He was a pilot. That was where they’d met, actually. He was taking a plane up into the skies for a 4th of July air show, he and his friends. They piloted dog-fighters and the like, sometimes racing, other times spraying the colors of the flags into the wind. Or, what wind there was on that perfect day.
Alone, watching the clouds later in the afternoon, drinking some chilled lemonade, Ava was approached by him, and they chatted. He complimented her yellow summer dress and the two of them joked about her large hat and her orange ribbon, which she was embarrassed to be seen in, despite the fact that it was the fashion at the time. She’d been impressed with his flying, wondered if he’d flown in any wars.
“I mostly take off from ships on the water,” he said, “its very fast and very dangerous.” And yes, he’d been in battles.
“Have you ever been hurt?” she asked, concerned for this man she’d just met.
Full of bravado, he’d shrugged his shoulders and turned a crooked, wry smile. “Nah. At least, nothing that left any permanent marks behind.” And he stood there, tall and proud, striving to impress.
He admitted, then, that had seen her earlier in the day but hadn’t found the courage to say anything to her.
“But,” Ava said, “you do such brave things in your plane. Surely talking to me isn’t nearly as scary as all that!” She pouted, then, in jest of course.
“No, ma’am,” he was quick to respond, “just a different kind of fear altogether.” He let loose a deep sigh. “And a far more rewarding challenge so far.”
She smiled. “Talking to me is more rewarding than serving your country? How novel!”
“You’re teasing me,” he said, face flushed.
“I am at that.”
The two of them walked together, talked together, got to know each other. She was from a small farm town a few miles down a country road, he was from the city. She had graduated top of her class just the year before, was waiting to go to college, he’d been in the air for three years already. “Hardly seems like yesterday I went up there for the first time,” he’d said about enlisting.
Later they shared vanilla ice cream together and sat together, up a hill and away from the crowds, and watched the fireworks shooting in the sky.
“Does this remind you of battle?” she’d asked of the colorful explosions in the sky.
He’d grinned wide. “No, they planes hardly ever shoot such colorful sparks. And there is never time for cheering.”
“You celebrate after the explosions stop, then?” She asked.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” He then turned somber.
Realizing he was in pain, likely over the loss of dear friends in the skies, she inched closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, putting her hand over his on the soft grass. There, in the middle of that warm summer night, illuminated by bright, burning patriotism in the sky, he’d kissed her, gently and passionately. In that moment, during that perfect embrace, all pressures were lifted, all dreams were realized. It was her first kiss, the one she’d waited so long for. And it was with a man she’d never met, but often dreamed about.
Marriage would come, next, and it would be perfect. Her white dress, the wonderful spring air of her wedding day, the enormous cake and beautiful flowers. And her husband-to-be, standing tall, grin as wide as it was the day he’d first kissed her, waiting for her to come down the aisle and be his, to be together, forever. Their first dance as a married couple was the moment she’d waited for since he’d asked her to marry him and it was magical; as though they were dancing on the air itself.
“How was everything?” he would ask.
“Exactly how it should have been,” she’d reply.
While she was pregnant with their first child, he’d be off to battle, shooting down the enemy in the skies above some distant land. And she would worry. And pray. Every night she would stare at the skies and think of him, of his daring adventures and his near-misses, his miraculous escapes from danger. Would he come home? Would he fall in battle and never be found? Would she feel his body against her’s again?
But of course everything would be alright. He would be home – a little later than they’d planned – and he’d be there for the birth and everything would be right as rain. Their love would be stronger, but the battles would never end.
Eventually children would become grandchildren, and old age would set in, and the two of them would sit together in the evenings – he smoking his pipe, she stitching together some socks or a hat for one of their grand kids – talking about the old days, when they were younger. One night, in the middle of July, they would go back to that hill and dream together about the fireworks from their youth, wonder at how time passes with every day coming and going with greater speed.
“Ava, my love,” he’d said, leaning over on his side, stroking her now-silver hair away from her aged face. “Do you still love me as you always have?”
Ava would smile at her one true love, then, and nod yes, unable to speak for fear of crying. Eventually, she would say: “Of course, my love. I always will.”
Years would pass and, eventually, so would he and she would follow soon after, joining at last in the skies above, high in the clouds. Together.
***
Staring at the orange-red skies of a dwindling summer eve, Ava – just six years old – put away her dreams of tomorrows, of brave fighter pilots and perfect lives, of children and loved ones yet to come, and, clutching her stuffed bear, let the wind wash over her. Soon, she would be called back into her home for bed time, but she took one last look at the skies above her and imagined where her love might be at that very moment, if he was waiting for her, too.
With a grin, and a skip, Ava trotted off, back for home. And toward the tomorrow waiting in the skies just beyond the horizon.
CHELSEA DRAWD/PAINTD THIS
Added September 27, 2016
This is one of the most saccharine things I’ve ever written. It isn’t awful, but its predictable and so sugary I got a cavity.
A fine experiment, though: I’d written a story to the painting at the bottom. Was supposed to go in reverse, eventually, with me writing a story and getting a painting in return, but – ah well.
skylerbartels 