by Aimee Norin
"What do you do in it?"
"Me? I teach math down at the high school. Algebra and Trig."
"Okay. Just wanted to get a sense of you."
"Best sense for that is me-math-teacher, or me-who-survived-a-bad-marriage-for-fifteen-years, or me-mother-of-two, or me-Jewish."
"You're Jewish? I didn't pick up on that."
"You might not. I don't seem to telegraph it-which takes me to some of my thoughts I'd like to share."
"Yeah, go ahead. Sorry."
They crossed an intersection to angle slightly right to the big red barn.
"Greenhills isn't like most small towns. To begin with, most people there are from somewhere else. It's L.A., Miami, New York, Kansas City-a lot of 'em from Kansas City and Omaha, because, really, as opposed to being an isolated little thing, Greenhills is more of a Suburb in America with elbow room. We have one little grocery store, two churches-one has a regular preacher, but ours has no regular preacher right now, so we make do-"
"You're Jewish?"
"Yeah, but we don't have a synagogue in Greenhills, and it's more of a church about our lives than any particular religion."
Millie waited for a response, but got none.
They entered the Barn Store and Millie began looking for her items while they talked.
Lourdes followed along.
"So, it's really not classic in any sense like that. It's a little city. I mean, where else can you have many of the values you might find in L.A. but with the freedom to have a barn and a grass strip literally right beside town? Right there across the street. The flavor of peaceful country roots and the intrigue of civilization."
Lourdes' phone rang again, so she pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it. "It's Jim again. Just a sec?" she told Millie, then speaking into the phone, "What!" Pause. "It's none of your business." She paused to listen while indicating to Millie that she was frustrated. "Really!" she said into the phone. "Maybe."
She hung up the phone.
Millie was clearly curious.
"He wants to take me flying in his RV-6."
"Great! I've done that! He's a good pilot."
"He seems to be good at everything!"
Lourdes started to pick up some more snack bars, but then realized: it's Sunday. Tent caf?s were open, now, close enough to the airshow, and she didn't need them any more. But she did see some mosquito repellent, and got some of that.
"And on the other part, those groups-that is a really good concern, and, Hon, am I ever good at talking about that one."
"From having squabbled with some of them?"
"Duh? It's more than that. I think Judaism is a good example. Because we've been a group for three thousand years, give or take. Think about how hard that is to keep together? We've got people all the time who leave, who join the group, who argue that so-and-so isn't really a member of the group, who argue that so-and-so is, too. We agree; we disagree-sometimes vehemently. But we have to find a way, still, to be part of the same group, to carry on, which also means getting through anger and misunderstandings. Arguing is part of who we are and I think that is what helps keep us together."
"What?" Lourdes asked.
"Because people have to express their mind. Contrary to narrow opinions, different ideas are money in the bank to any group that wants to survive for the long haul, because times and things change. Different ideas are the creativity a group needs to adapt.
"Even our name: 'Israel. You know what that means in Hebrew?"
"I have no idea. Shalom is all I know."
"A good start: Peace. 'Israel' means to 'struggle with God.'" Millie laughed at herself. "See? We argue with everything. It's part of life. Sometimes we even argue over whether there is a god. That has got to be a group of very serious arguments. And we survive it, because we accept from the outset that we are going to argue."
Millie stopped in an aisle short of the cash registers to look Lourdes in the eye.
"And that's pretty much what a town can be, including people you will argue with sometimes."
They went through the checkout stand and carried Millie's groceries back to the motorhome in bags.
Lourdes felt as if she were on a precipice, on the edge. She felt large changes ahead, needed someone to share a vision, and Millie was helping.
"I- I'm not comfortable with the idea of having arguments," Lourdes said.
"Maybe you're not comfortable with the idea of conflicting. But arguing? It's just people expressing different views. Doesn't have to be ugly."
"When the student is ready-" Lourdes decided to confide a little more. "Maybe I can share some of some of my personal insanity with you?"
"Love it," Millie said. "If I don't know you're crazy, we're not really friends."
