“That’s what’s up. You lucky as hell getting a vacation this time of year. I can’t wait to reach that point in my seniority where I’m not flying Santa’s whole damn route.”
I smirked. “Flying? Technically, you ain’t flying. Nigga, you’re the co-pilot, which means, you’re really just sitting there holding Santa’s clipboard,” I joked.
“And I’m still logging the hours! Fuck you mean?!” he shot back as if I offended his job title.
I shook my head, still grinning. “Facts.”
“But you going with somebody up there?”
I kept my face neutral. “Something like that.”
Some men wear their hearts on their sleeves; mine was zipped inside a black flight jacket where nobody could see the damage.
Ryan lifted an eyebrow but didn’t push it. “Well, I hope ‘something like that’ don’t turn into ‘what the hell was I thinking’ before New Year’s.”
I gave him a look. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
He grinned and backed toward the door. “Well, be careful, man.”
I frowned slightly. “Nigga, cold air don’t scare me… nor do bears, bobcats, wolves, or whatever else y’all city folks think is out there plotting on somebody. My pops raised me up in terrain most people couldn’t survive two days in. That nigga had me outside fixing generators in the snow and hiking before sun-up just to check traps. Rain, sleet, or damn near frostbite—you name it, I’ve been through it. I’m built for that life.”
And that wasn’t just talk; those were facts.
I was a man who knew how to survive mentally, physically, and emotionally. Life had tried to break me more than once and failed every time. I’d slept under tarps during ice storms with nothing but a hatchet and willpower, skinned my own food at fifteen, dug a car out of a snowbank with my bare hands after a whiteout nearly left me stranded overnight, and fixed busted pipes with duct tape and prayer in cabins that had no business still standing. Hell, I’d even flown across time zones with a broken rib and a broken heart… because that’s what it meant to show up when the world expected you to. If survival had a face, it looked a lot like mine.
Ryan chuckled. “It’s not so much the weather or animals that I was referring to; it’s the company you plan on taking. Cabin trips tend to bring out the truth in people; either you grow closer, or you can’t wait to get away from each other by day two. Ain’t no distractions in the woods; just silence and somebody’s real personality.”
I zipped my jacket and shook my head. “I’ll take my chances.”
He tapped the top of the cockpit doorway. “Aight, man. Happy holidays. I hope you find whatever peace you looking for up there.”
I nodded at him. “Merry Christmas to you, too, man. Stay safe… and try to breathe between flights. You been on go all month.”
Ryan snorted. “Shid, I wish I could breathe. I’m back in the air in forty minutes.”
That’s pilot life for you. Everybody think we be out here living glamorous. They don’t see the real shit; the back-to-back legs, the layovers so short you barely got time to piss, and the turnaround flights that hit before your brain even resets. Half the time, I feel like I blink and I’m already back in the damn sky.
“Better you than me, co-pilot,” I commented with a smirk.
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed, pointing two fingers my way before heading down the jet bridge. “Enjoy yo’ vacation,Captain. I’ll catch you after the storm.”
After Ryan left, I sat there a bit longer, staring at the snow building along the edge of the runway, stacking up like the years me and my ex-fiancée, Chesteria had spent apart.
Two years didn’t feel like enough time to forget anything.
My eyes drifted toward the sonogram of our daughter—my angel—tucked on the dashboard. I kept it there on every flight, every drive, and every time I needed to remember that I once had something pure.
I ran my thumb across the tiny outline, and my chest tightened like it always did.
She wasn’t planned; hell, the timing made no sense. But once the shock settled, me and Chesteria leaned into and dealt with it. We even began rearranging our schedules and future. We were scared, but ready—or so I thought. The company had offered me a chance to slow down when Chesteria neared the end of her pregnancy. It consisted of a lighter schedule, more time at home… more time with her. But everything seemed normal. Chesteria had no complications or warning signs… she wasn’t even complaining. And since I didn’t want to seem overprotective or paranoid, I told myself I’d finish out the rest of my flying cycle, get through a few more flights, and then I’d take my time off, settle in, and be present the way she deserved.
Ithought we had time.
But sometimes you don’t feel the cost of ‘later’ until you realize it robbed you of now.
Chesteria went into labor a month early. While I was thousands of feet in the air, she needed me, and I wasn’t there.By the time my feet touched the ground, everything had already unraveled.
The moment was gone, the cries I was supposed to hear never came, and the world just kept moving like mine didn’t fall apart midair.
