Marshall Ramsey

This is a sequel to the short story, Up in the Delta Sky

He and “Angie” danced beneath the Mississippi sun.  It was a delicate performance — he led as she gracefully followed.  Together they made fluid motions across Delta sky.  “Angie” was his yellow Air Tractor 301 crop-duster named for his deceased wife.  He was a retired Vietnam fighter pilot.  As the plane clawed for altitude, he closed his eyes and imagined their wedding dance oh so many years ago.

Cancer tragically stole the real Angie from him.  Now he and his plane soared daily into the heavens so he could get closer to her.  Another pass, another field sprayed.  And now today’s therapy session was completed.

After scanning his gauges, he looked down at his Rolex GMT.  The sinking sun didn’t lie. It was  5 p.m. and quitting time.  The pilot kicked the rudder and pushed the stick to the left.  He buzzed the Mississippi River, wagged his wings at a northbound barge and then headed back to the east.  His airstrip was south of Indianola, home of the wonderful B.B. King Museum.

Springtime had kissed the surrounding landscape.  The once-brown fields were now erupting into a sea of green.  One of the joys of being an agricultural aviator was that he got to see the land up close and personal.  Just like when he flew his A-1 Skyraider protecting downed Air Force pilots and Naval Aviators over the jungles of Vietnam (and earning him the Air Force Cross for saving two of those men valiantly in 1968. )

1968.  That was the year his son was born on the other side of the world. The next year, his baby boy was learning to walk while he was busy dropping napalm.  When he finally left the military, he slipped into the cockpit of a Delta DC-9.  Angie raised the boy on her own while he was flying around the U.S.  By the time she got sick and he came home, the boy was a rebellious teenager.  The two men stood on the either side of her casket — but might as well have been a world apart. (Just like 1968 all over again.)  Now all they had in common was one woman. And she had been gone for nearly 20 years.

He looked down at Angie’s photo taped above the instruments.  Never had he seen a girl so beautiful. She was there with him — and he’d fight anyone who’d deny it. Off in the distance was his landing strip; he started going through the landing cycle.  Flaps. Engine.  He checked the windsock and lined up with the runway.  Off the the south of the strip was a cloud of billowing dust.  A truck was racing toward the field nearly as fast as he was.  He knew the truck.  His stomach sank faster than the plane.

The truck met the plane as it rolled to a stop. A younger version of himself jumped out of the cab and ran toward the plane.  The pilot threw open the cockpit flap and yelled, “What the hell do YOU want?”

“She’s missing, Dad.  She’s gone.  She wandered out and is missing.  The sun’s going down and we can’t find her.  I know we don’t exactly like each other — but this is bigger than us.  This is about her. This is about your granddaughter.  This is about little Angie.”

The pilot felt his eyes uncontrollably water.  “What can I do?”

“Dad, I need your eyes. You have pilot eyes.  I need you to take “Angie” up and find our girl. I need mom’s help, too.  We’re racing the sun. We’re running out of time!”

The pilot waved at the overweight man in the trailer.  “Fuel her up. I’m going up again. I’m searching for a miracle.”

The pilot tossed his son a radio.  “Listen, boy.  I’ll buzz the farm until I find her.”

Both men stared at each other silently.  Twenty years of anger melted under the pressure of finding their lost little girl.

The Pratt & Whitney radial engine roared back to life. He whipped the tail of the plane around and pushed the throttle forward.  Dust peppered the son as the yellow plane clawed against gravity and lept into the sky.  It followed the main highway to the place that the pilot knew all so well.

“I need you, Angie, more than I’ve ever needed you before.  Our little boy needs you.  Be with me. Help me find her, Angie.  Please.”

The pilot raced the setting sun and the clock.

The sheriff looked up at the crop-duster orbiting the farm. He’d lived in the Delta for 60 years and never had seen a plane that close to the ground.  East to west. West to east. The pilot pushed “Angie” like he’d never pushed it before.  He hadn’t flown like this since 1968.

“Dad, try down by the canal.” The pilot yanked back on the stick and climbed over the rapidly approaching tree-line.  “Roger.”

“C’mon Angie.  We got to find her now.” The sun was starting to dip down the horizon.  Shadows loomed across the fields like monsters.

And then he saw her. She was near the waterline and was cowering in fear. “Found her! Get down by the canal and HURRY!!”

“We found her Angie.  We found her.”  The pilot said a prayer and flew back over his son and daughter-in-law’s  house. He wagged “Angie’s” wings before heading back to the airstrip.

The sun set as the plane’s prop stopped spinning.  The worn-out pilot threw open the cockpit and slowly climbed out. He really felt his age. Then he jumped off the wing and onto the ground as a truck’s headlights met him.  Blinded by the its headlights, he put his hands up to his eyes, trying to see who it was.

Before he could see, a little girl tackled him and nearly knocked him over.  “Thank you, Grandpa!”  Coming out of the headlights was his son. “Nice work, Dad. Best flying yet.  And I think you earned  this.”  His son handed him a medal.  It was his Air Force Cross. “I found this in Mom’s stuff when she died.”

The pilot clung to his granddaughter named after the only woman he loved.  He looked into the little girl’s eyes and for a brief moment, he saw his wife’s soul. Never had he seen a girl so beautiful.  And at moment, the pilot fell in love for a second time. He pinned the medal on his little Angie and said, “For bravery in the face of danger.”

Miracles do happen, even to old pilots. All beneath the Delta Sky.

