I've always been enthralled by this art form and so today, for you, is a slam about why I love aviation. I'm not sure if it makes perfect sense, but that is the beauty of art... it doesn't have to :)
--
I
think to myself as I greet the flight attendant at the boarding door that none
of my friends or family would have suspected that my sixteen-year-old self
would have been incredibly afraid right now.
Not afraid to fly, more afraid to die in a situation I can’t control.
Like a plane crash.
The sound of air rushing by dulls the music in my headphones
and the last rays of sunlight catch the silver lining on the engine.
There is an attitude about the sky tonight.
Its orange is an airborne flame
Its red is screaming for attention
And the dark blue it fades to pacifies the temper of the heavens, like a blanket draped over a newborn child that wants nothing more than his mother.
Time passes by as effortlessly as the endless crop circles and swimming pools below and I remember the days when I was ten years old and would lay down across the trunk of my mom’s car in the driveway and wait for the sound of a jet engine.
The clouds would be moved by a wind that brushed my brown hair over my forehead and
there was a blue afternoon sky that’d get deeper the higher I stared.
There was a time I thought I could stare skyward forever.
Not afraid to fly, more afraid to die in a situation I can’t control.
Like a plane crash.
The sound of air rushing by dulls the music in my headphones
and the last rays of sunlight catch the silver lining on the engine.
There is an attitude about the sky tonight.
Its orange is an airborne flame
Its red is screaming for attention
And the dark blue it fades to pacifies the temper of the heavens, like a blanket draped over a newborn child that wants nothing more than his mother.
Time passes by as effortlessly as the endless crop circles and swimming pools below and I remember the days when I was ten years old and would lay down across the trunk of my mom’s car in the driveway and wait for the sound of a jet engine.
The clouds would be moved by a wind that brushed my brown hair over my forehead and
there was a blue afternoon sky that’d get deeper the higher I stared.
There was a time I thought I could stare skyward forever.
Without
warning, the sound of the jet I’d been eagerly anticipating would rattle the
calm afternoon air…I could hear the plane coming so my eyes would dart around
the sky to find it.
My grandma would tap my shoulder, point to the plane and ask me what kind it was.
Boeing 737-500. Continental Airlines.
Easy.
Grandma would walk away, content I knew the answer, and my eyes would quickly refocus above waiting for the next airborne thrill.
She died not long after that.
“A beverage for you, sir?” asks the flight attendant.
I smile and take a cup of water.
Out the window, the last bands of color tell me that daylight has been tucked in to bed and I wonder what it will dream about.
The smooth ride tells me that the heavens don’t mind us visiting tonight and
I wonder if my grandma knows that I came to say hello.
My sixteen-year-old self wouldn’t have been afraid anymore.
I remember how small I felt on the trunk of that car and I consider how small I feel now.
I remember all the times Mom and Dad took me to the airport to watch the planes and they sat in the car reading a magazine for hours while I’d eagerly scream, “Look, a Continental 757!”
They would act excited even though it was no less than the 20th one I’d seen that day.
I remember the facts I made up in 5th grade, like a Boeing 727 having 900 seats, just to make my friends think I knew what in the hell I was talking about.
I drift in and out of sleep as I flip through my mind’s photo album.
My grandma would ask me if I had seen any planes on the way to her house and I’d say yes and go into elaborate detail about the Saab 340 that came in so low over Northern Blvd I thought it’d clip an apartment building.
I felt her tap on my shoulder to point out another airplane and I was suddenly startled awake.
“Dude, the plane landed… time to get off.”
The man in 20C seems amused that I somehow fell into such a deep sleep, the landing didn’t even wake me up.
I knock on the aluminum frame of the plane on the way out as if to say
Thanks for the visit.
And as I drive home from the airport, the flashing red lights in the night sky
remind me that perhaps
I should call home more often.
My grandma would tap my shoulder, point to the plane and ask me what kind it was.
Boeing 737-500. Continental Airlines.
Easy.
Grandma would walk away, content I knew the answer, and my eyes would quickly refocus above waiting for the next airborne thrill.
She died not long after that.
“A beverage for you, sir?” asks the flight attendant.
I smile and take a cup of water.
Out the window, the last bands of color tell me that daylight has been tucked in to bed and I wonder what it will dream about.
The smooth ride tells me that the heavens don’t mind us visiting tonight and
I wonder if my grandma knows that I came to say hello.
My sixteen-year-old self wouldn’t have been afraid anymore.
I remember how small I felt on the trunk of that car and I consider how small I feel now.
I remember all the times Mom and Dad took me to the airport to watch the planes and they sat in the car reading a magazine for hours while I’d eagerly scream, “Look, a Continental 757!”
They would act excited even though it was no less than the 20th one I’d seen that day.
I remember the facts I made up in 5th grade, like a Boeing 727 having 900 seats, just to make my friends think I knew what in the hell I was talking about.
I drift in and out of sleep as I flip through my mind’s photo album.
My grandma would ask me if I had seen any planes on the way to her house and I’d say yes and go into elaborate detail about the Saab 340 that came in so low over Northern Blvd I thought it’d clip an apartment building.
I felt her tap on my shoulder to point out another airplane and I was suddenly startled awake.
“Dude, the plane landed… time to get off.”
The man in 20C seems amused that I somehow fell into such a deep sleep, the landing didn’t even wake me up.
I knock on the aluminum frame of the plane on the way out as if to say
Thanks for the visit.
And as I drive home from the airport, the flashing red lights in the night sky
remind me that perhaps
I should call home more often.
Ben, you should perform this on a video. Because it's already fantastic and it would be SO much better performed.
ReplyDeleteThat aside--I love your blog thus far =)