Chapters Well, San Francisco was a disaster.
Anyway, now that I’m back to some semblance of normal, I don’t have any hires scheduled, but I have received a substantial amount of now-former Delta aircraft. Their MD-88 and MD-90 retirements were accelerated due to company budget restraints, and to retire their less fuel-efficient aircraft. Included in these retirements is their Boeing 717, leaving Hawaiian as the last US operator of the type, and one of only two worldwide now. The era of the McDonnell Douglas T-tail is nearing the end, and I know that I would be remiss to not take them. They still have plenty of life left, just not in as intense and frequent use as in the airlines.
While I’m between receiving shipments of planes due for retirement, I need to visit each of the girls and show my gratitude for them. So, sending a message to each of the girls individually, I map out my appreciation tour.
I know for a fact that the Apple family has fallen on some hard times financially, this according to what she told me while I was in hospital. Much of their farming equipment has been in disrepair and/or been in need of replacement for some time. I have plenty of money to spare so I can help them out, especially now that some of my fleet is eligible for freighter conversions. I finally have the ability to create a little side-hustle by converting some of my older and less-used airplanes into freighters and leasing them out. I know that if passenger demand falls for any reason, most airliners can live very rewarding second lives as freighters.
The freighter project and sending more airplanes to the Mushroom World (they always welcome them) are currently on hold because Rosalina is not currently available to facilitate the transfer, and because the program for converting freighters is currently closed to new applicants due to backlogs of their own. A few companies have beaten me to the punch, and as it turns out could prove to be stiff competition, even though I‘m a lessor rather than an operator.
Anyway, with some spare time on my hands, I can worry about those later. For now, I need to get my affairs in order and make my visits to pay my respects to my friends.
“SoCal departure, Boeing Echo India Delta Whiskey Kilo, off March, IFR to Gusty Garden.”
“Boeing Echo India Delta Whiskey Kilo, SoCal departure, cleared to Gusty Garden airport via as filed. Climb and maintain 10,000. Squawk 2021.”
“Cleared as filed to Gusty Garden, climbing 10,000, squawk 2021, Boeing Delta Whiskey Kilo.”
“Boeing Delta Whiskey Kilo, readback correct. Proceed direct RAVON, contact Los Angeles center on 126.35.”
“Direct RAVON, 26.35, Boeing Delta Whiskey Kilo.” “Los Angeles Center, Boeing EI-DWK , 4,200 climbing 10,000.”
“Boeing EI-DWK, Los Angeles Center, Roger, climb and maintain FL220.”
“Climb FL220, Boeing DWK.”
“Hey Twilight, I’m about an hour out of Chicago. Do you still want to pick me up?”
“Yeah I do. Feel free to take your time. I’m teaching classes all day. I’m not gonna be off until maybe 16:00.”
“That’s fine. Just wanted to give you a position report. I’m looking forward to this.”
Once parked and resting for about an hour, I hop into IND with N528EG , my little old gray mare. I still have some free time, so I spiffy up a bit and text the address for Million Air Indianapolis to Twilight.
When she rolls up to the main entrance, I get in and belt up before she sets off for what she only calls “a surprise.”
“You’ll be pleased to know I have a boyfriend now.”
“You do?”
“Well, we’re sort of playing it by ear for now. We’ve gone on a couple dates already.”
“Oh wow! I’m happy for you! That’s great!”
“Don’t get too ship-y. I like him and he‘s really cute, but we’re currently long-distance.”
“Where’s he live?”
“Idaho.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Ponderay (Pend Oreille).”
“Wow, nice. He lives on a lake.”
“How do you know that area?”
“I flight trained in Washington. I knew a few people from Sandpoint. Plus, I made a few flights into Coeur D’Alene and all across the area. I’ve got most of the Pacific Northwest nailed.”
“Well, yeah, okay then.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“Online actually.”
“I’ll ask for more details later. You know I’m not a fan of surprises, so what can you tell me about what we’re doing?”
“But then where’s the fun? I know you like being the leader in most situations, but let me guide you today.”
“Thank you for not blindfolding me.”
“Oh, I’m not that cruel. Besides, we’re already here.” Twi says as she throws her car into park.
“Why are we at The Brickyard?”
“Because I have a surprise for you.”
“Isn’t the track closed for repaving?”
She doesn’t answer and instead leads me to the racer entrance. We walk through and find a gentleman standing next to a small podium with a large cylindrical object perched atop it.
“You must be Max.” He says as he extends his hand.
“Yessir, I am.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Twilight here says you’re a fan of this racetrack.”
“Indeed I am, though I fear I may have been oversold.”
“Not to worry. I know a history nut when I see one!”
I only chuckle.
“By request of Twilight, she said you would love to take a picture with this beauty .“
“I’m honored.” I say as I walk up to it and examine each layer. Just like what I said of the Grand Canyon, there is beauty in all the layers. Granted, this is entirely man-made, seeing as it’s the evolution of the racing surface at one of motorsport’s biggest tracks, but it still doesn’t diminish the beauty of seeing many years of “natural” history.
After a few shots together and some shots of the core in detail, we bid farewell and a thanks, but not before I’m presented with something I thought I’d never receive.
“I think you deserve this more than anyone. Riverside would be proud.”
What he hands to me is something so hallowed and sanctified, I’m shitting bricks. If that description doesn’t give it away, I’m holding a piece of Indianapolis’ start/finish line!
