whiteout » top gun

five

i want to think that i have a pretty good grasp over my emotions. i used to assume it was something that came naturally with time; however, that turned out to be wishful thinking. it wasn't that simple because control is a learned skill. i thought i could control my fear after the events of that day, but, as it turns out, i was sorely mistaken. truth was, i was beyond terrified. it wasn't so much the idea of burning in that scared me — as i'm sure most aviators have accepted the reality that there was always a risk — more so the realization that i would have killed bradley as well.

i don't think i've stopped apologizing to him since. he wasn't nearly as horrified at what had happened. maybe it was because he flew more and had gotten into equally as life-threatening situations before. i don't know. he tells me it's fine and rolls his eyes.

"you think this is the first time you've tried to kill me, kazansky? need i remind you i taught you how to drive?"

i didn't find this as funny as he did.

my talk with jake only seemed to further prove how little control i truly had over my feelings. he's gone back to making fun of me, flirting and taunting the way he does. he's stopped mentioning my father, though, when he does. i avoid him as much as i can because whenever he gets too close, i feel my heart rate spike. it's childish and inconvenient and i'm trying my best to ignore that feeling until it goes away for good. i'm also not sure that his talk achieved his intended goals. truth was, i still feel nervous and suffer from imposter syndrome every waking hour.

on the bright side, the training has been going well. for the past two weeks, my job has been pretty rinse and repeat. i show up, make sure maverick hasn't done anything stupid, write a couple notes, fill in some papers, observe the dog fights, listen to the debriefs, have dinner with bradley and go home. i've stopped pitching in with ideas for defensive manoeuvres. i don't trust myself to advise any one of these pilots.

i suspect bradley or maverick must've told my father about what happened because he's asked to see me once a day nearly every day of this week.

How are you?

"fine. really. the training's going well. they're definitely improving and i think they're in good shape."

he frowns. he deletes the 'you' and types it again in all caps.

How are YOU?

"fine."

he stares at me.

"i assume it was maverick who told you?"

Doesn't matter. Are you okay?

i pause for a bit and my father reclines back in his chair like he knows we'll be here for a while. i look at him, a little sheepish. when i don't say anything, he inches forward to type again.

Tell me about the engine failure.

"i... it was my fault. i hadn't checked the jet before we set off. the plane captain had mentioned something about the engine, but i wasn't paying attention. i pulled a stall turn and i think it must've overworked the engines. both caught fire. lieutenant seresin helped me restart the engines and we took the plane down as soon as we could."

Were you hurt?

"no, dad, i'm okay. really. don't worry about me."

I'll always worry about you. You're my daughter.

i don't know why but this made me choke up. he's studying me intently, smiling to himself. i think sometimes he still sees me as a younger version of myself. the version of me that needed him to double-check the closet for any monsters. i get the feeling he feels a little helpless because now the monsters aren't in the closets but have burrowed themselves deep inside my consciousness, and he didn't know how to even begin helping me.