Free On Wings Of The Morning by Marie Bostwick

“Couldn’t sleep?”
    I shook my leg to try to get the circulation going and smiled. There was no point in trying to play it cool. “Not a wink,” I admitted. “I’ve been sitting here three solid hours.”
    Wicker threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Well, I don’t blame you. It’s a big day. You’re not nervous, are you?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œGood! You’ve no reason to be. You’re about the best natural pilot I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching, and that’s a fact. It’s an instinct with you.”
    â€œThank you, sir. I appreciate that. But I think I’ve been pretty lucky to have you as my instructor. You’ve taught me a lot.”
    â€œWell,” Mr. Wicker said, casting his eyes up to check the weather as he fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the flight-school door, “if you’re ready, I can’t see any reason you can’t take off a little early. Make sure you stretch out good before you go, though. You don’t want your legs cramping on you.”
    â€œYes, sir!”
    â€œAnd Morgan?”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œYou enjoy yourself up there.” I didn’t answer him. I didn’t have to. We both knew there was no possibility of me doing anything else.
    My heart was beating fast as I approached my plane all alone, my body buzzing with adrenaline and anticipation, but my mind was absolutely clear. I went through my preflight check carefully and deliberately, exactly as I’d been taught, but it was almost a surprise to realize I wasn’t the least bit afraid, just utterly focused, and that gave me a sense of control I’d never experienced before. I was confident, and unconcerned for my safety because I was aware that it lay so completely in my own hands. I felt powerful.
    I reached high to grip the prop and felt the muscles swell and strain in the heavy sleeves of my flight jacket as I gave the propeller one mighty wrench and the engine caught hold on the first try. She roared to life, and the whole plane pulsed and quivered, impatient to be on her way. I scrambled into the cockpit and settled myself inside, looking over my instrument panel one last time.
    Mr. Wicker had been in the office all this time, though I doubted he had any pressing business inside. I think he wanted to give me the privacy I needed to savor the moment. But when the engine started up he’d stepped outside to watch, and he raised his hand over his head in salute as we taxied past, the Jenny and me—heading to the airstrip, making a slow right turn to the takeoff point, waiting for the all-clear signal from Jerry, who ran the tower, then picking up speed, following the ribbon of runway that led to the point of no return, pulling back the stick to lift the nose. We lifted off as smoothly and easily as if the Jenny were my own body responding to a sudden, careless idea that it might be nice to head skyward. The Jenny and I were two parts of one being, our desires and actions a perfectly integrated whole, because flying was our whole reason for being.
    We cut a path through the wind. And the sound of air splitting across my face and moving past my ears was like the roar of ocean surf, constant and powerful, a force to be met and conquered. I spied a series of clouds off to my left and banked left to bring myself closer. I thought, I could punch a hole through those clouds if I wanted to, and then, just to prove it, I did. I pulled the stick back even more, rising steadily, putting even more distance between the earth and myself. The old feeling was there again. I felt limitless, exuberant, and peaceful all at the same time, completely comfortable in my own skin in a way that it’s impossible to feel with two feet on the ground.
    I was living the moment and living the memory all at once. I thought, This is what it means to be truly alive.
    I felt invincible. And when the fuel gauge was hovering