The Wave Widow By: Kevin Brooker Posted: September 3 2003
The Wave Widow By: Kevin Brooker, Posted: 9/2/2003
“What are you doing today?” Sarah pours herself a cup of coffee before flipping the eggs in the skillet, and pops the muffin out of the toaster. “Goin’ flying. The T. I. indicates a good wave day. What time will you be home?” “So you’re not working? David, this is the fourth time in two weeks you skipped work to go fly. Why don’t you skip work to wash clothes or dishes or clean the bathroom? While you are out playing, I’m stuck doing all of the housework.” “All year long I’ve been planning and training for wave season. It only lasts for several weeks, and the insurance is coming off the sailplane in three days. It’s today or next year.” “Yesterday you promised me you would change the oil in the car and that didn’t get done because you were crewing for Paul. What about bringing in the grill and putting away the patio set, or draining the hoses and putting them away? I know, after wave season is over. Then ski season and ice climbing come to the forefront of your attention, and I’m still stuck with all of the house chores. You can’t find time to sweep up after the dog, but you have the time to pick up Paul when he lands out. Come on Dave, you live in this house too.” “It’ll all be done today. I’m sorry about the chores, but I’m the only one he could get in touch with. He’s picked me up and I owed him one -- several actually. I’ll get the dishes for you. Just put ‘em in the sink.” “You won’t forget. You promised me, remember?” Sarah piles her dishes in the sink, pulls on a black suede coat, picks up her canvas briefcase and lunch cooler from the table where Dave is examining weather reports on his computer. He looks up at her and puckers his lips for the customary good-bye kiss. She walks by and the only sound he hears from her is the click, click, click of high heels on the linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor. The sound of the shoes fades as Sarah makes her way down the narrow hall that leads to the mud-room, and out the main entrance of the place they call home. The building is cheap to rent, and fits the lifestyle they’ve led for many years. Play a lot, and work only enough to pay the rent and finance the next trip or toy. The rent has remained the same for ten years, and Dave has no intention of moving, or making a change in his life. Right now things are status quo; he works enough to meet his portion of the house finances, and plays with his spare time. The door closes with a muffled thunk and Dave feels the tension of the morning evaporating. Without Sarah bugging him about work, he can get started on the dishes and the list of household chores she’s left for him. He steps to the sink and fills the basin with tepid water and dishwashing liquid. The suds begin foaming as he scrubs the frying pan clean of cooked-on egg. The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, catching his eye. He looks out through a dirty window and spies a lenticular cloud perched over the mountain, tempting him to come and fly in the wave. He begins cleaning faster, trying to get the chores done so he can keep his promise to Sarah and have a shot at going for a flight. A pickup truck Dave doesn’t recognize speeds up his driveway and skids to a halt, tossing stones into the yard. The door opens and Paul jumps out wearing jeans, a leather vest, work boots, and a tennis hat -- his traditional flying attire. “Dave, you wuss,” he shouts. “Let’s take my new truck and grab the Discus. You see that cloud, just beggin’ us to fly up to her.” “New truck, eh. Sorry man, I can’t go. I still got chores to do. Sarah will cut my nuts off if I don’t get through this list she’s left for me.” “Ever since she finished school and got a steady paycheck from wherever she works you have lost your sense of daring, man. Finish the chores later before she gets home. It’s a great day for flyin’.” Paul’s arms extend like wings as he swoops about the yard. “What is it with you, man? Ever since that bogus ski trip you took with her to Aspen you seem bummed. From now on you gonna drink cheap wine at apres ski parties with her instead of blowin’ weed and skiing avie chutes? Look, call her at work and tell her you want to have dinner on the table when she gets home. You find out when she’ll be home, and fit in the flyin’ so you’re back before she is.” “You are the Devil. Vacuum my floors while I make the call. No jackin’ about at the airport if I decide to go with you. Got it.” “Scouts honor. No jackin’ about at the airport.” An hour later Dave and Paul are pulling into the tiedown area at the airport, Discus in tow. They assemble the sailplane, and Dave wins the coin toss to make the flight. It’s eleven o’clock and he should be in the wave by noon, back on the ground by three, home by four, finish the