Book 3
Chapter 1:Connor
A few months ago, I finally figured out what it is I’ve always liked about flying. I was always self-aware that I had a childhood obsession with planes. But until that day, that day in the park, when I saw a golden eagle flying over me, I never understood why. I saw that eagle from a distance, at first looking like a grey shadow. As I adjusted my eyes, I saw its body clearly. Firm and tall, looking ferocious.
It was at that point that I realized I was stuck with the unfortunate prospect of being a mammal and being unable to leave despair behind. Not just to leave but also to jump and float in the air, watching my problems shrink down to the point of thimbles.
I always wanted to run away, to leave behind all of my troubles and start over somewhere new. But even as a young man, I knew that my nature, my limitations, meant I would have to form my entire persona—my entire life—around staying put. Whether I liked it or not, this was where I had to be. And that’s what I resented most. That I couldn’t fly.
Almost immediately, and as young as thirteen, I loved the idea of learning to fly and escaping a captive life. My family thought it was a passing phase, but by middle school, when I had pictures of planes and airplane models covering my walls and ceilings, I think people realized it was something like destiny.
I failed the FAA test the first time I took the test and I almost gave up my entire life the same day. If I wasn’t capable of flying, what was the meaning of my life? I thought about changing careers. Thought about giving up on life itself and began drinking myself to death. Learning that you failed at something, the actuality of the experience, is gut-wrenching.
But now, in my thirties and certified and licensed, I am so happy that I stayed strong. Now in hindsight, I realize that failing the first time was a good lesson in humility. When you fail the FAA test you can’t just take the test again. You have to get re-trained from an authorized instructor and he or she determines if you’re ready to retake the test. So I cooperated, swallowing my pride and getting rid of the attitude that I was somehow “lowering” myself by doing it their way.
Submitting to the discipline of someone wiser than I was, was just what I needed to get my head on straight. I carried this attitude for so long. I was humbled and I listened to what that grand old pilot had to teach me. I accepted expert-level advice and I became a better pilot for it—hell, I became a better man for it.
I can still see myself twenty years ago. I remember staring at my reflection in windows and car mirrors, wondering what I would look like when I was all grown up. Mom and dad seemed like the oldest people in the world to me. I couldn’t imagine my face pasted onto a grownup’s body.
Many of our evenings were spent together, as kin and as friends. With my two sisters, Cammie and Stephanie, and Cammie’s friend Dana, we oftentimes spoke at length. Since we grew up in poverty, our access to video games was severely limited—usually only allowed twice a month at the arcade. Mother was never too fond of how much time video games seemed to kill—as if life wasn’t fast-moving enough.
“I like the one where the man has the flying hat,” I remember telling Cammie. “You know the one I’m talking about. Where he runs and then jumps into the sky and you can collect all the dings.”
“You just like it because you fly in it,” Cammie said with a smirk. “You’re obsessed with flying.”
I put my hand over my head. “No, I just think it’s fun.”
Go figure, I was never blissfully self-conscious about my obsessions. It was, for a time, very embarrassing that I had toy airplane models all over my room. Cammie and I were both blond and fairly good looking—or at least that’s what everyone always told us, so we did both struggle with our vanities.
Stephanie on the other hand was a more down to earth girl; raised by mom and dad just the same as us, but with a head of brunette locks, and dare I say a bit more humility.
“Flying is fun, don’t you think?” Dana asked me.
“Yeah, I guess…”
Dana may well have been the “runt” of our group, having light brown hair and glasses, but always having my sister Cammie’s support. Cammie, even though she was a bit of a brat, always prided herself on looking after underdogs. In school, she was the savior and fairy godmother to the nerds, freaks and geeks. Society rejected them so she felt the need to protect them. I always thought it was admirable.
The funny thing about Dana is that she never understood, bless her innocent heart, she only made things worse!
“I like flying,” she said, almost as if defending me from my sister’s crass remark.
“It’s not about flying,” I said back, in a defensive tone. Now I realize that she was only trying to help and I was simply humorless about my plane obsession.
What I remember most about those days was being too overly concerned about the future and not concerned enough about the now. My parents always made sure I sat down before bed and got the “point” about the life I was living. Everything had to have a point, you see.
I recall one conversation in which we discussed the very distant future.
“Why do you want to be a pilot?” mom asked me, tilting her head, the same face she made whenever she challenged my stubborn viewpoint.
