Flying Too Close to the Sun Read online

  Erik trekked upstairs to his room, his lair, and saw the source of his current anxiety lying on the desk; a certified letter from the bank that had financed his flying lessons stating they had run out of patience and were demanding restitution commencing the following month. No matter where he went this followed him like a puppy yipping at his heels. With no clue where this money would come from, the letter went out of sight back into the drawer, but his dilemma remained in clear view.

  After changing into a pair of cutoff jeans, he meandered bare-chested outside into the bright afternoon sunshine, dragged a lounge chair from the garage onto the sun-drenched driveway of the two-story colonial and turned his sinewy, going on twenty-five body and face toward the sun. Comforting sunlight shimmered off the dark, wood-stained cedar shingles now slightly curled from years of heating and cooling. A faint, almost imperceptible summer breeze blew ruffling the fine, almost invisible blond hairs on his forearms, while bright sunbeams dappled the colorful and symmetrical purple clematis, pink impatiens and roses his mother had sown in the flowerbeds alongside the walkway, all of which spelled a need for order. Like expensive perfume, the gentle puffs of air unfolded their exquisite fragrances, so they mixed with and clung to every breath, while the dazzling sunlight lent a surreal radiance to the rich upholstery of contrasting colors. This was a day when you could almost hear the flowers growing. Erik closed his eyes and competed with them to soak up the soothing rays and vitamin D. Regardless of the great weather, uncontrollable cold storms raged deep within him. Even though everything seemed to be in perfect balance, no sunny memories were associated with this place, even on a day like this and his slender body only added to the illusion of perfection.

  The next-door neighbor had just finished cutting the grass and the scent of the newly-mowed lawn mingled with the bouquet of the flora, adding to the eclectic surroundings woven together by the tapestry of diverse colors. The man saw Erik lying there and commented, “Your mother’s roses are exquisite.”

  Erik thanked him for the pleasant words that should have cheered him up, but didn’t. Instead, he felt his mother’s flawless and fragrant roses piercing every inch of his psyche with their thorns. The neighbors apparently also got their thrills out of almost perfect, lush green lawns and rows upon rows of well-tended flowers, making him wonder what went on behind their leafy facades.

  This pictured perfection was the public image his German immigrant parents had painstakingly constructed. To Josef and Ursula Preis, everything came down to an outward show of an undefined something Erik knew didn’t exist. The appearance was everything, making it impossible for Erik to forget a childhood as rancid as annuals left outside to rot over a long, freezing winter. Lying there he made a halfhearted effort to cheer up with some corporeal thoughts. He was in great shape, had a full head of dark blond, streaked hair that women paid hundreds of dollars to get washed in at a salon. To the best of his knowledge, at least for the time being, he also had a terrific airline flying job with great earnings potential just around the corner. But his thoughts unrelentingly returned to his old man. The walls were thin and from overheard German language conversations, which neither parent knew he understood. Erik grasped his father might once have been a meticulous European mechanic who after learning of his wife’s affair added unsuccessful American alcoholic to his resume. It was Freud who stated a person’s mental health was gauged by their capacity to love and the ability to perform a day’s work. Joe had no trouble with the latter, but lots with the former. Erik tried to retrieve a happy image of his father and although he could picture him laughing, it was always the drunken, cackling kind. Following Erik’s birth Joe became poisoned after learning he was sexually betrayed by his stunning wife. For reasons unknown they remained married and his father’s private American dream became determined by the amount of control he exercised over family members and his number of possessions. The word insane didn’t fit quite yet, but was getting close.

  Most parents might harm their children in some manner, perhaps by tilting the short-lived hourglass of youth a bit, spill out some sand through overindulgence or other forms of excess, while others like Joe smashed the glass entirely. Erik had done nothing to incur his wrath but was nonetheless forced to exist with this festering wound for as long as he could remember. Although he bore no physical scars, his father’s first sin was one of total disregard followed by hostility. Even though they shared the same house, they never existed on the same planet. In an attempt to suppress his own anger, by his teenage years Erik began distancing himself and becoming the total opposite. The apple normally doesn’t fall far from the tree, but in this case, like father not like son was more descriptive. He was aware one’s personality is normally a blend of genes and nurture. He refused to go there because thinking of Joe, Erik knew what it might mean for him. So, because Joe was narrow-minded, he became overly tolerant. The old man was unforgiving, so Erik was broadminded and rolled with life’s punches, accomplishing everything by channeling all the negatives into motivation. He played ostrich for years burying his head in the sands of time, hoping tomorrow would be better, except the tomorrows never arrived. He finally realized they never would, even though his father had it within his power to change everything through a simple paternity test. Erik didn’t adopt quite the same attitude toward his mother, because while her conduct was at the root of the problems, he still looked to her for a meager amount of affection. Once again, these carefully guarded emotions were relegated to the no trespassing, outermost recesses of his mind.