Five years.  That’s how long it took to get to the foot of the four steps leading to the arena’s stage.  It would take another 45 seconds to walk the next 20 yards.  And then she’d have it in her hand. Her college diploma. The piece of paper that represented all the hard work she had poured into her dream.  A dream that no one else in her family had ever dreamt. She took a breath and felt the butterflies flutter around her stomach like vultures.  Why was she nervous? No one in the stadium had earned this honor more than her.  She paused and thought about the words the commencement speaker had said.

The world is empty without dreams.

What he failed to say was that sometimes it is hard to lasso those dreams.  To get them down on paper. And then to break them into manageable steps.  Oh, don’t forget having the actual courage to pursue them.  How many of her friends lived in their little comfortable worlds, not wanting to better themselves?  They wanted to be entertained.  Amused.  Complaining about your situation was much easier than doing something about it.

That last sentence was her five years ago.  Single mother.  No child-support.  Dead-end job. “Would  you like fries with that?”  She corrected herself. Every job is noble if you work hard at it.  But she knew that she would not be able to provide the kind of life her son deserved unless something changed.  She gripped the rail and prepared to take the first step. Just like she had five years ago.

His name was Chip.  He wore a suit and had a nice smile. The right side of his face was scarred but that didn’t make him unattractive.  His personality made up for it anyway. He came in the same time every morning and bought a cup of black coffee.  She always tried to get him to get something to eat, but he’d never bite.  Just coffee.  She loved how he always managed to get in her line.

The first few days it was nothing but small talk. Nice weather. Thank goodness it is Friday. Their conversations were like a water bug sliding across the water’s surface.  But as time went, doors opened.  He had a natural way of getting her to do something she normally hated: To talk about herself.

“What is your dream?

His question hit like an atomic blast.  First of all, it was personal.  Who did he think he was?  And second of all, she’d have to admit she wasn’t living it.  Failure in any form is hard to admit.  She told him, “To be a writer.”

He smiled and said, “Then write.”

Ha ha. How easy was that for him to say?  She had a child. She had bills. She had 1,000 other excuses.  She had no education.

Morning after morning, Chip would by his coffee and leave behind a tip.  Not the monetary kind (although it would have been nice.).  Chip gave her seeds to plant to grow the crop of her new life.  A number of a guidance counselor at the community college. A website for scholarships.  A friend at the local newspaper who was looking for freelance writers.  A book on time management.  A ticket to hear a motivational speaker who specialized in goal setting. The encouragement to pursue these new leads.  Who was this guy named Chip?  And why was he being so nice?

Five years of getting up early to write and going to bed late after homework wore her out. She still managed to work and schedule her classes. Every morning Chip came in for coffee and left encouragement.  And every morning she looked forward to seeing him.

She took another step up to the stage and then another.  Then she heard her name called. “Anna Johnson Frier.”  Soon it was followed by the word, “Valedictorian.”

Anna Johnson Frier, a 4.0 student, walked to the podium and looked out in the crowd.  “Five years ago, I had a dream.  But it took someone who believed in me to help me make that dream come true.  Be that someone in someone else’s life.  Be an encourager.  People talk about changing the world.  That’s how it is done — one person at the time.  I know my world was changed.  I’d like to thank my parents.  My son. And my new husband, Chip Frier. The kindest man I’ve ever met.  And the person who believed in me when other people just wanted coffee.”

From that point, she walked another 10 yards, took her diploma, left the stage and completed her five-year journey.  Tassels were turned and confetti fell.  The Class of 2012 entered the world to make it a better place.

On the ride home that night, Anna said, “Chip, why did you help me so much?”

“I thought you were cute.”

“No really,” she asked with a more serious tone.

He felt the scar on his face and started to tell her what he never had before. “Nine years ago, I worked at the same fast-food restaurant you did. I had been burned in an accident and felt like I was never going to make it in the world. And then an older gentleman came in and encouraged me to pursue my dreams.  Over time, I listened.  And when I crossed the stage with my business degree, he was sitting in the audience.  His last words of advice to me were to pay it forward. To find someone else and encourage them with no expectation of reward. ”

“But you did get a reward. You got me.”

Both laughed.

“Hey, I have an idea.  Let’s go get coffee.” Anna said while gripping her diploma. “I know a great fast-food restaurant that’s right down the street.”

Since it’s my general opinion that we should be thankful for our mothers every day (and because we didn’t feel like fighting the crowd tomorrow), the boys and I took their mother out to lunch today. We went to Char and spent more for lunch than I’d normally spend on a suit.  But like I said, it was for a great cause. And the food was delicious.

I had a spinach salad with grilled chicken.  My wife and middle son had chicken-fried steak.  My oldest had a cheese and bacon burger. My youngest refused to eat. (but drank milk and had ice cream). We started with an order of fried crab claws.  Good stuff.

It’s always good to break bread as a family. That’s when you can slow down for a minute, breathe and actually carry on a conversation.  Meals should be sacred. No phones (I’m guilty here), GameBoys or other electronic distractions. Instead there should be laughter and shared hopes and dreams.  And there should be good food.  Food is the glue that holds the whole experience together.

Today we had very good food. And an even better time.

At one point, I gestured to our boys (my four-year-old’s feet were in the air and my two older boys were bickering) and said, “See what you’ve done?”  My wife looked at me and said, “I should be careful what I wish for.”

We laughed and then ordered dessert.