Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to: use these five words: facts, solved, attention, airplane, bubbles.
Today’s contribution comes from RC Bonitz, author of A BLANKET FOR HER HEART.
The facts are simple. A bird flew right into my airplane windshield, shattered the darn thing, and spattered bubbles of his blood all over the place. Including the cockpit, me, and my rented tuxedo.
Bad enough he almost made me crash, but I’m on my way to a wedding and I’m running late. And it’s my wife’s cousin’s wedding, Sissy, who tells me off every time I see her. And my wife takes her side too. Oh crap.
Wind is whistling through the broken glass, spewing blood and feathers in my face. It takes my full attention just to keep this thing in the air- have to get ground under the wheels right quick. There’s an airport off to my left, small, with no control tower and a grass strip. I put down there and taxi to a stop near the one old rusty lonesome hangar. The place looks deserted.
I must look like I’ve been in a fight. Can’t go to the wedding like this. And how can I get there from here? Damn.
An engine roars behind me, out on the runway. Somebody doing touch and go landings. Got an idea, grab my radio as he takes off again.
“Cessna doing touch and goes at Shiloh strip. Come in please.”
“This is the Cessna. Are you the guy that just landed?” a sultry female voice says.
“That’s me. I have an emergency. Can you give me a ride to Portland?”
“If you buy the gas. Over.”
“Be glad to. Over.”
Wonderful, problem solved. Well, almost. My benefactor circles, lands and taxi’s over to where I am now standing beside my plane. She cuts the engine and pops out of the cockpit, grinning from ear to ear. Red hair and freckles, with a big smile, I’d guess she’s about twenty-five. The smile becomes a frown when she gets a look at me.
“Geez, did you have a fight with a vampire?” Then she spots the goose or duck or whatever it is sticking out of my windscreen. “Wow, you’re lucky you got down all right.”
“Sam Winters,” I say, offering my hand.” I’m on my way to a wedding.”
She gives me a firm handshake. “You can’t go to a wedding looking like that. I’m Aileen Boyle.”
“I have to. I’m going to be late.”
Aileen jerks her head, wanting me to follow as she heads off to the hangar. “There’s a men’s store about three miles from here. You can buy some new clothes. Wash up inside first though.”
It seems I’m in the hands of a bossy woman. If I want that ride to Portland, I guess I’m buying new clothes.
Which is exactly what happens. I wash up, buy new duds in a store she takes me too, change in the dressing room, and off we go, back to the airport where we take off in her Cessna. Twenty minutes later, engine roaring, we’re over Portland and she cuts back and descends.
“Where’s your car?” she asks as we taxi toward the parking lot.
“The silver SUV by the gate. How much do I owe you?”
“Make it twenty for the gas.”
She cuts the engine and we climb out. I take three twenties from my wallet.
“That’s too much,” she says quickly.
“You have to fly back and besides, you’re a life saver.”
She accepts the money and wraps her arms around me in a big hug. Man, she smells good.
“Good luck,” she says and climbs back into the plane.
Fifteen minutes later I’m parking at the church as the bride and groom go dashing through a shower of rice and confetti. My wife spots me and strides across the yard to meet me, a frown creasing her brow.
“Where have you been? Where’s your tux?”
I tell her the story, every bit of it. Except one tiny little detail at the end. She’s very sympathetic and concerned. Until she leans over to kiss me. She stops, sniffs, sniffs again, scowls. “You smell like perfume. What did you do with that woman?”
The Spot Writers- our members.
Catherine A. MacKenzie