Going Down

"Remember, your essays are due tomorrow."

That's a really nice goodbye, Mr. MacLean. Really nice. Oh well, at least it's my cue to leave.

I retrieve my bag from under my chair and make my way towards the exit door of my science class...

"Inel?" I froze. My last name was only ever mentioned when I was in trouble. And I mean deep, deep shit.

I slowly turn towards my teacher, trying my best to keep a calm, stoic expression on my face, although couldn't help but have a bead of sweat run down my forehead.

"Yes, Mr. MacLean?" My voice was noticeably shaky, and at that moment I was glad there was nobody else in the room.

"Robin, I would like to congratulate you on your score on the test this afternoon."

What?

"I believe you scored 99 out of 100 and that has been the highest any of my students have achieved."

WHAT?!

"I... Uhh..." I stammered. Guess I wasn't getting scolded. I fact, I was getting PRAISED. Something very rare from Mr. MacLean.

"Just try to work on grammar errors. I spotted a few myself, but they can be forgiven... For now."

Well, there's the criticism. I just manage to blurt out a small "Thank you!" shake his hand, and take off down the hall grinning like a madman.

But what made the day better? I had enough money to cash in for a flight lesson. Double win.

Flying was one of my passions in life. If I was feeling down, I'd go for a flight lesson. If I was joyous, (like right now) I'd go for a flight lesson.

I push my way through the gargantuan crowd of students to the main exit doors, and am greeted by something to be called somewhat rare in Zurich. Sunlight.

I smile to myself as I make my way across a large sports field. Perfect weather for flying.

I was lucky that my school was close to Zurich Airport. Made the job of walking there a whole lot easier.

I turn down one of the many small roadways that lead to several hangars before stopping at one. A large forest green sign above the hangar doors says:
NEON AIR
FLIGHT TRAINING AND TOURS

I step through a small side entrance and enter a cozy reception area. Seated behind a mahogany desk was an elderly woman with short silver hair tied in a bun.

"Ah, Robin! Good to see you. Here to get another lesson, hmm?"

"Yes thank you, miss Miyagi."

"Thought as much. Peter's up in the hangar fixing up that old bike of his. Want a mint? Miss Miyagi offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I reply. "But I might have one when I get back down."

"There may not be any left by then," she chuckled. "Anyways, see you soon."

"Thanks, miss Miyagi." Nice lady, she is.

I continue through the hallway to my left and I am met with an expansive hangar filled dozens of aircraft.

I admire the sight until I hear the clatter of metal and a distinctive "Ah, fuck!" coming from behind a cessna 172.

"Hey, Peter! Give the bike a rest, he didn't mean it!" I joke as I continue to find Peter McGee covered in engine grease and oil nursing his now bleeding thumb.

"C'mon, Robin. Gimme a break here! I just got assaulted by a BIKE." I roll my eyes as he gets up.

"I believe someone owes me a flight lesson? I'm not paying to watch a cage fight against you and a piece of machinery." I gesture towards the dirt bike.

Peter's eyes widen. "Oh! Okay, let me just clean myself up." I watch as Peter grabs a small rag, wipes his face with it, then puts it down.

"...That's all? Not even a shower?" I ask, incredulous.

"Eeyup. You've know me for a while. Thought you would've picked up on that." He winked at me as I rolled my eyes and sighed.

"So, mister hygienic," I say sarcastically. "What plane will it be today?"

Peter looks over the multitude of planes in the hangar. "I say the cessna 182. And If you have any sort of sanity, you won't argue."

And I don't. The cessna 182 in our hangar was recently installed with turbo, which made the aircraft a pleasure to fly. Although the cessna lacked fuel efficiency and maneuverability, the speed of the turbo made up for it in acceleration.

"Alright. Let's get started." I say as we weave our way through wings and propellers.

As we reach the cessna, we begin the pre-flight checks. Including checking the hull, ailerons, elevators and rudder for damage, checking fuel levels and run RPM tests.

All clear.

I disable the wheel brakes and Peter opens the hangar door. I begin pushing the plane to the empty road in front of the building as Peter shuts the door behind me.

I pull myself into the left side of the cockpit while Peter pulls himself into the right. He nods to me, and I flick the master switch.

The engine roars to life, and the propeller starts to rotate at a tremendous speed.

The radio suddenly activates and I hear the muttering of air traffic control. Peter radios in and requests takeoff.

Request accepted.

I slowly push the throttle and the rotation speed of the propellers increase. The cessna rolls to the end of the runway, then slowly turns around.

Peter nods to me, and a start pushing the throttle. The cessna lurches forward as the propellers rotate considerably faster, and it begins to gather speed.

I look out my window at the rapidly passing ground below us and start to pull up on the yoke. The bumping lessens and then...

Nothing except the engine humming and a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Never to old to be scared, eh Baron?" Mocked Peter.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." I retorted through the microphone.

'Baron' was my nickname when I first arrived at junior flight school. Every kid there was asked what there inspiration to fly was. A few kids said there parents or relatives or people like Emelia Earheart or The Wright Brothers.

Me? I chose Manfred von Richthofen. More commonly known as 'The Red Baron'.

Soon enough, Peter spoke again.

"Okay, I'm going to take you through some basic maneuvers first, to get you up to speed." I was fine with that.

"We're going to fly out over Lagern first." Satiated Peter. "On the way there preform some simple banks, and test the rudder. Kapiche?"

"Kapiche."

"Alright, now- wait, what the hell?" Peter looked up through the window in confusion.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's... It's a fucking table! BRACE!"