dishes, stash the hose, and start a load of laundry. He can pick up a pizza on the drive to the house. Dave strips down to his socks while standing in the parking lot and redresses in long underwear, plaid wool pants, yellow pile vest, and a black down coat. He wears felt-lined boots and carries mittens inside his coat for easy access when he needs them. “You plannin’ to go to 30,000? You’re dressed like you’re headed for the Arctic circle.” Bob, the tow pilot, makes small talk as he lights his cigarette, the exhaled smoke drifting past Dave, who coughs from the plume. “I don’t know about that. I am planning on goin’ diamond mining, though. You been up yet?” “Nope.” Bob walks away and flips the half-smoked butt into the grass. The Discus is towed to the end of the runway and Dave dons the parachute and straps himself into the cockpit. Performing his preflight check of the radio, he contacts Bob. “Seven Alpha Whiskey, Sierra One.” “Sierra One, this is Alpha Whiskey. I can’t get the god-damn tug to start. I’ll call you when I got her fixed.” “I’ll sit tight. Any idea of when we’ll be in the air?” “Looks like at least an hour, maybe two.” Dave turns off the radio and climbs out of the cockpit. “Blast it, let’s go home. It’ll be too late by the time he’s done fixin’ the Pawnee.” Paul connects the tow dolly to pull the Discus back to the tiedown area to disassemble the ship and place it back in the trailer. Prior to removing the wings, he decides to wash the plane before putting it away for the season. After drying the plane with an old cotton diaper, Dave runs his hand across the white gel coat finish. He is amazed by the smoothness of the wings and fuselage, and he feels lucky to have had the privilege of flying her for the past season. Since he began flying the Discus, he’s noticed he is spending more and more time flying and less time with Sarah. She calls the sailplane Dave’s fiberglass mistress. He misses the time he and Sarah spent sharing adventures. “Dave, you lucky bastard. I convinced Dino to let me tow you up behind the Stearman. Drag it down the other end and let’s have a go and get you your diamond.” Bob lights another cigarette as he approaches. “Pawnee’s dead. I had to call in a favor, but he said because it’s helping you out he’d let me fly his baby.” Dave feels his jaw clench as he grinds his teeth trying to dissipate some anxiety. Ten minutes ago he had decided to end the season and guarantee himself a nice supper with Sarah. his buddies are cutting deals to get him airborne, and the day is perfect for chasing diamond altitude legs.
“Let’s do it. Thanks Bob, for talkin’ to Dino. Most people have a better chance of gettin’ permission to sleep with his old lady than flyin’ the Stearman. You must be some kinda salesman.” The Discus is gridded up and Paul connects the tow rope. The hands on Dave’s watch read 12:42; he is almost an hour behind schedule, but he should still be okay. The latches of the blue-tinted canopy are secured and he gives Paul the thumbs up to raise the wing. A waggle of the rudder and the orange and green Stearman belches a slightly blue exhaust as it accelerates for takeoff. Three thousand feet above the airport, Dave feels like a prize fighter on the wrong end of a series of punches late in the title bout; his head is battered from side to side and he is defenseless and hoping the fight will soon end. The Stearman suddenly moves up and to the left. The next instant the Discus is rolling to the right and dropping so suddenly he feels his stomach move up into his throat. The tow rope is slack and the once-precision flying of the initial tow is replaced by struggling to just keep the Stearman in view. The jolts and thumps the wind is dishing out to the sailplane is unnerving, and he thinks he just might have put himself into a situation he doesn’t have the flying skills to get out of. He watches the wings of the Discus flex so often they appear to be flapping, and thinks the sailplane wants out of the rotor even quicker then he does. “It’s gonna be a good high flight with rotor like this,” he shouts, trying to convince himself that mountain wave flying is actually an enjoyable experience. Just as suddenly as the violent flight started, it stops. The air is now smooth and he resumes his original position behind the Stearman before pulling the yellow release knob and separating from the tug. The air appears still. He is awestruck by the sight of the ground dropping away below him. The hands of the altimeter are steadily moving in a clockwise direction indicating he has placed the Discus into up-rising air and he is climbing like a homesick angel. At 14,000 feet he places the mask onto his face and feels the cool dryness of the supplemental breathing oxygen on his cheek. Soon the altimeter shows the Discus passing 18,000 feet. At this altitude he would be landing at Everest base camp and still have 11,000 feet of climbing ahead of him to reach the summit. Counting off the final twenty eight feet, he reaches an altitude of 29,028 feet above sea level, clear of all land forms on earth. He looks down and realizes he is six miles above the airport. The great lift and fantastic flying has diverted his attention away from the time. Frantically, he pulls off his left mitten he looks at his watch. 