The sky was blue, a perfect clear blue. The few clouds were puffy and white, the sun a friendly yellow, the grass emerald green. Even the dreary grey sidewalk was pleasant as it supported Thomas’s thumping little feet. He looked up, traced a thin white line back across the sky to its source. He stumbled, the pavement grew closer, the cracks inches from his face. Impact; the world tumbled, rolled, flipped over. His vision span the little airplane across Thomas’s sight as he finally fell still, the grass tickling his arms. The pounding of feet greeted his ears as he watched the little airplane slowly right itself in its path across the sky. It had danced for him. He was watching it still, after his parents had stood him up, brushed him off, checked him over, and started him back towards the car.
“He’s bleeding…” his mother said, sounding oddly far off. His attention was still captured by the distant plane.
“He’s dazed; see how he’s staring?” his father replied, nodding towards his son. Thomas’s parents pushed him towards the car. Inside, he traced the airplane in the sky until it was long gone, his chubby cheek pressed against the window.
“Daddy, what’s that?” he asked dreamily.
“Hm? Oh, that’s an airplane, Tommy.” The little boy gazed out the window, tracking the airplane in his mind’s eye.
“Airplane…”
***
Three years later, the grass was still green, the sky blue, the sun a warm yellow, the clouds white. The pavement was greyer than before. An older Thomas lay in the grass in front of his house, head in hands, legs waving in the air. A large picture book was propped up before him. He was flipping through the pages slowly, images of cars, trucks, and trains occupying the pages. He turned yet another page, and was greeted by a friendly sight. An airplane. Thomas was delighted, he stopped flipping pages and read all the book had to say on the subject of aircraft. Of jets, of engines, of wings. Flying. When he had read all he could of airplanes in his book, he looked to the sky for one. Rolling over onto his back, he looked up. The sky was half filled with fluffy, mash-potato clouds, blue peeking out from behind the mounds. Sure enough, a little white airplane was making its way across the sky. He followed it with his eyes, dreaming up characters who would be riding it, imagining he knew every inch of that plane, that model. That he was pilot, that the airplane was breaking, only he could fix it!! Yes, he could fix it, no ma’m there was nothing to worry about, yes, he could fly this old thing and fix it at the same time. Nothing to worry about.
***
A few years later, Thomas’s love for airplanes had only increased. He read about them, created and solved problems for them, built models, researched, studied. He went to school, learned his math and science well so that he could one day work on and with his beloved aircraft. Thomas was obsessed. But even before he learned to deal with pimples, facial hair and girls, he learned to hide his love of aircraft. It wasn’t cool, it was childish, it was nerdy. It could not become public news if Thomas was to have any sort of social life. So he hid it as best he could, and focused much of his energy to acting normal. But he still studied, learned, built, and drew his airplanes when no one could see him, comment on this abnormal obsession of his. He occasionally even biked to the country, where the sky was a clear blue and the grass was an emerald green, where he could read, watch, and chase his airplanes as much and as long as he liked.
***
Years passed, and Thomas graduated high school, then college, received his master’s degree in engineering. He flew for the first time, and marveled the whole trip on how that specific plane had worked, how green the grass was from his window and how close the clouds were. Flying soon became routine for him, less special to him than it had been before. Thomas soon became known for his abilities with airplanes, and was shipped all over the world to fix and create. He married, had kids, had airplanes. He grew old, grew wiser. He was happy.
Thomas watched his kids grow, struggle through life, giving them help when he could. They gave him grandkids as he grew even older. He watched his skin grow thin, his veins stick out. He felt his face wrinkle, felt his body become frail. He was old, almost too old for his beloved airplanes.
On his final flight, he looked out the window and into the world beyond. The sky was a beautiful, clear blue, the sun a soft yellow, the clouds fluffy white. The grass far below was a healthy emerald green. And as Thomas flew his final flight, he wondered how many small children’s lives were being changed as they watched, wondered and chased this plane.
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