Spirit Flight

by P. R. Fittante

  “Yep. Hard to believe we’ve been flying airplanes for less than a hundred years.”

  Anna surveyed the lonely island barrier, stretching to the horizon, amidst the vast expanse of blue ocean. “It all looks so fragile from up here. It really gives me a new appreciation for the durability of these outer banks. I don’t get that from my back porch.”

  “The banks are tough, but they roll with the punches,” Frank said as he turned to the south. “The wind and those Atlantic storms constantly change the way they look. These sand dunes at Jockey’s Ridge are steadily moving to the north.”

  Gazing down at the hundred foot high mountain of sand, Anna could see several rainbow-colored gliders soaring down the steep face of the dune. She looked outside at the small swept wings of their own airplane. “I imagine you feel a little constrained in this plane as opposed to a jet.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Especially here.” He looked down at the tiny gliders. “The grass, the dunes, the salty winds; it all creates a thirst for flight. Even a hang glider can satisfy it.”

  He turned to the west, trimmed up the controls and then released them. “So many people think flying is an unnatural act. It’s just the opposite. If you feel you’re a part of the air, that it’s a solid force supporting you and your airplane, there’s no greater freedom on earth. You can climb and dive, turn and spin. The possibilities are only limited by the performance of the aircraft and your own skill.”

  Frank could see Anna relax as he spoke. “I admit I get a little nervous being up so high in a small plane. But it is thrilling, especially sitting up front like this.”

  “Well, I hope you didn’t think you were going to be a passenger on this flight.” Frank leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Because the controls are yours.”

  Anna gave him an uncertain look. Frank gently wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the control stick and pointed her right hand to the throttle. She gripped them tightly, fearful of making any kind of input.

  “Relax,” he said. “Pretend you’re holding your paintbrush. Small, smooth movements will give us the best ride.”

  Anna slowly loosened her grip. “Is it OK if I make a turn?”

  “Sure. We’re flying VFR to the west, so we’ll start a climb to sixty-five hundred feet. You can do some turns back and forth while we climb.”

  Frank pointed out the altimeter and airspeed gauges as Anna smoothly pulled back on the stick. “Now ease forward on the throttle to keep the airspeed at a steady one hundred twenty knots. Good. Now pull the stick to the left to start a turn. OK, see that little ball under the attitude indicator? It slid to the left as we turned left. That’s because the nose of our aircraft is pointing off to the right while we’re trying to turn left. We’re skidding through the air, like a sled skidding on ice. We need to use some left rudder to yaw our nose in the direction that we’re trying to turn. So, all you need to do is push just enough left rudder to bring that ball back to the center.”

  Anna gently pushed the left rudder and centered the ball. “Like that?” she asked.

  “Yep. You’ve got it,” Frank said, smiling. “Half the pilots in the world can’t fly coordinated like you are. The other half, their jet does it for them. Just remember to always feed rudder in the direction that you’re turning.”

  Anna quickly gained a feel for the nimble aircraft, smoothly weaving it through the clear Carolina sky. She turned to Frank, her face beaming. “This is fantastic!”

  Frank shared her excitement. He had hoped to give her some sense of what drew him to the skies. The fact that she enjoyed it was especially pleasing. He pointed to the altimeter. “We’re approaching sixty-five hundred feet. Let’s level off here and accelerate to two hundred knots. That’ll get us back to Greensboro within two hours.”

  The emerald mainland of North Carolina stretched out before them. They quickly left the marshy low lands behind and entered the rolling hills of the central Piedmont. Passing Raleigh, Frank took control of the aircraft and dropped low over the placid waters of Jordan Lake. Circling above the weekend sailors, they received several curious looks and excited waves. Frank pulled the aircraft up and executed a slow roll before continuing on to the east.

  “Couldn’t resist could ya?” Anna obviously didn’t mind the maneuver.

  “Not really flying unless you go inverted at least once.” Frank was thoroughly enjoying the moment. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect day.

