Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

“I did! That was you? Was it scary?” she asked, as though what he would impart was immeasurably important.

Erik recounted what happened moment by moment, omitting anything about Woody. “It happened so fast I didn’t have time to get frightened ‘til it was over.”

She pictured him, calm and cool and a chill ran the length of her spine.

“The airline job was a godsend ‘cause full-time flight instructing was taking its toll, with my patience the first thing to fly off into the sunset.” He related an account about another student, omitting his name. “He’s not a bad pilot, but we began doing touch and go’s, when you don’t stop after landing but keep the plane rolling and take off again. Like I showed you, when you retard the engine throttle before landing you’re also supposed to pull out the carburetor heat knob to direct the motor’s warm air into the carburetor to keep ice from clogging it. But he was so edgy he mistakenly pulled the mixture control knob.”

Carol put her hand to her mouth, gasping, “Doesn’t that shut off the—?”

“—Yeah, the engine. Suddenly it got very quiet, very quickly. I was certain it would restart, but he was terrified and didn’t want to fly any more that day.”

Each time Carol reacted to what was spoken she tossed her hair and Erik noted a unique combination of virtue and seductiveness, an interesting combo.

To change the subject, he inquired, “You from a large family?”

“I’m an only brat,” adding, “but with lots of relatives.” She related some tales about her extended Hispanic family. “You’ve got to come to one of our gatherings. There must be over a hundred people.”

“That’s a part of life I’ve never experienced. It must be nice? Plus, I really enjoy fajitas and tacos.” He took a bite out of his cheeseburger followed by surrendering a bit more autobiography. “I’m also an only child. My parents are German immigrants and the only family on this side of the Atlantic.” He stopped speaking and glanced at the prints of fighter aircraft built by Fairchild Aviation, many during World War II when those family members were the enemy, so different from the way they were now viewed. The company was long gone but the prints still adorned the walls. Erik wondered if there was wisdom in any war.

Like the cards you hold during a game of draw poker, as a rule Erik played his private life very close to the vest, but he felt inexplicably different with her and opened up a bit. “My parents aren’t like the family picture you just painted...” he hesitated, wondering if he had already said too much, “more like loners.” He quickly added, “Josef and Ursula are their names.” Mimicking a German accent he continued, “But zey are so American zat zey now go by Joe and Uli. Zey also changed our last name from Preismann to Preis; definitely more American-sounding.”

“Why’d they come to the States?”

“I think it had to do with when JFK was President and stood up against the Russians in Berlin because the entire family worshipped him like a god.” He took a long swig of soda and added, “I’m still living with them here in Farmingdale and it really stinks ‘cause there’s no privacy and I still have to put everything in its proper place. Plus, it’s an hour-long drive to LaGuardia, more with traffic. But the rent is a bit cheaper.”

Carol sensed he might feel awkward, so she took his hand and the first thing she noticed was its warmth. Patting it, she added with mock pity, “Then you must come to a Rodriguez family get-together. Everyone would love to meet you if for no other reason than you’d be the only one with blond hair,” she added in a tender voice.

“I’d love that. But for now let’s concentrate on getting you flying solo.”

“Oh my God! Me? Solo? I can’t believe it. How long does that take?”

“Sometimes it takes only four or five hours for really sharp students like you, but more for others.”

Sitting there sipping sodas she asked out of the blue, “Are you married?” The question hung in the air for a few seconds begging for a response.

Do I look married? “No. No woman could ever live in the same house with my parents,” adding, “I’m not even seeing anyone right now.”

Obviously embarrassed, her cheeks flushed. “That was pretty bold of me.”

“Don’t worry.”

When finished she offered to pick up the tab. Though most airline pilots were so cheap they let less money slip through their fingers than air seep through the windows of their pressurized jets, she was different. “No way,” he said. I’ve got it.” Erik quickly slid out of the booth, went to the cashier and paid the fourteen-dollar tab. While standing outside next to her black Subaru he reminded her. “Don’t forget to hit the books before our next lesson; that is if your parents agree. You’ll grasp a lot more since we’ve now been up twice. We’ll be practicing the same basics with the emphasis on you performing them without my help. Next come the touch and go’s and soon you’ll be ready to solo.”

While extending her hand to thank him for the instruction and the burger their eyes made direct contact. “If you buy dinner for all your students, you’ll go broke,” she laughed with a twinkle in her eyes.

There was no hesitation. “I save it only for the ones I like.” But now he hesitated, probing, “Would you like to get together in a more informal setting one night?”

“Are you asking me out?”

He hesitated, again. “I guess so.”

“I would love that.”

“How’s tomorrow night?”

“That would be great,” she immediately replied, noting he was a bit on the shy side, which she found to be very sexy. She also prayed his reserved reaction wasn’t from being burned in the past; afraid to touch the stove, again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Christina spent much of Saturday