I stared into space for a moment. “I don’t know. Pilots make a lot of money…”
Back then I seemed to be in denial of my obsession. It was about the money, of course, not about some juvenile fantasy to fly away and escape my problems.
“Well yes but you know, Connor, money doesn’t make a person happy.”
“Yes it does,” I answered with a smile, thinking she was testing me.
“No. What makes you happy, Connor?”
“Umm…love?”
“No. Guess again.”
“The things money buys?”
“Try again.”
“Other people?”
“Mmm, sort of. Here’s the answer. Don’t forget it…because I might quiz you again someday.”
“What?”
“Life makes you happy.”
“Life? You mean being alive?”
“Yes.”
“But…how is being happy just being alive? Everyone is alive.”
“And a lot of these people who are alive and who have money aren’t happy, Connor. But what I mean is, it’s the life you choose to live that matters. The life you make for yourself is what decides if you’re happy or unhappy. Nothing else.”
Leave it to mom to try to teach me something deep at an impressionable time when I saw everything stubbornly peripheral. Her technique worked and I spent literally years wondering what it meant. I dissected the message as if taking apart an engine. What does it mean now…what would it mean years from now? How would someone else interpret the comment?
Her words haunted me by the time I was in my twenties and even till now. I figured the more money I made, the more people liked me. But all I was to anyone was a “pilot” and a man that made a very good living. I was “living”, I was alive, and so I was happy. Sharing my happiness was inconsequential. Little wonder then that for most of my twenties, I had no serious love interests. Most of the stewardesses and bar harpies I met hardly wanted to know my name. I was just a handsome golden haired pilot.
I had grown up. And I was humbled, at least in the idea that I knew nothing. Love was something fleeting, something almost unrelated to happiness, though I’m sure that wasn’t mom’s intention.
What did seem to happen was that I retreated into a family-oriented safety net. I trusted my sisters, Cammie and Stephanie. They were my only connection to mom and dad, when they passed away respectively. Not that I want to relive that trauma, but suffice it is to say, our bond as siblings grew, even as I grew distant from most of the women I entertained.
Obviously, I had no special use for being celibate. And frankly, as a pilot, and someone not allowed to indulge in pot, and only allowed to drink at the end of the day and out of uniform, sex was the drug of choice.
I remember after a particularly rambunctious and over-the-top bedroom romp
I had the most peculiar phone call.
“Oh my God…” Karen panted, breathing hard and grabbing the blankets from me—eager to cover up. She always seemed to be uncomfortable with nudity, or at least, not too keen to let the pilot in charge inspect her. “That was so good…”
Karen kissed me and held my neck in her arms. I was barely…getting back to normal…however polite it is to say that…when an annoying ring tone interrupted my afterglow high.
“Yeah?” I said, lazily grabbing the phone at the side of the bed.
“Are we still going to the party tomorrow?” Cammie said.
“Oh…uh…I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Well you already committed yourself so you have to come. Ellen and Alara and Marisa will all be there. You said you’d do the pledge. Remember? For multiple sclerosis?”
“Oh the charity-run.”
“Yes! Don’t disappoint us, big brother. We’re all counting on you!” Her voice was drenched with sarcasm, while I couldn’t help but chuckle.
But while I made plans and chatted with my sister like any other day, someone else was staring at me like a deer in headlights.
“What?” I whispered to Karen who was shaking your head.
“Better call you back, sis,” I said as a I hung up the phone. “Problem?”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“This weird thing with your sister. Do you realize that in the very limited amount of time that we’ve known each other, she’s called you like a million times?”
“No…just once or twice,” I said.
“It’s really weird and creepy.”
“Oh come on,” I laughed. “What, are women really that threatened with a man has a good relationship with his sister?”
“It’s not that, silly! You’re just way attached to her! She’s your crutch, your Linus Blanket, if you get the reference.”
“What, are you a master psychologist slash stewardess now?” I replied. “She’s just…worried. She cares about me. You know ever since dad died, we have a close friendship. I’m her rock. You know? She counts on me.”
Karen kissed me anyway, making me forget my thoughts. She was really amazingly pretty, I can’t deny that.
“It’s okay. It’s very cute. It’s nice when a man loves his family. Just…you know…in the future…” She whispered in sarcasm. “Don’t chat on the phone with your sister after sex. It’s still part of the date. It’s a little creepy.”
