I Miss the way the Sun Streamed Through my Window
Head down, stay down. Brace, brace, brace.
Cherry Berry wasn’t sure who came up with that phrase. But she supposed it got the point across. She heard it at the Earth Pony Air Association meeting last year, during a seminar about flight safety. If necessary, a pilot was supposed to shout this out to the passengers, as a way of preparing them for a particularly rough landing.
It worked better for airplanes, she reasoned. Helicopters were a different story.
An alarm rang in the cockpit, making her flinch. The red light blinked as she wrestled with the flight controls. She reached above and flicked a switch, silencing the alarm and killing the light. After a second, she exhaled in relief.
Rain and hail battered against the helicopter’s windshield. Even from within the confines of the cockpit, she could hear the engines and main rotor of the helicopter chugging away. Gray clouds swallowed up the sky around her, blocking her vision completely.
So far, so good, she thought to herself, pulling the helicopter a little higher. She wiped at her brow with a hoof, scowling. Dammit. Why’d you have to lie to me? Why’d you tell me everything was fine?
She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. Cherry glanced backwards, through the plexiglass divider, to the young pony who was strapped into the passenger’s seat. She looked up and waved at Cherry. After a moment, Cherry mustered a smile and waved back.
Why did you tell me everything was okay? she wanted to ask. But there wasn’t a point. Her voice would just be drowned out by the din of the engines anyways. She turned back to the front, and the smile slid off of her face.
Cherry sighed again and rubbed her face with a hoof. Right now, she should have been at the Air Association, getting an award for her dedication to the field of earth pony aviation. Her wife should have been at the university, giving a lecture to a group of hopelessly bored students, and her daughter should have been at school.
Everything should have been okay.
The helicopter shook violently, sending all of its occupants jerking about. Cherry swore and pulled it straight again, her heart leaping into her throat. After a few seconds, though, she exhaled in relief as the helicopter straightened itself out.
It was the worst bout of turbulence she had ever faced in her long and illustrious career. But if there was anyone who could have gotten through it, it was her. Well, that’s what Yearling told her anyways.
Cherry licked her lips, scanning the front console. A series of numbers and information stared back at her, telling her exactly what she feared. A growl escaped her lips, lost to the ever-present racket inside the cockpit.
Last week when she got home, Yearling was waiting for her. She put a hoof on her shoulder and sat her down on the couch. Then, in a low and calm voice unfitting for her, she explained that their daughter was sick.
Cherry hated that word. Sick. It seemed like such a lackluster way of saying it. She wanted to believe that Yearling was wrong. And when she talked to the doctors, she wanted to believe that they were wrong too.
They didn’t care what she believed, because it didn’t change the fact that Skybound, the pride and joy of Cherry’s life, was sick. Two weeks, they said.
That made her mad. Yearling had reached out to every pony she knew and called in every favor she had left. She came up with one possible solution: an experimental surgery done by specialists in a faraway country.
They had to take it. That much they agreed on. But it seemed like the world was working against them, as there weren’t any easy routes to get there. Cherry Berry swore that she’d fly her daughter there herself if she had to.
It didn’t matter that the weather was horrible. It didn’t matter that the entire Flight Association told her this was a stupid idea. A chance was a chance. She had to take it.
After all, she’d taken risks before. She liked to think that she was taking a risk every single time she took to the sky. And Yearling? Yearling’s middle name was practically ‘danger.’ This was tame compared to some of the things she had done in her life.
The helicopter shuddered again, and Cherry jerked the controls upwards. She bit her lip hard, tasting blood. Her eyes fell on the emergency instruction manual: a thick novel designed to walk even the greenest of pilots through every situation imaginable.
Nothing in there could help her, though. She knew because she practically wrote the damned thing.
Cherry wanted to laugh. She was supposed to be the world’s foremost aviation expert, the first pilot to be born with hooves on the ground. Mother always said that she should have been born with wings.
But all her skill and her experience told her that realistically there was only one outcome. She didn’t want to listen, but what else was she supposed to do?
Cherry’s ear twitched as she heard something thump behind her. She turned around to see Skybound behind the partition, worry in her eyes. She shouted something that Cherry couldn’t hear.
Cherry smiled at her and shook her head. She pointed back to the seat. Everything is going to be okay, she mouthed. Sit back down. We’ll get out of this soon.
Skybound looked hesitant, but nodded. I love you, she mouthed. With that, the teenager returned to her seat and strapped herself back in.
Cherry stared at her for a little longer and turned back around. Her eyes were tearing up underneath her flight goggles. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to break down right then and there.
Yearling would have told her to keep going. She would have said that there was always a solution waiting to be found. But she wasn’t saying anything now.
The helicopter bounced again, and Cherry glanced to her right, where Yearling sat slumped over in the copilot’s seat. About half an hour ago, the turbulence had gotten worse, and when the helicopter shook Yearling had banged her head against the console.
Cherry reached out and shook her gently. She didn’t react. Cherry couldn’t see her face underneath her helmet, but she imagined that she looked at peace.
Half an hour ago they had been arguing over their headsets. Arguing about whose fault it was that they were in this stupid situation to begin with. Arguing about what they were going to do when they landed. Arguing if they were going to land.
And then Skybound went up and tapped on the glass. She wasn’t wearing a headset and didn’t know what was going on. She said she was sorry for everything, and they both went quiet.
The alarm started blaring again, and the blinking red light filled the cabin. Cherry pulled at the controls again, but they didn’t react. She sighed, letting go of the sticks. She turned around and smiled at Skybound, who nodded and smiled back.
The engine still roared, but the sound was different. Cherry didn’t know, but she was fairly certain there was smoke streaming out of the rotors. She wasn’t really sure what was failing, but honestly she didn’t really care.
Cherry wanted to reach over and take off Yearling’s helmet, just to see her face again. She wanted to break the partition and crawl over to Skybound, to pull her into a hug and tell her how much she loved her. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.
But she didn’t. Instead, she sat there, and pretended that everything was okay. The alarm rang faster and faster, the red light filling her vision. The meters and instruments offered her no solace.
Head down, stay down. Brace, brace, brace.
Head down, stay down. Brace, brace, brace.
Head down, stay down. Brace, brace, brac--
