Free Playing Tyler by T L Costa Page B

the plane open and the real, full tremble of the steering wheel in your hand, the hum becoming a roar as you barrel down the runway, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you lift into the air, the wind nipping at your hair and the smell of fuel, this is nothing like the sim. Nothing at all. This is real. This is a thing of glory.
    Rick looks like a kid. I mean, not a real kid, but he gets this loopy grin when he flies. Always. Like a pervert at a porn convention. This is why we get along, Rick and I, because there is nothing either of us would rather do than this. Than fly.
    The fields stretch out wide beneath us, and the rhythm of the engine buzzes up along my spine, like I can feel it in my soul.
    Rick gets all nostalgic when he’s airborne. “If you think flying these things is cool, Tyler, wait till you get to fly a Warthog, man. Those things just go, dropping cluster bombs everywhere. When you see the surface of the earth rise up in a cloud of dust behind you, man, it’s just the best.” Rick smiles. “You know what the peaks of the Hindu Kush look like in the morning sun? Mountains set on fire by the sun as you fly over, it’s just amazing. You’ll see.”
    â€œI hope so,” I say. Rick has this thing for speed. The A-10s he used to fly have a lot more power than this old thing does, I’m sure.
    â€œIt will be, you just have to visualize it, hold it tight in your mind, and you’ll get there.” Rick swallows. “The ex-wife, she had no concept of what could be, no vision. You believe it and you’ll find a way to make it happen.” It took a year or so before he even mentioned his ex-wife. He had a son, too. Ex-wife took the son to some party while Rick was gone. His son fell into the pool and drowned. Three years old. He had to fly back from wherever he was stationed to go to the funeral. When he got home from his deployment for good, she was gone. Took everything from him. I know it still hurts him every time he thinks of his son, of her. Just like it hurts every time I think about Dad. About Brandon.
    I press my lips tight.
    â€œHere, keep her steady.” Rick lets go of the wheel, and I check the stats, hold her up, hold her even, feeling like my arms are just another piece of machinery.
    â€œIs the flight pattern registered?” I ask.
    â€œThis is so easy for you, isn’t it?”
    â€œWhat?” I ask, eyes on the gas gauge, the elevation, the azimuth, the window, the ground below.
    â€œYou know, when they asked me to be a mentor, they tried to steer me away from you. They told me that you lost your father, your brother was going off to college, and that you had ADHD so bad that it would probably keep you from going anywhere,” he says, all matter of fact. “Told me I should pick somebody else.”
    â€œThey said that?” Azimuth good. Turbulence, though. I bring her up a little. Kinda pissed that the Civil Air Patrol people would say that about me.
    â€œYup.” He smiles, leaning back in his chair. He reaches into the cooler and grabs a beer. I’ve never seen Rick drink when he flies. “But look at you, Tyler. No medication, look how easy it is for you to do this, to control everything at once, to focus on everything, everything around you with precision, to execute good decisions even when you are focused on five other things.”
    The turbulence eases up. New altitude steady. “Yeah, well, tell that to my Social Studies teacher.” Former Social Studies teacher. Have to remember that. Have to sign up for that GED.
    â€œNo. See, that’s their problem, Tyler. They’re teaching to the past. Trying to force kids to conform to a system that’s already dead. You’re at an advantage. It’s the human body taking the next step, changing to meet the needs of the future.” He takes a sip of beer.
    I hold the plane, pressure from its resistance firm beneath my fingers.