The Little Airplane That Could

Story #2

FINALLY, we got our passports back, loaded up our carry-on luggage and walked out onto the tarmac. A few tiny and ancient planes were parked hither and thither. Of course we headed straight for the oldest and tiniest. Seven seats including the pilot. Five Americans, two babies, lots of carry-ons and one pilot named Ramon who didn’t speak a lick of English. Jeff was beyond excited. This was what he’d prayed for; an adventurous airplane ride. Jeff got the honorary spot of sitting in the copilot seat where he could see all the bells and whistles, ANTIQUE bells and whistles, that is, as the plane was old and worn and by my always accurate judgment, coming apart at the seams. I climbed into the middle seat beside Marcy who not only held baby Hannah, but also video-taped and photographed the whole experience. Lisa sat in back alongside Jeremy and two-year-old (almost) Corban sat between them. The noise of the plane was loud. Oh so loud. As we skirted around the runway, Ramon rarely looked up. He fidgeted with doodads and pushed buttons and shifted shifters and turned spinny things. And the plane moved like you’d expect a remote control car would move when controlled by a two-year-old on a sugar high. We had worked our way to the middle of the runway when Ramon took hold of the wheel, made a complete U-turn, and hit the gas. And miraculously, that little pile of scrap metal made it into the sky.

Once in the air, I felt certain we would never see Pignon.  I was smiling in the pictures, but I wasn’t smiling in my heart. I have never been so scared. I thought I was going to die and repeated again and again to my God, “Lord, I believe. Forgive me for my unbelief.” Meanwhile there were only shenanigans taking place in the back seat. “Hey, Eve, look!” said Jeremy laughing and pointing out the window to the propeller shell. There was one little screw, probably the most important little screw on the entire plane, loose and spinning still looser all the while we were in air. Later Lisa said, “there were NO screws on the propeller shell on my side of the plane.” How comforting. Fearless Corban decided to reach for the lever at his dad’s side to see what it did. As he took hold of it, Marcy shouted, “Jeremy, he’s got the door handle.” “Lord, I believe. Forgive me for my unbelief.” I prayed the entire ride while Marcy and Jeremy and Lisa laughed their insecurities away and Jeff beamed from the front seat. The plane gave to every gust of wind, every pressure change, every breath we breathed. Sudden drops. Swaying side to side. This was exactly what Jeff had prayed for.

At about the time I’d made my peace with God, and given him instructions on how to comfort my mother as she dealt with my passing, and thanking him that at least Jeff and I would die together, we spotted the grassy Pignon field where we were to land. What a beautiful sight. Lush and green and beautiful. We circled it and then descended, practically on a cloud.