The morning was a beautiful one as we set out for our journey. Months, no, years of planning, of spending days and nights in wooden rooms bedecked with blueprints, naked light bulbs burning our eyes as the midnight chimes rang through our minds. Now the oh-so-familiar tones which we had gotten so used to were just faded memories. But the good kind of faded - our hearts were full of anticipation. For now the work was over. Nothing but fun and joy spread out across our future, much like sunlight kissing the globe as it peeked over the hills to start a new day. Today was that day.
“I can’t believe we’re finally going to do this!” she said as she smiled at me.
“You bet!” I replied, the toolbelt more or less turning my strides into that of a drunk man. You can’t be too careful when it comes to building things. Even those with all the right tools mess up, so it’s best to just have them just in case. After all, we were not craftsmen, just dreamers, and sometimes dreams need to be fixed now and then.
We chose the highest hill we could find. It was a little far away from home, but the trek back and forth between our house, the shed where we would build, and the hill was worth it. There were times when we really didn’t feel like working, when it would rain and we just couldn’t. But the next day, we’d get started again, remembering our dream, keeping it close like a candlelight in a dark and confusing world. It’s all we really depended on - sometimes one has to pause when they work, think and remember why they are working, and get back to it. No one likes to work in vain, or for money. No one. It’s all about what one gets out of it, both during and when its finally over.
Still, there it was - our supposed flying machine. Yes, a flying machine. It did look silly. People did laugh and try to stop us from building it, but we didn’t really listen to them. I guess who could blame them - the wings were covered in some canvas we found a while walking across the town, the fuselage poorly fused together by nails and rope we spent hours typing together, the various propellers made of various things we found when we’d just sit together and think. To most, it was garbage. But to us, it was a dream. It seated two, and with that two-seater biplane we’d travel across the globe. Oh, but we planned ahead. Food, water, some blankets in case it got too cold, scarfs, goggles for when it rained or became too gusty. Everything.
Finally we reached the top. My heart was in my feet, but I know it was the exact opposite with her. That’s what made us so unique as a team - my fears were her adventures. I was often terrified of flying, and I knew she was too. But she wanted it more than she feared it. Heaven knows how many times she spoke of it. And her talking of it eased my fears. After all, I’d get to fly with her, seeing fields of gold and mountains of while, vast oceans and endless forests. All with her. That was the most important part. I couldn’t imagine doing it alone. I knew I’d yearn for such a connection.
Her fears were my challenges, though. She wasn’t always gung-ho. But I seemed to compliment that. When she was discouraged, I’d remember why we were building this machine, and remind her. Send her to the house after we’d work in the shed, just so I could get a little more done to surprise her in the morning. But she had real fears. Fears I couldn’t understand. I tried to help, but the more I helped the more I felt bad. There are scars on that flying machine, sitting on top of our hill. I punctured a hole in the canvas when I was frustrated because I didn’t know how to help. The fuselage has a dent from when I kicked it because I was having problems of my own, and didn’t want to bother her with them until I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’d never show her that, nor would I take my frustration out on her. That was a cardinal sin, and I could never bring myself to do that to anyone, let alone her. After all, she was my teammate. We were going to see the world together.
“Are you ready?” I asked her.
She smiled. “Of course! Go ahead and get in.”
I sat in the back. I was a little more apprehensive than she was, so I figured she’d make a better pilot. After all, I’d probably keep worrying about the wings, the gauges if they even worked, and practically everything else. She wouldn’t. She was born to fly. So it just made sense to have it like that. Still, the final checks were in place. Rudders. Check. Fuel. Check. Rations. Check. Various puzzles and games to do in case we got bored. Check. Flashlights. Check. Goggles. I put them over my face and watched as she did the same. It seemed we were finally ready. Months and months of working, years of planning, it finally came down to this.
A slight push from our feet sent us down the hill.