  Up ahead, he could see the towering oaks and graceful pines of the Chapel Hill campus. They soared above their youthful refuge, recalling favorite hideaways and forgotten memories. From aloft it seemed a patchwork picture postcard—a timeless window to the perpetual sanctuary of undergrad optimism. It rekindled a hopefulness in Frank. He could feel a resurgent enthusiasm, but this time its focus was a woman rather than an objective.

  The stately brick buildings of the university soon gave way to the rambling barns and silver silos of the central farmland. The plowed red fields were already yielding tenuous rows of leafy green tobacco, soy, and corn. Amidst the open pastures and wooded hills, Frank searched for a narrow strip of black asphalt known as Causey Airport. He quickly recognized several old landmarks that led him to the tiny airfield.

  “Back to where I first learned to fly,” he said.

  Anna looked at him for a second. “Don’t forget who got you your first flight.”

  Frank was puzzled, then he remembered. “That’s right! For my eighteenth birthday.” He smiled. “See what you started?”

  “I know. But it was inevitable.”

  Frank couldn’t disagree. He started a descent, over-flying the center of the runway at two thousand feet. The windsock indicated he should set up an approach to runway two-zero. He dialed in the unicom frequency and keyed the mike.

  “Causey unicom, November Two Three Nine Eight Charlie is over the field for a right base to runway two-zero.”

  “Roger, Nine Eight Charlie,” said a familiar voice. “Hot wheels and cold beer await your arrival.”

  “Then we’ll be one to a full stop,” Frank replied as he extended the landing gear.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Remember Bobby Causey from high school? He’s working for his dad now as a flight instructor. I called him and said I’d be flying in. He’s loaning me his car while I’m here.”

  Frank guided the Velocity to a gentle touchdown. He taxied clear of the runway and stopped in front of a corrugated structure that looked more like an old shed than a hangar. Bobby was there to meet them as Frank shut down the engine.

  “You didn’t say you were bringing company,” Bobby said as he handed Frank a cold bottle of beer. He looked over at Anna and then his jaw dropped. “Well I’ll be! Anna Preston! It is still Preston, right? Tell me it ain’t Farago.”

  Anna shook her head and smiled. “No, still single. It’s good to see you again Bobby.”

  Bobby looked them both over. “This is great. I haven’t seen you two together since high school. Put a football jersey on Frank and a crown on Anna’s head and it’d be just like homecoming.”

  “We kind of ran into each other at the beach,” Frank explained. “She just bummed a ride off me to get back home.”

  “Traveling in style,” Bobby said looking at the Velocity. “Bet these things cost about as much as a B-2.”

  “A little cheaper to rent, though,” Frank said as they followed Bobby to a small trailer that housed the airport office. “How has business been here?”

  “Slow,” Bobby drawled. “Like my daddy says, if God had meant man to fly, he’d a given him more money.”

  After filling out some paper work, Bobby led them out back and tossed Frank a set of car keys.

  “Here ya go buddy. It’s the red mustang convertible.”

  “Nice,” Frank said. “Sure you trust me in this thing?”

  “I figure if you can handle an F-16, you can handle my car. Just don’t try jumpin’ any ditches like that time after the Rocking
ham game. Don’t need ya loggin’ any flight time in this thing.”

  Frank laughed. “I’ll give you a call on Monday. Thanks again.”

  He and Anna headed out the gravel drive to the main road.

  “You remember the way back to my mother’s house?”

  “Sure do,” Frank said. “She still boarding horses out there?”

  “She mostly leases the land for pasture, but she still keeps a few ponies. She figures she’ll get me to visit more often if I can come back and go riding.”

  Frank followed the winding two-lane road, enjoying the lush green surroundings sprinkled with flowering dogwoods and azaleas. It was a perfect Carolina spring day. The kind he savored in his youth, always beckoning one outdoors with its seductive possibilities.

  “I feel like I should be at track practice,” he said. “Or picking you up to go feed the ducks at the park.”

  “When we were dating you used to like to take me to the park.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “It was one place I could get you to myself for a while.”

  “Not the only place,” Anna said blushing. “I recall a certain dirt road up ahead where we always seemed to end up late at night.”

  Frank gave her a long look. “And who says I’m not taking you there now?”