“What can I say,” I said in smiling embarrassment. “I’m a pilot. My life is all get up and go.”
**
If I’m being honest with myself, I have to admit that talking to Cammie after finishing off Karen was probably an impolite move. But it wasn’t because of Cammie. I just bore easily. I do have a short attention span and if I’m not feeling a deep emotional connection after sex…I just tend to move on to whatever’s next on the schedule. In this case, it was Cammie and the charity walk-a-thon.
Come to think of it, Cammie made a good point. Karen did seem to be a bit controlling. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it yet. But the next time I had brunch with Cammie we did kind of broach the subject.
“I warned you about her,” Cammie said, eying her cell phone and only giving my love life half her attention, as usual. Cammie and I were usually the most attractive people in the restaurant. Blond, tall and fit…the only difference is, I carried myself modestly and she sort of strutted around like she was the hottest woman in the world.
“Karen is a little anal retentive. Worst of all, she’s extremely controlling. Who is she to say who you can and can’t talk to? I mean, that’s like saying, ‘I don’t like your mom…stop talking to her! What man would put up with that bullshit?”
“Well… she figures I should be giving her all the attention. So she is a little threatened by you.”
“She’s not a child,” Cammie said bitterly. “She’s a grown-up woman! She doesn’t need constant validation. If you ask me, she needs to back off and let a man do as he pleases.”
“Yeah. I know. I just like her…” I smiled wide, just thinking about how pretty Karen looked the first day I met her, all dressed up in her flight attendant outfit and giving me those flirty eyes. She really is a hard girl to criticize. But maybe that’s why the good lord gave us sisters—so they can remind a man of how foolish he’s acting with women.
But I keep thinking I should feel something a lot stronger with Karen and obviously I don’t. Of course, Karen tried to make it sound like Cammie was the problem.
True, Cammie depends on me a lot for emotional support. When dad died, I became the man of the house…well, I should clarify we don’t all still live together. That would be Brady Bunch creepy!
But family bonds are unbreakable. And that’s the way it always should be.
Cammie didn’t like Karen that much because she was controlling. I liked her…but realized quickly that we didn’t have a lot in common. It wasn’t anything serious anyway.
Now I admit…I am not so foolish as to think Cammie is any kind of an expert in matters of love. She isn’t the commitment type. And one time Stephanie, my younger and less blond sister, did actually make me think about it…
“I’m just saying, Connor, don’t take Cammie’s advice too literally.”
“Oh I don’t. I know she’s a bit full of herself.”
“To say the least!” Stephanie said, showing her sibling jealousy as usual. “I love her too, Conn, she’s my sister too. But you got to admit Cammie is a bit of a nihilist.”
“Nihilist? That’s a five dollar word. You mean like Nietzsche?”
“Nietzsche wasn’t a nihilist. Nietzsche was a…”
“An evangelical? An anarchist?”
“I was going to say a virgin. And most virgins just say a bunch of fucked up shit that makes no sense because, well…”
“Ahhh, I hear you.”
“Hell, I don’t blame them! I went through a dry spell for like two years and I went stark raving mad! I was joining Internet forums, writing love poetry… I went through a retro Barbie-buying phase. You know I even joined my local church and helped with the bingo games?”
“All because you were celibate?”
“YES, celibacy causes irreparable brain damage.”
I laughed. “Well, I can’t argue that. I haven’t been celibate for that long so I wouldn’t know. But I am a smart guy and maybe I can attribute that to my swinging sex life.”
“Oh bullshit,” Stephanie said with a hand toss. “Just because you have sex doesn’t make you any smarter either. Believe me, if you got intellect points every time you bonked a loser, Cammie would be the Dalai Lama by now.”
“True.”
“All I’m saying big bro…is don’t let Cammie’s problem shape your outlook on life. She’s jaded.”
“Oh I know,” I said with a nod. “And she won’t. I know deep down what it is I’m looking for.”
“Oh and what is that?”
“The perfect woman. Mom and dad taught me never to settle for anyone less than I deserve. To settle for someone less…is to give up hope.”
Stephanie stared at me in suspicion.
Maybe I am idealistic. Or maybe I’m cold. I don’t know. But one thing no one can accuse me of…is failing to live my life to its fullest. Maybe I’m happy because I refuse to settle and give up the search.