Elley Edwards
I’m not sure when it started, or when I consciously recognised it. It was so gradual and insidious that I was in too deep long before I knew what had developed. Now? Well, now I have to deal with the consequences, the mess, I suppose you’d call it. I sometimes hardly think that I’m able, but, by some unforeseeable force, I’ve come to this point in my life and Lord knows it’s too late to undo or reverse what has happened.
I’m not sure if it is the Lord whom I should refer to…I’m not exactly what you’d call a religious person. Spiritual, sure, but religious: church every Sunday, belief in a higher power which controls your life’s outcomes…nuh-uh. That’s definitely not me. Oh, sure I’ve prayed a couple of times during these past few months, simply out of despair of not knowing who to turn to, who else to put my faith in, but I’d hardly call the Vatican and announce another believer.
My irritation has clouded my judgement and I’ve clearly omitted the whole story of how this came about; my life as an invisible.
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When I was a little boy, I loved going to the airport with my dad to see the jets take off. We’d go out there on a Saturday morning and watch the small planes magically rise from the ground as if being pulled up into the clouds by an invisible string. That was our thing: dad and me. Dad used to be a pilot until his eyesight forced him into the lesser job of a baggage handler. Dad had to go to our small town airport 2-3 times a day to collect the baggage of the passengers flying in and out. Being a small airport, with one carrier connecting to larger city airports, the carrier would ensure that their employees could do more than one job. This saved time and money. Dad’s job wasn’t just collecting the baggage and transporting it to the aeroplane’s empty belly, but he also served as a marshal on the runway. He would don his hi-vis orange vest and direct the pilots to a safe take-off.
Dad loved these jobs, but not as much as he loved to fly. So on his days off, when they fell on a weekend, we would go out to the airport together and sometimes he’d take me behind the baggage desk and show me the radio in which they talked to the incoming planes; other times we’d just lean against the cold, chain link cyclone fence and watch the spasmodic flights of the planes landing and taking off… I thought it was awesome and couldn’t wait for those days off to spend time with him.
I guess from the early days I knew I wanted to be a pilot and by the time I graduated from high school I was already qualified, having attended flying lessons and flown with dad from the age of 14. I was ready to apply to a commercial airline. A random twist of events set me on a path that was far more ambitious than flying commercial planes. I was looking for more excitement and glamour. I wanted to fly fighter jets.
To be continued...
Where I’m heading in this story possibly...Jet fighting leads to astronaut in space program ET encounter or space experiment gone wrong.Conflict: literally invisible? Part of the group of astronauts who are being shunned by public/government after a tragic event.
Ending? Hoping for a ‘cure’ or a resolution/ recognition.
IDEAS?
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