A Monday story

We ran underneath the helicopter blades like squirrels running for a tree trunk, dogs nipping at our furry heels. We scampered. We ducked and dodged. Flinging ourselves up the little step welded on the side of the helicopter, we tumbled into the back seats. They were small. We had to fold our long legs in as we fumbled with the seat belts. 'How the hell do you buckle this thing?' I thought. OK. Got it. I'm an idiot. I see Pat making sure the door is closed. I look at my door. It is plastic. I pull the handle to make sure it's closed because what if?


The roaring was deafening and we lift up. Straight into the air. We shimmy this way and that way then head out over the green grass. Where do I look? Up? Down? At the buzz cut on the back of the pilot's head? I look out the door window as the grass disappears and turns to trees. Tiny, tiny kids run around the ballfield as tiny parents sit in lawn chairs along the side. Poor kids. A blue trampoline is alone in a back -- or is it front? -- yard. I love trampolines!

There's Hendersonville! From this vantage point, it looks impressive! But I know better! Cars poke along as we soar above them, banking hard to the left. If my seat belt broke, I'd fall on that white car. Will my seat belt break? What happens if my seat belt breaks? I look at the pilot's head. He's not worried. There's no sweat. No shaking. OK.

Time to go back. It's been all of 4.5 minutes, but I'm ready. I see the green field approaching. Sure, I love taking off. Then, I love feeling suspended above everyone, like I have a secret to tell but even if I wanted to tell them, I couldn't. They couldn't hear me, so I keep it to myself, a smile on my lips, like Mona Lisa but with bangs. But, I admit that I have a surge of relief to see only the grass bending in a manic dance in the helicopter's wind and not a burning careening crash awaiting me. I love flying.