Lourdes stopped at that for a second. "People sometimes think untrue things- I'm worried that there is another group that misrepresents me, makes people misunderstand me. That makes me seem fake.
"Okay. If others key off this or that thing in you," Millie said, "or worse-listen to others when they intone something-they can never understand you. Because you aren't any things about you. You are you, inside."
"I can agree with that."
"That's a major reason we don't like gossip-not just Jews but also not most reasonable people, and also not us folks in Greenhills: Gossip destroys community. It hurts the people who do it, as well as the people it targets, and it also teaches the community that kind of thing is okay. And it's not. Someone says something about Sarah Beth Crabtree? And we're supposed to know something about her from that? Whether part of it's true or not? No! You can't. You don't know why she did this or that, what was behind it, or even if it happened at all. What you learn from that kind of gossip, is something negative about the gossiper. See that wonderful movie, 'The Contender' with Joan Allen and Jeff Bridges?" Millie asked.
"Yes, I loved it," Lourdes said. "It was about false accusations, integrity. People using half-truths to hurt someone."
"There's your gossip image to hang onto. We don't put up with that in Greenhills, or not around us. I, for one, know better, and so do most folks."
Lourdes pressed another point. "What if Person A humiliates himself in front of everybody else sometime-biggest humiliation that could exist?"
"Well, that's family. Take a number. We all do that sooner or later. And if we don't, then we're really not family, I think. That's got to be part of the meaning of it, I'd say. If people think they are a successful group yet they've never really fought? Then I don't think they're much of a group yet; they're just standing nearby. And the beauty of it: If people are working to become a group, and they fight miserably, and someone learns she's humiliated herself horribly in front of them all-and then they get past it-then they know. Then they know they're really a group, and that is one of the greatest feelings there is. That's a bonding, there.
"Same as for a marriage. Same as for a friendship. You're thinking about some kind of potential situation in Greenhills?"
"I don't know," Lourdes said, shaking her head.
"Well, to me?" Millie looked around at nothing while she thought. "You're not subject to what the group thinks. If you're part of a group, you're part of what makes it work or not. If you're involved. What you think matters as well."
CHAPTER 13
Lourdes wasn't going to let Millie's kind help ruin her angry day.
"You do not look like Matt Damon!" Lourdes yelled at Jim as she marched across the vast, green lawns of the Homebuilt Camping area, toward Jim's red, NASCAR-like-painted RV-6 with racing logos all over it. "You look more like Tom Hanks' little brother, if there is one-"
Some guys sitting near the RV-7 camped next to Jim's plane noticed her demeanor.
Jim smiled broadly and grabbed her gently by the shoulders.
"No good morning kiss!" Lourdes demanded. "I'm mad at you-"
Jim planted a warm kiss on her.
Lourdes' sparks flew again as her central nervous system sizzled.
&
nbsp; The guys began good-natured laughing, making friendly, supportive comments.
"Oh, that's it!"
"That's the way to do it."
"Go get her!"
"Ha ha!"
Sporting a happy smile, Jim stood back to stare at her. "Good morning, Lourdes!" he said.
The guys had to cut in.
"Is he a movie star?" they asked.
"No good! Take two, and this time with passion!"
"Roll 'em!"
Lourdes started to object, but she was a little slow to react.
Jim smiled at the guys and leaned in more softly to kiss her gently, breathing over her lips, lingering over face-then, wrapping his right arm behind the small of her back, drew her in to kiss her more firmly, touching her tongue with his teeth.
"Ooooooh! Zoom in on that!"
"That's a wrap!"
"Get a room!"
"No! Do it again!" they called out in encouragement.
Jim stepped away from Lourdes and looked at her.
"Ooooh," the first guy said again.
Lourdes began to blush and stepped aside to stabilize herself with a hand on Jim's wing. She felt herself respond in spite of herself.
"And here we are!" Jim reached down to his left wing-root and picked up two, blue parachutes. "I think we ought to use these."
"Going for a flight?" the guys asked.
"Yup! Gotta take in the sights. This little lady needs a ride."
There were more good-natured calls from the guys, who were enjoying themselves.