  Once finished priming himself for skin cancer, this was followed by a shower, but Erik absolutely knew no matter how hard he tried, these memories tugged at him like an unrelenting dog on a leash. He blew-dry his hair, donned a clean shirt and required tie and turned both ways to double-check his image in the mirror. Many times he wondered if perhaps his good looks might provide deliverance into a better world. This yearning came to fruition, but in a different way than expected when a friend’s father invited him up for a flight in his newly purchased single-engine Cessna 152. While the man flew, Erik carefully observed his every move and figured he could do as well, or maybe even better? So, Erik asked if he could give it a whirl. When the man agreed, his heart pounded, not from first-timer fright but rather from the mere thought of being able to soar when and where he wanted. There’s a school of thought that says great pilots are born not made and that fit Erik. He and the plane seemingly became one as the way he handled the plane the very first day was as smooth as glass, no jerky movements, no over-controlling. His touch was so velvety his buddy’s Dad commented on how good he was. Those were the only words needed to head for the sky. A slight smile crossed his lips recalling the pent-up current of life released, making it easy for the huge transition from not knowing where he was headed to aviation highflyer. The feeling rushing throughout his body made him wonder if there really was such a thing as destiny because like a freedom flight, aviation became his personal morphine, dulling the home life pain. He wanted to become an airline pilot and every second thereafter was devoted to achieving that singular goal. It was a risky endeavor to live small yet dream so large, but without risk there could be no reward. So he stepped outside into an entirely new world, living nothing but aviation and had finally arrived at the desired destination, but now wondered if it would last.

  Ursula Preis pulled into the driveway as Erik was closing the front door. He walked over to her squeaky clean Volkswagen, sparkling so much in the sunshine he had to put his shades on. “Hi, Mom. Let me guess. You went to the beauty parlor and then got your car washed?” he offered with a toothy smile and green eyes comfortably hidden behind his sunglasses. Like the landscaping, her golden mane was perfectly coiffed; not a blade of grass or single hair out of place. The hairstyle’s soft waves accentuated her pleasant-looking, still wrinkle-free face and fair complexion, while the soft summer weight indigo cotton dress highlighted her deep sapph
ire-blue eyes, just like the dark red roses underscored the deep green color of the lawn.

  “Why, yes,” she replied without looking directly at him and gently patting the right side of her head. “But why are you home so early?” she asked in a very soft voice with only a faint hint of an accent. “No students today?”

  The car’s air conditioner was running full blast and Erik could feel the undulating waves of cool air mixing with the breeze carrying a whiff of her roses with it.

  “I do have students today, but I came home to shower and change.” Pointing to his armpits, he added, “sehr ubelriechend, very smelly.”

  Ignoring his German comment out of innate fear he could understand the language, a frowning Ursula inquired in English, “Will you be home for dinner?”

  There was no hesitation. “No. I have a new student at four. The first-timers normally take a while. I won’t be finished ‘til later.” He purposely lied, as introductory lessons never lasted long because the beginner was usually jittery and also ubelriechend. “Don’t wait for me.”

  “You are always rushing off lately. We hardly talk much, if at all. Even your father says—”

  “What does he say?” Erik interrupted, raising his voice. “Since when does he want to speak with me?”

  “Erik!” his mother shouted, with what he dubbed the pissed-off Kraut expression contorting her lovely face, “He really does care.”

  “Really? Since when? Why do you always take his side?”

  “If only you would try—” she began in a tortured voice suddenly as angst-ridden as if someone had stuck pins under her long, polished fingernails.

  “We’ve driven down this road a hundred times. I gotta go or I’ll be late.” He turned away ending any further discussion. Yet in his car he slammed both hands hard on the steering wheel. It wasn’t her fault his father was like Attila the Hun. Or was it? What kind of person was she; really? That was scary stuff he still didn’t even want to contemplate. Nonetheless he felt a pang of sorrow for her, which was easy to do if he blanked out everything prior to the last five minutes. Taking a shot at making amends, he waved goodbye while pulling away. But it went unnoticed as Ursula Preis walked up the driveway with her back to the rest of the world and into the unsullied silence of the perfect house.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Upon entering the seemingly deserted flight school office a short time later, Erik thought his first-timer had decided not to show. But Andrea whispered. “Your new student’s here,” adding with a nod that jiggled the huge knot of hair, “the skinny one.”

  “Wow,” Erik exclaimed with a smile. “Who is she? Definitely not Sal Rodriguez.” He immediately took special note of the slender and perhaps somewhat tomboyish appearing raven-haired girl sitting off in a corner near the water fountain dressed in a light blue pullover, contrasting dark, tight-fitting jeans and tiny white sneakers. Even only thumbing through a magazine a certain aura surrounded her. The diffused light from the summer sun streaming through the window made her appear as though she was on stage instead of seated on a couch.

  “She claims she’s Carol Rodriguez.”

  “When I saw the name in the flight schedule I pictured some pain-in-the-ass, over-eager 18-year-old kid. I never expected—”

  Turning away from Andrea when he felt his cheeks aflame, Erik quickly strode to the young student pilot and eagerly extended his hand. “Miss Rodriguez? I’m Erik, Erik Preis,” he offered in a low, hopefully very masculine voice. “I’ll be your flight instructor.” Erik felt dumbstruck as she had small breasts above a flat stomach, skin as flawless and smooth as the ivories on a piano keyboard and delicate features to boot. She was so sexy Erik didn’t want to shake hands but take her in his arms.