“Here we go!” I said, mostly to ease my own fears. I tried to look excited, but I was a nervous chihuahua at heart. Always was, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. The machine was rickety. The wings rocked up and down. The wheels churned against the grassy ground, barreling faster and faster. The propellers were noisy and awkward. It was scary, but I’d never let that show. Her? The perfect picture of happiness. After all, this was her flying. Just a few moments now and we’d be off.
“We’re not taking off!” she shouted back to me.
“Maybe we’re too heavy!” I hollered back over the drone of the propellers and the various squeaks and creaks. It was the first thing that came to mind. I dumped the puzzles and games. We wouldn’t need that, I guess.
“Still too heavy!”
Thinking, I took out some rations. We could probably make it on less. After all, we’d just be sitting in a plane all day and night.
“We’ll never take off!”
As the machine jolted from a large bump, I could sense the disappointment in her voice. She wanted to fly more than anything in the world. Months of working on this, years of planning. She wanted this more than I did. God have no mercy on me if I denied that of her. I unbuckled my seatbelt and hopped outside. While my shoes took a little getting used to the fast incline of the hill, I finally got firm footing and helped push. God knows the last thing I wanted to do was get out of that plane. I had thought about it once or twice, but pretty much agreed I’d never get out of that plane even if my life depended on it. Here I am. Pushing against the tail, trying to get enough speed. It stuttered, groaned, but a few short hops finally pushed it free from the ground once the hill changed slope. I slowed my step as she began to ascend, closer to that sun that had mocked us for so long, sailing along with the birds, the plane, the ‘horrendous’ machine we had built together for so long, sailed into the distance.
She was free. But oh, God, she was gone.
It didn’t hit me until then. In giving her the dreams she loved, I damned myself to the ground. I was devastated. Anyone else in my shoes, still burning from the fast pace, would have been too. But I had to. I couldn’t deny her dreams.
And as she sailed the world, high in the sky, across endless fields, through white clouds, watching with a wondering gaze at the view below her, her fears and shortcomings were left to the ground. Truly she was her own up there, living life in the fullest, happy and content. Nothing could dim her now. Like the birds, she was now free. Up there, somewhere.
I thought I saw her once, though. It was a few years after, and I had to sell our house, use the shed we built for firewood during a rough winter, and move to the city, leaving behind our fields of green. It was in the morning, after another rough night, and I swore I heard the engines of that plane. I raced to my window, pushed it open as dust flew into the open air. I didn’t have my glasses on, but I’m almost certain it was her. And while I couldn’t see, I knew she was smiling. And I guess that made it okay for me. Perhaps that’s why God intended some of us not to fly. We need to be able to see those who are flying pass over us, giving us hope that they are free and happy, and that us groundlings may one day fly too. We need to see that they are happy. After such torment, they’re finally happy. And while they couldn’t have been there with you to share it, knowing they are happy and safe can sometimes make you fly too.
I don’t know why I wrote this. Some of you know I was engaged to a girl a few years ago, but one day she suddenly decided to leave behind her friends and family and move to Ireland. I initially tried to stop her, but after seeing how much she wanted to go, I’d be a bastard if I had stopped her. Consequently, she broke off all ties with her friends, including me. It made me sour, and I honestly used to despise St. Patrick’s Day and anything about Ireland. I was hurt and heartbroken.
A week ago, my friend told me she moved back. He saw her in the library, apparently on stronger medication, as she was talking to herself and her head was in a nervous but rhythmic “twitch.” I can’t pretend to say it doesn’t bother me, it really does. A lot. I only want what’s best for her, that she’s happy and finds someone who can be her co-pilot, because I couldn’t. This hit me hard inside, and I’d give years of my life to be able to help her in any way I could. But psychologists have told me in her condition, because of what she has, I might be associated with a part of her past she left behind, and that might hurt her. You have no idea what it’s like to be torn so hard. You want to help, but the best way to help is by doing nothing, according to them. And while it isn’t anything I personally did wrong, it’s just what she has. What she suffers from.
I hope to God she’s still flying out there.