  “Now, now. I am a proper Southern lady you know.”

  “I know,” Frank said rolling his eyes. “You and your mother constantly reminded me.”

  Up ahead, Frank could see the familiar big red barn that marked the old Preston horse farm. It seemed to sag a little more in a few places and the paint was a little faded, but the property itself was just as he remembered. He turned into the gravel drive lined with century old pecan trees, and slowly made his way to the two story house, gleaming white against a thick stand of pine. As they rolled to a stop, Frank saw Mrs. Preston emerge from the back porch. A young man followed her out.

  “Who’s that with your mom?”

  When Anna didn’t immediately reply, he looked over at her. She seemed pale. Before he turned off the engine, she was already out of the car.

  Mrs. Preston gave Frank a strange look as she came forward to hug her daughter. Her expression changed to a frown as she recognized him. Frank wasn’t surprised. His breakup with Anna had upset a lot of their friends and family. Time was certainly no remedy for any pain involving the only daughter of Lydia Preston.

  “My baby’s home,” she said, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “And look who I invited to join us for dinner. Charlie came running when I told him you were coming home. Or maybe it was just because I’m serving my chicken pot pie.” Then she looked over at Frank. “Is he staying for dinner too?”

  “No, ma’am,” Frank said quickly. “It’s good to see you again, but I’ll be heading over to see my dad today.”

  “Frank,” Anna began with little enthusiasm. “I’d like you to meet Charlie Babcock. Charlie, this is Frank Farago. Frank was nice enough to let me fly back with him from the beach.”

  Charlie put out his hand. “Pilot huh? That’s cool. Thanks for bringin’ my little lady home.”

  Frank shook Charlie’s hand. He immediately noticed his neatly manicured nails and diamond studded pinky ring. His face was deeply tanned and his light brown hair neatly trimmed. His pleated khakis and stripped polo shirt gave him the look of a PGA golfer. As he moved over to give Anna a kiss on the cheek, Frank suddenly felt like the old boyfriend.

  Slightly dazed, Frank opened the car’s trunk and removed Anna’s suitcase. As he started to set it on the driveway, Charlie took it from his hand.

  “Hey, thanks bud. Say, aren’t you the one who went to high school with Anna?”

  “Long time ago Charlie.” He got in the car and looked toward Anna. “When we were just kids.”

  Anna said nothing, though her expression seemed to plead for Frank’s understanding.

  Charlie didn’t like the feeling that he was missing something. He leaned over Frank’s door and patted him on the shoulder. “Listen bud. I’d love to get with you and hear some old dirt on Anna. I’m going quail huntin’ tomorrow. You can come along if you like.”

  Frank shook his head and smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not much into hunting.”

  “Well that’s OK. I’ll show ya how. You got much experience with guns?”

  “Just twenty millimeter canons.” Frank started the engine as Charlie gave him a curious look. “But I’ve had my fill of that type of hunting. You all take care.”

  Frank didn’t look at Anna again as he headed out the driveway.

  Chapter 18

  Foolish. Frank squeezed the steering wheel tightly. He could not believe how foolish he had been. How could he have expected over a decade of separation to pass without consequence? He had returned from his personal Odyssey and found the effects of his absence—people’s lives had gone on without him. It suddenly struck him that life’s opportunities may no longer solely exist in his future. Some may have passed him by.

  He looked out at the surrounding countryside and, for the first time, noticed some differences. Houses had sprung up where fields of corn and tobacco once flourished. And the old family dairy that once dominated this country road was gone. Its presence merely preserved as a name on the county road signs.

  He looked in the rear view mirror at his own face. The lines around his mouth and eyes were deeper. The hair at his temples seemed to have a few more flecks of gray. He looked different from how he thought of himself. It surprised him how the years had taken their toll. He gently rubbed the fresh scar on his chin.

  It was a short trip to his father’s house. He had never really looked forward to visits with him. This was mainly due to the difficulty they had communicating, though there was rarely a shortage of conversation. His father enjoyed expounding on a wide variety of subjects—everything under the sun with the notable exception of flying. He seemed to drift off whenever Frank offered any insight into his career as a pilot.

