whiteout » top gun

one

"is this really necessary?"

He'll need you.

"i'm not sure i'll be of help."

my father leans back into his office chair, which releases a slight squeal of agony, and offers a gentle tilt of his lips. these days, even a simple motion like that was something i tried desperately to engrave in my memory.

it was hard to describe the slurry of emotions i was trying to keep from surfacing on my face. i was never very good at lying to him and that held true now because his smile grew a bit wider. when i was a child, my father would sit me down in the kitchen and ask me if i snuck my broccoli under the table to the family dog, to which i would do my best to look right at his eyebrows and reply that i, myself, had eaten the foul greens. he would squat down so that he was eye-level with me, take hold of my grubby starfish hands into his large, warm ones, and smile, "i won't tell mom this time, but next time you have to eat them, alright?". be it broccoli or boyfriends, hiding things from my father has always been an exercise in futility.

he turns back to the keyboard. tap, tap, tap.

For me, Ju.

i stare at the text on the monitor in front of me, frowning, for a second longer before i'm jolted back to reality by my father's bout of coughs. i reach for the tissue box on his desk, offering it out to him. he gingerly pulls out a piece as best he can between the coughs that wrack his entire frame. i bite down on the inside of my cheek. how could i say no? i owe too much to my father.

i must've been blanking out because he reaches for my hands, taking a hold of them into his. i glance down. he's still warm. frailer, now, but still warm.

"as a favor to you," i echo, "but if uncle mav does something stupid i -"

"that's my girl," he croaks out, voice crackling like the crunch of snow.

"i'll do my best."

my heart breaks a little as i try to feign enthusiasm. truth is, he probably knows i'm lying, but he just continues to smile at me.

i leave the room a while later in search of a second opinion. i find my mother out in the garden, sitting on the patio. she has her back turned to me, reading something and doing her best to enjoy the sunlight. there's a cup of coffee that looks untouched on the table and a half-eaten sandwich on a plate. i clear my throat so as not to startle her, and she cranes her neck to greet me.

"julie! did your dad talk to you, sweetheart?"

"would i be here if he didn't?" i sigh, trotting down the steps to where she was and pulling out the spare chair next to her.

"you'll go, right?" she hums, peering at me from over the top of her sunglasses perching on her nose.

i squint. "not sure dad's given me a choice. i know i haven't seen uncle mav in a while, but i'm not sure that warrants a 3-week visit. besides, you know i don't... i don't fly anymore. not sure i'll be much use to the navy."

she studies me for a while and i instantly regret coming out here. my father was always good cop. my mother, good old sarah kazansky, had a way of turning your blood to ice with her eyes. she wasn't unkind or anything. she was just... my mother. i had always been my father's favorite, and she had always stepped in when his backbone turned to jelly. "well," she shuffles in her a seat a little, "your dad's asked you to go for a reason. have some faith in him."

i squint harder. "did he pay you to say this?"

she sets her book down and stares at me, all serious, and says, "i'd tell you, but then i'd have to kill you."

she laughs at her own joke, and i snort. eventually, her amusement trickles out of her face and a solemn look falls over her features. it's only then do i realise how much older she looks now. i don't recall these lines that have found their home around her eyes, her forehead, her mouth. it's the stress. my mother's always been worried, to one degree or another. when my father was still flying, she was worried. when he stopped and fell ill, she grew more worried.

she closes the book and places it on the table between us. she removes her sunglasses and puts that atop the book in a neat stack before she looks directly at me with those unblinking grey eyes. "things aren't getting better, julie. i know you have your reservations about flying, but he's not asking you to get into a plane again. just to oversee the operation as his eyes and ears and watch out for your uncle mav. do it for his sake, honey. if anything, it'll make him happy."

she leans back in her chair again and her chest falls and rises as she heaves a sigh, "god, do we need that now."

we sit in silence for a bit. my mother's eyes are closed, as if asleep, but i'm well aware that she's awake. i arrive at the conclusion that mulling was only going to make myself miserable, so i join her in reclining into the patio chair.

"juliette... you'll go, won't you?"

the sky's bright blue today. not a cloud in sight. the sun was beaming brilliantly. on days like this, my father used to hoist me up onto his shoulders and run around the garden of our old home in circles, mimicking the roar of fighter jet engines. "arms out, ju!" and i'd stretch my little arms out as far as they would go, giggling as we flew by the rose bushes. he always kept a firm grip on my legs, betraying his concern for my safety despite his grin. "more speed!" i'd shriek with laughter as he picked up his pace. "enemy spotted! whiteout and iceman going in for the kill!" and he'd lift me off his shoulder before boosting me up into the air and letting go. i remember the feeling of the warm summer air enveloping me, time slowing as i stared out at the view. past the fence, past the neighbour's garden, the boundless skyline winking at me invitingly. and i started plummeting. falling, but not afraid, and tumbling into my father's strong arms. he dipped me down to the ground, followed by a slew of,"pew, pew, pew!" before plopping me back down on the ground. "aaaand another victory for the navy!"

those days feel like they're part of another lifetime. and i've long outgrown my father's shoulders. sigh.

my mother's eyes are still closed, but i try and make eye contact anyways.

"yes, ma'am," i reply, "can't defy admiral kazansky's orders, can i?"