  Carol Rodriguez jumped up on slender legs like a girls’ coach would instruct students to do with their nubile bodies, so quickly that as her hand extended to meet his it became entangled in the lanyard holding the huge gold rimmed Ray-Ban sunglasses screaming out, pilot. After freeing herself she took his hand with warm, thin and smooth fingers. Her touch jolted him, while the gaze from her dark almost black, brandy-colored eyes set in clear white riveted him in place. The shower smell still clung to her and his heart was melting quicker than an ice pop exposed to the summer sun. There was no wedding ring, in fact, no jewelry as it wasn’t needed.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister Preis,” she replied. Her slightly crooked smile was so effortless it couldn’t have burned any calories. There were endless lines of bright teeth resembling Chiclets and a sexy dimple cutting into her left cheek, along with just a smidge of lipstick or lip gloss. “Please, call me Carol.”

  “Then you call me Erik,” he insisted, adding with a wave of his hand. None of the Mister stuff. And please, sit down.”

  “Okay, Erik.”

  His new student exuded a certain impression of incredible sexuality, yet also with undefined choirgirl traits. The flawless skin and white teeth contrasted with gleaming dark eyes that seemingly lit up from the inside drew him in like a pool of warm water in the dead of winter. When coupled with the glistening straight hair as black as the night, she attracted him like no one had ever done before. Her feathered bangs were cut in such a way to perfectly frame the mesmerizing, makeup-free face and bestow the embodiment of pure virtue. Yet her clothing did the opposite and accentuated every sexy curve. She was definitely his type. Pushing the lustful thoughts aside was about as easy as pouring an ice cold beer down the drain on a steamy summer day. But Erik knew his first chore was to put the student at ease, relaxed enough so she even heard what was spoken. But this time he was the one who felt like a high schooler on a first date.

  “Why do you want to learn to fly?” he asked.

  “Well, my father—”

  “Do you live nearby?” he interrupted, dying to know more about her.

  “I live with my parents in Queens, a little less than an hour’s drive away.”

  “You go to school?”

  “Yes. I’m studying at Fordham University in the Bronx for my undergraduate teaching degree. My dad, Sal entered a contest in FLYING magazine and won an hour of free flight instruction here. He’s a wannabe pilot and made the appointment, but then chickened out. They said he could do whatever he wanted with the hour so I told him I’d give it a whirl.” She giggled and asked with eyes that lit up, “Is it scary?”

  A few less than memorable flying experiences with students quickly came to mind as Erik replied with a smile, “Sometimes it can be, well, exciting, but if you listen it’s easy and fun. For starters, let’s go over the basics.”

  They sat down and Erik patiently explained the concepts of flight. He figured she might be a bit tense doing something new she didn’t yet fully understand, with someone she had just met. They were sitting close enough when she moved her head, the shiny hair would gently brush up against his face. Without going too deeply into detail, he vividly explained the theories of speed, lift and drag, beginning by explaining how the speed of the air over and under the wings produced enough lift for flight. A half-hour later, he asked, “How do you feel?”

  “I’m a bit nervous. I mean, you’re so young to be teaching. I thought my instructor would be more seasoned, someone with gray—”

  Erik put up his palm. “There are older guys here. If you’d prefer someone else I can—”

  “No,” she immediately replied, holding up her hand. “You’re nice, just young.”

  A relieved Erik smiled and as they strolled on the tarmac to the single engine Cessna 152, he couldn’t help but notice her hair swung in rhythm with her hips. Both competed for his attention, but the hips easily won out. He completed the pre-flight inspection, which included checking all of the control surfaces, landing gear and tire condition, as
well as amount of engine oil and fuel. He also drained a small amount of fuel from the low point in the wing tanks to make certain it was the proper grade; one hundred octane low lead fuel, confirmed by the light blue color and also ensured it wasn’t contaminated with water.

  After a short taxi they took off and once airborne he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The sun’s brilliance above the wispy lower clouds added a mystical luminosity to her skin. Although it took some time for her to settle down, once Erik sensed she was over her initial tenseness, he let her handle the controls. He explained how the ailerons, elevator and rudder worked and cautioned her it only took very small and deliberate control inputs to get the plane to respond.

  “Let’s take her up to two thousand, five hundred feet,” he directed, pointing to the round altimeter while quickly describing how it worked. “We’ll practice some basic techniques of flight; climbs, descents and turns.” Wanting to spend more time he extended the session beyond the normal hour.

  After landing they reviewed everything and as he handed her a small booklet explaining and illustrating each maneuver, Erik noticed impatient glances from Andrea who obviously wanted to close up. But he was smitten with this young lady and concluded by informing her what to expect during their next hour together.

  “But I only signed up for the hour my Dad won.”