Maverick's Journal

The man yawned, stretching leisurely while reclining back in the auditorium seat. It took a moment for him to realize he was not in his small apartment nor at the bar he frequented, though the chair had the same rigidity as the ones in said locations. His eyes still heavy with sleep as he looked around the otherwise empty auditorium, standing up from his seated position. 

“T’is reminds me of mah fifth grade play. I were a tree,” he said, mainly to himself. With an unnerving coolness, he walked on stage. Unlike other soon-to-be godlings, he seemed eerily complacent with the situation. Perhaps it hadn’t even dawned of him why he was there. The man was quick to notice the bird, admiring the rich plumage. He tried to catch the attention of the creature, giving a subtle wave before turning to its owner who’s shoulder it sat on. Admiration was one of the few emotions he felt at the moment, other than mild confusion, less so than one would think. 

“Peregrine?” He asked, tilting his head. It was a short attempt at conversation with the woman, and upon realizing she was waiting for a answer from him, he cut all tries of conversing. She did just say he was dead, right? Something itched at the back of his brain, something familiar, the painful part came back.

Right. It was a Monday, the day of his performance. The plane was ready, fueled and newly painted specially for this air show. He was one of the many talented fliers in his squadron, a performing aviator group. He remembered the banter between him and the leader, friendly and light hearted. With his aviator goggles down to prevent the wind that howled through the open cockpit, he was ready. It didn’t take long until they lifted off, gaining altitude in order to start the show. It was supposed to be a normal show, just one of the many they did.
But this time, something was wrong. For some reason, his plane stalled when he went into an upward spiral. The aircraft gave an exasperated sigh, propellor puttering weakly. Black smoke billowed from the engine as the man muttered an expletive. It nose dived, and not an intentional one. For the first time in his life, the man’s eyes flashed with fear.

He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them. His breath was short, a bead of sweat running down his face. The fear came like a hot flash and disappeared just as quickly.

“Mah aeroplane crashed during an air show.”

The name of the location where he lived was hidden behind a wall of fog, impenetrable to all attempts of remembrance. He was never good with names, never felt the need to as his squadron would often hop from town to town putting on air shows. Similar to that of a traveling circus, but in the air and usually paid prior for their services. It was somewhere in the west if he recalled correctly, which was doubtful in this situation.

Was it a suburban house? Was it a city? A farm? He remembered very little, but did remember a large field. Slowly, his memories came back to him. The field he used to watch his father take off on, specially paved runway for the Cessna. The house was nearby, a Tuscan red ranch-house with a front porch. A modest house for his family, whose memories had blurred their faces from his view.

“I died away from home. Was a show, we traveled allots,” the man said, tapping his foot impatiently against the stage.

Although their faces and names were hidden from his memory, the young man did recall a few relations he had. His family, a close knit group of five which included him. His father, a commercial pilot and his mother, a stewardess. The two met on a flight to Miami, by chance on the same flight crew. Aviation ran through his family’s blood, cultivating in all of the children taking up themed jobs.

His older brother, a wiry and tight laced man, went into the Air Force. The eldest of the children, being ten years older than the dead man. A younger sister, short and built strong, who was following in the footsteps of their mother- a stewardess. And he, the show off aviator with a passion for danger. They were an adventurous family, traveling many places and having a shared passion for flight. Of course, his squadron he considered family as well. The air shows they put on undoubtedly brought them closer together after each one. They were his buddies, his partners in crime, his gang. He met his best friend during auditions for the group, the name which was just out of reach. He struggled to remember, eventually lapsing into a soft sigh.

“Got flyin’ in mah blood, ya know? Mum and pop was airline folks, big bro took ta skies wit ta force, lil sis followin’ in’a mum’s footsteps,” the young man explained, frustrated at himself for forgetting their names and faces. His brow furrowed, evidence of that frustration.