I sip my warm dark-roast coffee and stare out the window at her apartment complex through the dim light of streetlamps, like I’m Gatsby stalking Daisy. Oddly, I’m the opposite.
I’m trying toavoidattracting her. Or am I trying to avoid my attraction to her? Perhaps it’s one and the same. But it’s got me so messed up that I’m looking for a good excuse to skip church.
In pilot training, we learned that our manual is written in blood. Little things like waiting until after pushback to adjust the wing flaps might seem silly, and we could probably get away with doing it wrong most of the time without consequences, but the procedure is written specifically that way for a reason. One time a pilot adjusted the flaps when a ramper had his hand on the plane, and it severed the tips of the man’s fingers. Thatfirst pilot was considered blameless, but now that his story has been told, the rest of us are without excuse.
In becoming pilots, we agree to following every single procedure in the manual to prevent such tragedies. And that’s how I view the Bible. It’s written in the blood of those who served God before us.
If there is no God, no Creator who defines right and wrong in His user manual, then it would be okay to try to save Claire from her loser boyfriend. Even if it hurt to be the loser boyfriend in my past relationship. Because without a reference for how to live wisely, the purpose of life would easily become survival of the fittest.
But in the same way I chose to be a pilot, I’ve chosen to believe there’s a God who loved us so much that He gave His life for us and called us to do the same for others. Which is the foundation for Vincent’s advice about how truly loving someone means you’re more afraid of harming them than losing them. It’s self-sacrifice for the good of the whole.
Both our company manual and the Bible offer extensive training, but they can’t cover every possible situation. For some things we have to seek further instruction. Which is something I’ve been avoiding lately. Probably because I don’t want to make any more sacrifices.
But what more do I have to lose? I might as well ask. “What do you want me to do, God?”
My dog barks in the silence. Poor guy hasn’t been on a good run since Claire took him to the harbor.
I shake my head at another thought of Claire. I can’t wait around any longer for God to give direction. I’ve got to get out of here. I stride to the kitchen island, set down my mug, and pull up the company website.
At the top of the list in Open Time, a local trip is highlighted in red. It’s paying triple for a turn to Minneapolis. I tap to pick it up without even checking the details.
A little something inside me squirms, and I feel like Jonah running away from my problems.
But I’m sticking to my story. “This is for You, God. All the moneyI make today is going to Pastor Liam and the houses he’s building for charity.”
There. That’s even better than attending church, right?
Wrong. Everything goes wrong.
The passengers board the plane, and my captain makes his welcome announcement, sounding more like a surfer than a pilot. Then we get a call that Minneapolis has a ground stop due to weather. We let everyone off.
They finally lift the ground stop, we board a second time, taxi to the runway, and they issue another ground stop. If we’d literally boarded one minute faster, we would have been in the air and on our way. Instead we return to the gate.
I can just imagine the passengers threatening to mutiny. This is when I’m glad to be a pilot in the cockpit rather than a flight attendant dealing with all the misplaced ire. And I’m especially thankful not to be a gate agent, who has to rebook connections, or to be the ground crew, who have to retrieve the correct luggage for anyone who decides to get off the flight. Most of them stay on, and we all sit there for another hour.
Our young flight attendant with wide, scared eyes sticks her head inside the flight deck. “A bunch of passengers are on their way home from a fishing trip in Alaska, and they’re concerned they’re going to lose thousands of dollars’ worth of fish if we’re delayed much longer.”
Speaking of fish, I’m feeling even more like Jonah in the storm. They should probably draw straws and toss me overboard.
“I’ll call operations,” the captain offers.
The church service I’d wanted to skip has ended by now. If I hadn’t picked up this trip, I could be eating barbecue, watching football, and hanging crown molding all at once. My stomach growls, reminding me that I didn’t even pack food. But I’m stuck here. Maybe I can beg a can of Pringles from the flight attendants.
Cap hangs up. “It’s go-time.”
Finally. We make it off the ground, but by the time we land in Minneapolis, there are so many planes arriving that there aren’t enough gates.It takes another hour to deplane. They board us for our return leg immediately, since these passengers have been waiting for hours, but then we’re stuck waiting again since the ground crew are too busy marshaling in other planes to load baggage below wing.
At least this gives me a chance to run inside the terminal and buy meals for the whole crew. Our burgers are filling but not as satisfying as they would have been with Walla Walla sweet onions.
“Thanks, bruh.” The captain licks his fingers as we wait in yet another line for de-icing.
He’s probably five years younger than I am. If I hadn’t delayed my training to stay in Leavenworth with Joey, I’d be in his seat.
Once again I’m absent the usual stab of regret slicing through my chest. If I were in the captain’s seat right now, I would never have been able to pick up the trip with Vincent and gotten to work with Claire. I’m thankful for the time we shared together, despite the way I’m currently avoiding her.
The memories with her are my favorite from the year. Her dancing into the elevator in San Luis Obispo. The ridiculous glasses she made me wear in San Antonio. The way she leapt at the top of the Manitou Incline. A smile plays on my lips.
Cap stuffs his garbage in the trash bag hanging from my armrest. “Once I tried to heat up my soup in the coffeepot. I forgot about it, and the flight attendant served it to a first-class passenger in a mug.”
