so I think she should be Tiger Lily. That way she gets a battle scene, so she can really shine.”

  “Oh my God,” said Hazel. “If we get this contract, they’re sure to advance me that new Travel Air I test-flew at the airfield last week, so I can show it off in the show. It blew my lame OX-5 engine out of the water!”

  Oscar leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Every Hollywood agent there is going to be beating down your door.”

  “That leaves me being Wendy,” said June. She shook her head ruefully. “Of course I end up being the girly girl.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Merriwether, a light bulb going off. “To make up for it, how about you fly the pirate ship during the battle scene and stunt? Wendy’s plane doesn’t need to be in the air for that, I don’t think. You can switch between the two.”

  “That works!” said June. “If we get the contract, maybe we can hire one of Hollbrook’s pilots to help us out in the real show.”

  “This’s gonna be so neat!” said Henry. “Peter Pan on one wing, Captain Hook on another, brandishing swords at each other—”

  “Here,” said Colette, turning her pad around. “I’ve got the beginnings of it.”

  It was a scribbled line drawing, but every detail was clear. There was Dad’s Jenny, only in the picture it was painted with vines and leaves—Peter Pan’s plane. Charlie’s Jenny had planking drawn on it, like the hull of a ship, with sails for wings. The Studebaker had a crocodile pattern. Hazel’s plane was decorated with tribal designs. June’s Moth had hearts painted on the wings.

  Birdie’s pulse accelerated. “We could really pull this off.”

  “Lord, no,” said June. “Don’t defile my baby like that!”

  “You’re so talented,” said Milosh, kissing Colette’s cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said, shooting June a dirty look. “This is just the preliminary brainstorm.”

  “We’ve got until Saturday to get the bones of a show together,” said Merriwether. “That gives us three days. We need to plan the acts into the story—we’ll all work on that—Colette’s on costuming and design—anything else?”

  “If you’re Hook,” said Colette, “who’ll be on the megaphone, telling the story?”

  Merriwether broke into a sunny grin. “You, my dear. Of course!”

  Colette looked startled, an unsure expression crossing her face. The unmarked skin of Colette’s throat caught Birdie’s eye, and the unbroken paleness of her hands. Under the scramble of forbidding images covering her skin, she couldn’t be much older than Birdie.

  Milosh took and squeezed her hand, his big eyes crinkling under the shiny, black hair that flopped across them. “Look at that,” he said. “You get to be in charge of how the story’s told.”

  Colette looked at him with such rawness that Birdie had to look away. She stared down at her own hands, wishing that she had someone to squeeze them and tell her she was in charge with such reassuring authority. Of course, she didn’t need that like some people might. She looked up, putting on her brightest smile. “Oh my gosh, three days!” she said. “Let’s get to work!”

  Everyone jumped up, talking excitedly, except for Colette, who hunched back over her pad.

  “I didn’t know you could draw like that,” Birdie said, scooting closer to watch her sketch.

  “I designed all my tattoos,” Colette replied. “I even inked some of them on myself.”

  “I didn’t know you could give yourself tattoos.” Colette was the first person she’d seen up close with tattoos. She didn’t like how it made Colette stand out in a way that people judged much more often than they admired, but the images were beautiful. She wondered what she would print on her own skin, if she had been the kind of person who did things like that. “Actually, I haven’t the faintest idea of how tattoos happen at all.”

  “You wouldn’t like it. It involves needles.”

  Birdie imagined it like getting a vaccine—someone in a white coat injecting ink into your skin slowly, the ink spreading into a perfectly designed picture—but that couldn’t be right. “I’m not squeamish. Tell me how it works.”

  “There are different ways to do it. An Inuit man showed me first, with a needle and ink.”

  Birdie didn’t know what Inuit meant, and needle and ink didn’t explain much.

  “Then I learned how to use an electric tattooing machine, when I was in the three-ring.” Colette looked up from her drawings and gave Birdie an appraising look. “I could show you sometime, if you like.” Her voice held a challenging edge.

  Birdie smiled nervously. Needles were bad enough—an electric tattooing machine sounded horrifying. “I could watch you give someone a tattoo?”

  Colette’s eyes trailed over Birdie’s arms. “Or you could get one yourself.”

  Birdie shivered. What would Dad say, if she was covered in ink like Colette? “Oh, I wouldn’t know what to get.”

  “I could draw something up for you. It’s something I really like doing. I’ve drawn them up for everyone here except you, actually, but only Milosh lets me give them to him.”

  The old Birdie would never dream of tattooing herself. But a Birdie who wasn’t going to Finch’s, had no family, no money, and danced on the wing of a plane? That was the only Birdie that Colette knew, and she was curious who Colette thought that person was. “Well,” said Birdie. “Draw me some pictures, and let’s see what I think.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BIRDIE LOOKED BACKWARD AS CHARLIE’S PLANE BUZZED AWAY FROM them, following the line of the road. She and Bennie sat in the Studebaker with the top down on the longest, straightest, quietest stretch of road they could find. June was flying the plane with Merriwether in the front cockpit. It was their first attempt at Merri’s new stunt idea.

  “The timing’s gonna be tricky.” Bennie’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. “We gotta start driving as soon as we see the plane. Keep an eye out for cars coming, okay?”

  “Got it.” Birdie flipped forward in her seat as the plane disappeared from view.

  “We gotta be at top speed when the plane is overhead. Merri will climb down the rope, and we’ll try and get her in either the front or back seat. You’re here to give her a hand if she needs it.” His eyes fl
icked to the rearview mirror, checking for the plane’s approach.

  This stunt was going to be the big finale of the show, and ever since Merriwether had explained it Birdie had been breathless with excitement. The two of them would sword-fight on the wings of their planes, and when Birdie-as-Peter-Pan won, Merriwether-as-Hook would “fall” from the pirate ship and into the crocodile’s jaws by climbing down a rope and landing in the Studebaker, driven by Bennie dressed as the crocodile.

  “I didn’t know Merriwether did stunts,” said Birdie. “Couldn’t she do the parachute jumps now that Charlie’s gone?”

  “Before the twins, before her man died in that accident, Merri used to be the stuntwoman,” said Bennie. “She got offers from all the major barnstorming circuses, did every parachute jump in the book and then some. Every car-to-plane and plane-to-car transfer. She hung from planes by her hands, feet, and teeth. She did handstands, cartwheels, somersaults, all in the air. You name it, she did it. Once she was left with the twins on her own, though—her priorities changed. She can’t risk leaving those kids behind if something happens.”

  A car came up behind them, slowing as it approached. Birdie leaned out the window and waved them around. A couple stared into the Studebaker, and it occurred to Birdie that they saw a white girl alone with a big, dark-skinned man. She wondered what she would have thought only a few weeks ago, before she watched Bennie play cards with the boys and help Henrieta with the dishes after dinner. She’d never spent any time with someone whose skin color didn’t closely match her own, but it felt natural to be here with Bennie. She gave the couple a cheerful wave and settled back in her seat.

  “Why is Merriwether doing this stunt, if she’s so careful now?” she asked.

  “This stunt is actually pretty safe, so long as you know what you’re doing,” said Bennie. “You never let go of the rope until you got a firm handhold on the car, or vice versa. That’s the trick. You never risk a jump, hoping you’ll make it. That’s how you die.”

  “I’m glad she’s giving it a shot,” said Birdie.

  “It’s because she’s excited about your show!” Bennie clapped her on the shoulder. “I hope you know, we really think this is going to give us our edge. Everybody loves a familiar story, especially if there’s some kind of twist.”