Memories

I tucked my feet over the scrunchy blanket, watching as a tall man set his red ice chest down in front of us and settled on top of it. The skin of his bare back looked red and blistered from the heat of the sun, and he glittered in a shiny sort of way that made me blink in the sparkles of light that reflected off of the simmering chain around his neck.

He was fascinating, somehow. Those blue shorts, bald head, white bandanna…I was reluctant, at first, to take my eyes off of him and his red cooler. But my father's persistence broke through and I eventually turned to follow the direction of his finger. With reassurance, I glanced back at the man – still there.

Assured that my new find would not leave me I glanced back at the sky where a plane hovered in the middle of the air. I cocked my head to the side, waiting for it to move and jump across the sky, like all airplanes did. But this one hovered in place, impossibly sitting perfectly still. Didn't planes have to move in order to be airplanes? I wondered, utterly taken by this new site.

Planes have engines, and engines make them go forward, so this plane must have engines on the front. My very logical mind-voice concluded, four engines, it said, two in front and two in back—that way, the plane can sit in one place without having to move around. I giggled, trying hard to peer at the far away figure for those four engines.

For such a small airplane, it sure didn't have many extras. The wings were totally missing, and instead it had bars sticking out of the bottom – those must be the engines keeping it up!  I clapped my hands, happy to keep watching this new marvel hover in front of me, but my father was once again poking at my back.

I scowled, a faint fear clawing at the back of my mind that this plane would disappear if I turned my head, but it seemed to be staying in place – just as the man still sitting in front of me and making loud noises was. So I turned, following the new direction of my fathers finger to see them just in time.

Engines roaring at top speed, the blue birds careened away from one another and then re-grouped, pack-like mentality twisting and dancing madly across the sky, the noise of their engines pounding in my ears as they shot forward like a logical plane should. My fathers excited, reassuring voice dipped into my ears, "The Blue Angels."

I had no interest for these logical planes, though. I turned back, scanning the skies where my favorite waited, but after several glances all over the place it had gone—vanished. It had left me. A sudden and yet very deep sense of loss and betrayal slammed into my gut as tears sparkled in my eyes. It didn't even say goodbye.

--

I blushed, relaxing back into my seat, "So, yeah, I apparently was more interested in helicopters than the Blue Angels."

"This was in Oregon , right?" Dad asked, pressing his foot slowly onto the brake when we came upon a red light. He looked at me, clear shock in his expression, "Do you remember how old you were?"

I shrugged, "I don't know…three? Four? Might have been five."

Dad shook his head, "Care, the only time you've ever seen the Blue Angels, you were two years old."

"Oh…is that not normal?"