whiteout » top gun

three

my favorite thing to do as a child was to visit my father at work. my mother would pack my two brothers and i into the backseat of our car and drive us to the naval air station. my brothers were both younger than me and, subsequently, demanded more fussing. whilst my mother's back was turned to tend to their kicking and crying, i would seize the golden opportunity to slide out of the car and run off into the depths of the base. i would weave and duck between pilots and technicians, imagining myself in the f-14 tomcat my father was so often featured in photographs with. i always somehow managed to spot his familiar silhouette, locking onto my target and hurling myself at his legs with a shrill shriek.

"i've been hit!" he'd feign shock and fall to his knees before my laughter revived him. he would pull me in for a bear-hug and hoist me up onto his shoulders. even then, i knew the view was always better closer to the sky. i'd wave 'hello' to his colleagues, beaming at them from my almighty 6-foot-tall throne. eventually, my mother would find us in a state of panic. my youngest brother, rick, would be balanced on her hip, some appendage or another in his mouth. the older one, ron, would be grasping onto my mother's hand, eyes still watery and nose still snotty.

"juliette, don't you dare run off like that again."

"it's alright, sarah. she's got the navigational awareness of a pilot."

oftentimes, he'd take me out to the hangar, which, looking back on it now, was probably breaking a rule or two. he'd also lift me up to get a better look at the wings and peek into the cockpit, which was probably also breaking a few rules. after the tour we would return to my mother, my father gently tugging me along. i'd stumble over my feet, not at all watching where i was going because my head was twisted around to look over my shoulder. the dying light cast a halo around the metal beast, catching in the acrylic canopy like stained glass. it was silent in its splendor and was not at all unlike a sleeping animal having returned from a successful hunt. i could picture it rumbling to life, stretching its claws with a low, metallic growl. the silhouette of the f-14, backlit by the bleeding afternoon sun, stayed with me through my childhood.

i'm probably looking out at the hangar a bit too wistfully because bradley shoulders me as he walks past me.

"you good?"

i blink at him. his eyebrows are raised with worry but his mouth is spread in a grin.

"fine, brad. go get in your aircraft."

"want to walk with me?"

i accept his offer silently and match his pace as we make our way to his jet. the sun is out today and part of me thinks that jake's earlier comment about my outfit might have been well-founded because its starting to stick to my skin. we walk in comfortable silence and stop by his assigned aircraft. i block the sun as best i can with my hand and squint at bradley, who sets his helmet down on the ground to stretch out his arms and shoulders.

"you don't miss it at all?"

i can hardly hear him over the mechanical whirring in the air, and i try to look nonchalant. "i think i made a good choice."

"doesn't answer the question."

i don't respond and just watch as the plane captain approaches bradley. they greet each other with a quick nod and exchange a few words about the radar that was a little faulty during the last run, but it's obvious bradley's still waiting for a proper answer from the way he keeps glancing at me.

the plane captain leaves after a while, and i notice most other pilots have already boarded their jets. but bradley, having picked up his helmet again, looks like he has all the time in the world. i decide to cut my losses.