Jim plopped one of the chutes on the grass near Lourdes and began strapping the other one on her.
"You familiar with these?" Jim asked.
"Yes, but I've never actually worn one before," Lourdes stunned mind heard herself saying.
"Okay. Well it's no problem. We'll get it strapped on like this?and this. And I'll get mine on." He picked up the other one off the grass and strapped it on himself.
The guys laughed. "Better bring a sick sack," they said.
Jim smiled at them. "That's up to her." Then to Lourdes. "I won't do anything you don't agree to, okay?"
Lourdes nodded, then said, "Okay."
"That's no fun!" the guys played.
"These chutes are required by F.A.R.s, you know," Jim said, "if we happen to turn it over."
The guys laughed.
"What are you going to do?" Lourdes asked.
"Well, I thought we'd blast out of here, head out over there," Jim said, indicating an area to the east past Lake Winnebago, "and fly around a little. Do some gentle aerobatics?"
"Sure!" the guys teased.
"And I thought you might like to fly it a while?" Jim asked.
"Sure," Lourdes said. Who would pass that up?
"And if there's an emergency and we have to punch out, you know this is your rip cord," He showed her where it was.
"You're supposed to pull that before you hit the ground," one of the guys informed.
Lourdes looked and make sure she knew where it was. She was a steady-cruise, A-to-B pilot, and parachutes were new to her.
"So-" Jim looked at her then looked over the plane again as if re-doing the entire preflight a second time in his mind. "I think we're fine. Fuel, oil's right. All our nuts and bolts, chutes-"
The guys laughed.
"-NOTAM departure and camping cards for the flagmen. So lets get in?" He motioned to Lourdes to get in the plane.
The canopy was already open.
Lourdes smiled at the guys and moved to get in.
"Yep: Step right up on this non-skid area on the wing-root, then step right down onto the right seat, then onto the floor."
Lourdes looked the cockpit over. Grey interior. Round three-inch "steam" gauges in a "six-pack" formation on the panel: for altimeter, attitude indicator, turn coordinator? She made sure she found the fuel selector, throttle, mixture, in case she had to fly it back, in case something happened to Jim. It was a pilot thing, a habit. There was no prop knob; the plane had a fixed pitch prop up front. She felt the stick between her knees, cycled the control surfaces. Pressed a little on the rudder pedals and turned her head around to see the rudder wag.
Jim could see her checking it out. "Like she was born to it," Jim said to the guys, proud of her.
Jim climbed up into his left seat, grabbed a "Walk Me" sign off the top of the panel and waved it at the orange-vested biker waiting for them. "I'm almost ready," he yelled to the biker fifty feet away. "I just need to check the ATIS and then fire it up. And we'll be back to this same spot in forty minutes."
Their biker nodded, climbed off his bike and went over to stand guard on Jim's propeller, keep bystanders out of it.
"Here's your headset," Jim said to Lourdes, picking both of them off the floor in front of the seats.
They put them on in silence. Lourdes knew to leave a pilot alone when he was getting ready for takeoff. "Sterile cockpit," it was sometimes referred to: don't distract him while he's working.
Jim turned on the master, then the avionics master, then the radio-listened to the ATIS then looked at the biker with a nod.
The biker checked the area clear, and rotated his finger in the air for "Start your engine."
Jim turned the radio and avionics master back off. "You ready?" he asked Lourdes through the headset mike.
"Ready," Lourdes said, professionally.
Jim reached behind him and half-closed the canopy cover and turned the rotating beacon on.
One last look at the biker, and Jim primed the engine and turned the key. Two blades over the cowl and the engine started smoothly.
Jim held the RPM down to 900, in an effort to prevent ring wear on start-up.
Both Jim and Lourdes checked all the gauges: oil pressure, oil temperature, fuel, amperes?
Jim turned the avionics master and radio back on. Per the NOTAM in effect, Jim set the tower frequency in the radio for a Runway Three Six Left departure so he could monitor it-not the same one as used for the Runway Two Seven Fisk Arrival Procedure they had listened to the other day-and he also set his transponder to "standby," as he wasn't supposed to turn it on until they were out of the Class D airspace that surrounded Wittman Regional.