  His father’s philosophy of life had never made much sense to Frank. After his mother’s death, his dad seemed to become even more detached. He fervently embraced his Catholic faith and tried to dissuade Frank from entering the military. Frank never had a desire to follow his father into the corporate world. He felt his father had played it safe, working securely as a mid-level manager for a large company. Frank rebelled against that lifestyle. He always wanted to do something different, to be something special. By the time he left for pilot training, Frank was thankful for the separation. While deployed overseas, he occasionally wrote his father a letter, but his steadiest communication was with his sister.

  During that time his father seemed to withdraw from his former lifestyle. He built a small house, sparsely furnished and lacking such items as a dishwasher and a television. He spent most of his time volunteering at a shelter in town. He delivered food to shut-ins and used his engineering background to do maintenance work around low-income housing.

  It had been almost two years since Frank last visited his father. Though he felt a little apprehensive, he realized he had been looking forward to their meeting. Their last conversation after the accident had been cordial and his father had sounded eager to have Frank stay with him.

  Frank pulled into a narrow gravel driveway hardly visible from the road. The lot was heavily wooded right up to the front of the small one-story house. His father emerged from behind the house. He was dressed in overalls and wore a wide brimmed straw hat over his thick white hair. He was nearly seventy now, but still in excellent shape.

  Frank stepped from the car and shook his father’s hand. “Dad, you look good.”

  His father seemed in good spirits. He gripped Frank’s hand with both of his own. “It’s good to see ya Frank,” he said cheerfully. Frank could still detect a trace of the native New York accent, though his father had now lived in North Carolina for over twenty years. “Come inside, I’ll get you something to drink. Still no coffee, right?”

  Frank followed him through the scr
eened front door. “That’s right. Just water’s fine for me.” He looked around the small kitchen that adjoined the front living area. “I see you’re still shunning any modern luxuries.”

  “You know me Frank. I spent all my life trying to make a good living so you and your sister could grow up comfortably. I never wanted to be poor like my parents. They came to this country with nothing. Now, I realize, maybe they weren’t so poor.” He handed Frank a glass of water. “What I have here is all I need.”

  “I still wish you’d get a computer. Then I could email you. You could also use it to research things that interest you.”

  His father shook his head. “No. All I need is my garden and my thoughts. Our thoughts are the spark that makes the human race unique and I’m afraid we’re beginning to lose that spark. We no longer seem to be a thoughtful people, Frank. As we advance, we tend to occupy our days more and more with mind numbing activities. Whether it’s surfing the web or watching TV, people find ways to suppress their thoughts. Rare is the opportunity to sit and contemplate the complexities of life.” He gestured out the back window. “Here I can do that. I know you’ve heard this sermon before, but I honestly believe when we’ve become so shallow, that is when God will show himself.”

  Frank had heard it before. But this time he found himself listening. He realized why he had wanted to come stay with his father. Somehow he felt his father could help him sort out his own life. He looked into his father’s soft blue eyes. “I believe you dad. I wish I could be as sure of things as you. Lately, I haven’t been too sure of anything in my life.”

  His father considered this for a moment and then suddenly stood up. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  He led Frank out the back door. A short distance beyond the dense mixture of pine, maple and elm was a large open field. They stopped at the edge of a freshly plowed garden.

  “Your mother and I bought this land years ago with the hope of one day building on it. It was going to be our retirement home. We’d tend garden—your mother always wanted a garden—and quietly live out our lives together.” He stared at the ground for a moment and rubbed his hand over his face. “Well, after you and your sister left home, I didn’t see the need to keep it, and a few years ago, I decided to sell it. I had actually sold one lot and had a developer offer to buy the rest before the storm hit. You remember that? It was right around Easter, three years ago. Tornado came down and swept right through the land. Wiped out a beautiful stand of pine right where we’re standing. Naturally, the developer backed out after that. Well, I was pretty upset since I had been determined to sell the land. I walked back here through all the toppled trees and couldn’t imagine a worse disaster. Then I saw the spring. That one you see right down the hill.”