4:37 - Sarah will be furious when he gets home. He opens the dive brakes and noses the sailplane over, increasing the rate of descent to 1,000 feet per minute. Such a steep dive will warm the aircraft, and he risks damaging the smooth gelcoat with such a rapid descent. He figures he won’t be on the ground for at least half an hour. He has earned his diamond, but at what expense? With luck he can just beat Sarah home and save his day, if not his relationship. The canopy is popped open before the Discus stops rolling, and Dave hops out of the cockpit as soon as it stops moving. “Yo Dave, great flight. I -.” “No time Paul. I’m late and if I don’t get home fast, I am screwed. Give me the keys to the truck and put the ship away. Thanks.” He jumps in Paul’s truck and mats the accelerator, tearing up the sod with spinning tires. The only speed limit he obeys is the squealing of tires working at the limit of traction. His jaw hurts from the constant pressure he has been applying to his molars. The truck makes the final turn onto the dirt road where he lives. He notices several sets of fresh tire tracks in the newly graded road and begins the mantra, “Let it be the mailman, let it be the mailman.” Turning into the driveway he holds his breath, and white knuckles the steering wheel. Leaning to peer through the trees that separate the driveway and the lawn, he looks for the familiar shape of Sarah’s red Honda Civic. He tries to remember if he saw any tracks leave the road at his driveway. He can’t. Rounding the bend into the dooryard he sees no Civic, exhales and relaxes the bite of his teeth. Hopping from the cab, he runs inside and opens the garage doors. The hose is quickly coiled and put on a shelf. The patio set table is tipped up and tied to the oak tree next to the pines. The chairs are stacked and tossed in the garden shed. He moves the grill onto the porch with the prospect of grilling burgers on New Year’s Eve. With the outdoor chores finished, he moves inside to begin washing the dishes and loads up dark colored laundry. The drain stopper is set in place with the slight squeak of rubber on enameled iron. The spigot dumps hot water into the basin and Dave adds dishwashing soap. When the suds have reached the countertop he puts on a pair of moldy rubber gloves and picks up a scrubby sponge. After washing five plates and a drawerfull of utensils, the phone rings. He doesn’t want to stop and figures the answering machine will allow him to decide if he should stop washing dishes and pick up the phone. “David, it’s Sarah. Sitting at work today, I realized I was a bit bitchy this morning, and that I have two hands that work and I am capable of putting the patio set away since I live at the house too. I left work early and went home to help you with some of the chores, and when I got there your car was in the driveway and you were gone.” Dave stops cleaning and almost drops the ceramic bowl into the sink when he hears Sarah has been home today. “I had hoped you were out with the dog, and when I learned you were flying, I got so angry. I wish you were home now so I could tell you in person.” Pause. “David, I’m moving out. I’ve met someone who is responsible and treats me with respect. I was going to break it off today until I came home and you were out flying. I need someone I can count on, and while having adventures was fun, I’m older now and really need stability and not the angst of wondering if there will be dishes in the sink when I get home.” Dave wrestles with the gloves, the water that has leaked through the holes on the palm keep the rubber stuck to his hand. He tosses the sponge onto the countertop and walks to the other side of the kitchen where the phone is hanging on the wall. Just as he is about to pick up the receiver, Sarah says “I guess I’m glad you’re not there, this would be so much harder if you were. Look, I’ll be over in the next few days to pick up some of my stuff and we can talk. I hope you understand and please don’t try and call me. I’ll call you. My hope is that we can still be friends and I really mean that. I’ll be staying at Cindy’s place until I can find a spot of my own. Good night.” He wavers about calling her at Cindy’s and decides to be responsible and honor her wish. He’s not surprised by her decision. He has felt them growing apart for a year or two and now figures this is the end of one, and the start of a new adventure.