Satisfied, Jim looked over at Lourdes, who gave him a thumb's up, and then to the biker waiting for his signal out front.
The biker gave Jim the signal to stay stopped, hopped on his bike, and then patted himself on the head indicating "Follow Me," and headed out for the runway.
Jim followed the biker north between rows of planes, then east toward Taxiway Poppa. There, the biker waved goodbye, and another ground crew on foot pointed for Jim to go south on Poppa.
Both Jim and Lourdes could hear the tower periodically clearing planes for takeoff.
They taxied south past homebuilts on the flight line, past the Brown Arch, past Show Center, past the Theatre in the Woods, past Vintage parking and camping, to Point Fondie at the end of Taxiway Poppa, where Jim did a pre-takeoff run-up.
"All set-ski?" Jim asked Lourdes."
"Ready and willing," she responded, getting the feel for the plane.
Jim smiled. "Oshkosh tower. Red low wing holding short on Poppa beginning of Runway Three Six Left, right downwind departure per NOTAM."
"Red low wing, hold short, landing traffic."
"Red low wing holding short," Jim said. Then to Lourdes he added, "I wasn't sure if I was supposed to say my "N" number or not, but he seems happy."
"I don't know either."
A group of cubs landed on Runway Three Six Left in formation-like a slow, graceful group of lighter-than-air ballet dancers touching down on a stage in front of fifty thousand onlookers. In time, they exited the runway onto the grass in Vintage Parking.
A.T.C. spoke on Jim's radio: "Red low wing, cleared for takeoff Three Six Left. Turn right before you reach the tower, then fly heading one five zero until clear, at or below one thousand three hundred."
"Right before the tower, one five zero until
clear, below thirteen hundred, red low wing. Clear for takeoff."
Jim closed the canopy the rest of the way, latched it, and rolled onto the runway, looking for traffic to his right-looking for any more cubs that might be coming in, or space ships, or warbird megaplanes, anything-then pirouetted smartly to the left, smoothly adding throttle.
The little RV-6 picked up speed rapidly. Jim pushed forward on the stick and raised the tailwheel off the runway, then, because it picked up speed so rapidly, he almost immediately afterward pulled the stick back again-and Jim, Lourdes, and the little, red, NASCAR-painted speedster lifted gracefully off the runway, climbing skyward like a homesick angel.
Lourdes watched him carefully, but also watched the airport fall away beneath them, thousands of people watching.
Before reaching the tower, Jim banked smartly to the right, heading one five zero, keeping his altitude below 1,300 feet mean sea level.
Lourdes watched his altimeter. Jim held it perfectly.
Wittman Regional left behind them; the southern end of Lake Winnebago approached ahead-blue as a sapphire, surrounded by a sea of emerald fields.
Lourdes' heart was pounding. "This plane is fast," she said into the intercom.
Jim smiled at her.
Outside the Class D airspace, Jim turned his transponder to "On" and climbed to about two thousand five hundred feet A.G.L., Above Ground Level.
They cruised a ways east to get away from any Oshkosh traffic.
"Lets do some clearing turns, okay?" he asked Lourdes.
"Fine," Lourdes said.
Jim made two ninety degree turns, first left then right, looking for planes, birds, bugs, rocket ships, anything. Finding nothing, he entered a left standard turn.
"Yank and bank?" he asked her?
Lourdes giggled at him. "Or as we say in Star Wars: 'tank and spank.'"
"You ever get air sick?" He asked.
"Flying simple A to B?"
"Okay then."
Jim straightened it out in level cruise at about 165 knots, about 190 mph, then raised the nose thirty degrees and neutralized the elevators.
Lourdes felt herself go weightless-
Jim pressed the stick midway left.
Lourdes watched a spherical Planet Earth rotate 360 degrees around them from left, to overhead, to right, disappearing again beneath the right wing. Her feeling that brief second they were inverted, with the earth above them, was the sky was so deep! She could sense for her first time in her life: the sky faded to black outer space beneath them, it looked so different when it was below.
