My Airplane Summer (Part I)

It all started when Mr. Brooks left his garage door open.

When I was a kid, I lived in the most boring neighborhood on the planet, filled with creaking retirees and no one even near my age. But even there, this would've been be an unremarkable act...except for the fact that old Mr. Brooks never opened his garage. The twin doors stayed down, leaving his crap cars to squat in the driveway or bleed oil by the curb. So when I saw the doors were open, I had to sneak a look, you know, just to know.

And boy, was I rewarded : there was a PLANE IN THERE.

Hidden by boxes and barrels and cast off furniture, there were the unmistakable bones of a fuselage.

Wow.
A noise came from inside the garage...and a grey head poked into view. I immediately scrammed, running like mad for anywhere, Keds fueled by the delirious joy that my boring old neighbor. Had an airplane. HIDDEN IN HIS GARAGE.

How cool was that?

Of course, I had to sneak right back, just to reassure myself it was true. I crept up through a neighbor's yard and peaked around the hedge. My heart sank : the doors were closed again. Just like they always were. And my airplane just might have been a dream.

I wouldn't let it. Not with a long dull summer stretching out ahead of me like an empty road. I willed it to be true. And in the days that followed, I would go off by myself and take my secret out, savoring it, turning it over in my hands.

An airplane. In pieces. In his garage.

Suddenly, this grumpy old scowler, who yelled at any kids who dared to step onto his perfect grass, possessed a glamorous other life.

An airplane. In pieces. In his garage.

Maybe he was a spy?
Like James Bond! So when he gets cornered by a russianazi he can get away by running into the garage and ... um... moving all of the stuff out...and um...putting the wings on and then the motor and um...

An airplane. In pieces. In his garage.
Or a WWII pilot! Sure, he was old enough. Maybe he was like a quadruple Ace? Who won the war like on Baa Baa Black Sheep ...  and had to save his beloved plane. By um... taking it apart and um... packing it into his luggage...and um nobody noticing and...

Shoot.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to find out. And then go for a ride in it.

I knew where to find him. Every one of my boring neighbors lived creeping lives of perfect pattern : Mornings puttering with the lawn; Afternoons taking their big old cars out for long slow slides to the grocery store; Evenings sitting out on their porches quiet, thinking old thoughts.

The next morning, I found him crouched over his ancient lawn mower, trying to get it to start. He glared at me, checking to make sure that my feet weren't trespassing, then went back to getting his fingers dirty and burnt.

Finally, he looked over. "What."

I had been practicing my speech for days. I knew he didn't like kids...so I had worked out how I would impress him with how adult I was, how much I knew about airplanes. "U-u-um."

He went back to his machine.

"Um." This was going very well. "Your, um, garage?"

Something clanked and he yanked his finger back. "Yeah." Still not looking at me.

He stood up and yanked on the pull cord. The motor belched smoke. He knelt and began cursing, punctuating each word with the clatter of a wrench.

Once he got that thing going, I knew my chance would be lost.

Nice and smooth. I struggled to reclaim my nerve. Just like you practiced. "Aa-a-airplane."

This time I had his attention. He glared at me. "Airplane."

I wanted to run...but I couldn't. I just had to know.

"In your garage." Having made it through almost a complete sentence, I began to pick up speed. "Did you know there's an airplane in your garage? I mean I saw it last week and oh my god there's an airplane and it's in your garage." (As you can tell, that was pretty much all I had, fact-wise.)

"Yeah. I know. I put it there."

"Well I know you know but it's an airplane. What kind is it? Does it fly? Can you fly it? What is it doing there?"

He glowered into the engine. "31 Cub. Restoring it. She'll fly." He grunted with the effort of adjusting something.

I shivered at his offhand "she." All cool things were "shes" : ships, planes, the Enterprise. I didn't have anything in my life big enough to be considered a "she."

I knew I should have left then. In some way, the answers were enough, even though I had no idea what a 31cub was. Come on, my brain urged. He doesn't want to talk to some 'tard. Everyone knows he hates everybody.

But I was crazy. Crazy with interminable days and the idea that something as magical as flying could be parked right next door. I couldn't believe what I heard me say : "When you. You know, restore it. Can I help?"

He turned and looked at me and I saw what he saw : a skinny kid in a faded batman t-shirt. Hardly what one would choose as an assistant flight mechanic. I straightened up under his inspection, trying to look taller, older, cooler.

The moment passed. He turned back to his mower and gave the cord another titanic yank. It roared into life, shaking alarmingly. He adjusted something and then began to move it across the lawn, the grass arcing next to him in soft green sweeps. He paused.

"Next week," he said over his shoulder. "If the garage is open." The mower roared off into the green. But I was already gone into the future.

Comments

[fxd]

Why has this aviatrix not heard this story before? I am intrigued! When do we get Part 2? The Cub is a GREAT airplane! Wooden body & fabric wings - but you already knew that! Did he ever get it flying? Did you ever get your ride?

[BJT]

wow, that beats all the crap hidden in my garage. lets hear the rest!