“You might be familiar with the sister city relationship that IMS had with Ontario, before Fontana, and by extension Riverside. Most of the enthusiast clubs I kept in contact with for either of those tracks have sadly moved on. When Twilight told me you were the one who purchased March from the government, being in Old Riverside’s backyard, I can’t think of anyone who could deserve this more.”
“Sir, I… I… I don’t know what to say.” I say wavering. “I feel so unworthy.” I then chuckle out, surprised my knees haven’t buckled, so I steel my nerves and as many muscles and tendons as I can so I don’t keel over.
“Don’t worry, she’s not a True Original.”
“She [was] still a part of the yard.”
“If Twilight’s vouching for you, then as far as I’m concerned, you deserve it.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Take good care of her. She deserves a nice retirement.” He says as we make our way out of the Speedway.
“How did you meet the IMS historian?”
“He presented a guest lecture on campus a few months ago.”
“Sounds like you hit it off pretty well.” I say still flying high having been gifted an Indy brick.
“Congratulations on receiving a piece of history!” She exclaims.
“Thank you, Twilight.” I say hugging her tightly and on the verge of tears. “It still feels wrong for me to receive it, but I can’t say he’s wrong about Riverside.”
“What do you mean?”
“NASCAR used to hold races at the former Riverside Raceway. It was actually a pretty famous one too. The track closed when the area surrounding it had a housing boom. There used to be a couple places that had museum exhibits, but they’ve since closed. Most of the track is actually a shopping mall now.”
“Interesting.”
When we return to her home, I carefully tuck the precious piece in my bag and just stare at it. I’ll admit there are bigger fans of the track who would be more likely to enshrine it or maybe even donate it to a museum, but I’m beyond humbled to possess it nonetheless.
“Sorry to say,” Twilight then says just as I ask her about dinner, “but my schedule is pretty packed. I just started a summer class and it’s one of my more material-intensive ones.”
“Should I go then?”
“No!” She exclaims almost too quickly. “I mean, feel free to stay as long as you like. I’m actually really glad you’re here.”
“Let’s just hope I don’t make your potential partner jealous.” I reply snidely.
“Oh, pfft,” she scoffs, “you’re one of my best friends. There’s no way Timber would see you as a threat. He’s not that territorial.”
“Okay, but just in case something bad happens, I won’t beat his ass. What happens between you two is entirely your business.”
“I appreciate that.”
Next morning, after being soothed to sleep by the gentle sound of a late spring rain, Twilight wakes me up with the smell of toast. I step out and find her all dressed and ready for the day.
“Good morning Max. How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty well considering the events of yesterday. When are you done?”
“16:00. Same as yesterday.”
“Do you want me to drop you off? I don’t want to feel trapped here.”
“I have another car if you need to use it.”
“Okay. Where are the keys?”
“Right here.” She says as she picks up her Subaru key.
“Cool then. I’ll see you this afternoon then.”
“Don’t have too much fun now.”
“No promises.”
She only chuckles as she cheerfully says, “bye Max.”
“See you soon, Twilight.”
Soon after she leaves, I take a shower and channel surf, finding nothing on, since it’s like 8:00 am on a Wednesday.
Eventually, I settle on just hopping on Netflix and watching a few episodes of some of my serieses.
With a couple hours killed, I decide to go grocery shopping for Twilight. I don’t know what dietary restrictions she has or whether or not she can cook, so I diversify the cart. As far as I know, she’s not vegan or vegetarian, and she doesn’t express any objections to most foods, and really none that I’ve ever seen.
Regardless, after I check out with what I can only assume is about a month or so’s groceries (by my standards anyway), I return home and stock her fridge and pantry, making sure to note where specific items were sitting so as not to throw off the sense of location she’s already pre-established.
If I had a car of my own, I could easily sneak out and return home, but I do want to spend time with her, even if we don’t have anything really fun to do, much less the time to do so. Despite my gift, I should’ve known this isn’t the best time to visit. Oh well.
When it comes time for lunch, I leave the house and get a chance to drive a Hellcat. Seeing as I own a few of these, there really isn’t anything new to experience (except the automatic gearbox). Nevertheless, I take advantage of the muscle car and its half-empty tank by driving back to the speedway, just for my sake.
Parked in front of the currently closed museum (for renovations), I decide to snap a few shots from the phone for later upload.
Soon after, I do the last thing I could think of, spotting at Indianapolis Airport.
I find a local spot evidenced by the few youngsters with cameras and park. IND is a FedEx hub, so I expect quite a few of their jets out and about today.
The sequence here is interesting, though it does get boring when you see four or five of basically the same type of aircraft, even though this is only Indianapolis.
Anyway, after about a half hour, I follow the spirit of my own cravings and the flow of traffic to lunch. Finding parking wherever’s available, I then transfer the reigns to my sinuses and channel my inner foodie to find myself a meal.
Since it’s just before lunch rush, I decide to take my time. I’ve enjoyed most of my morning sitting inside watching TV, so I want to maximize my time outside the house.
After lunch, I brim the tank out of courtesy before returning home and taking an afternoon nap.
A couple hours later, I take a walk and respond to texts and emails. Torque Wrench is on holiday for the next few days, but in her place, she sent a few of her friends whom she’s worked with to do some minor work. Mostly just reorganizing the shop parts and tracking inventory, since only she is authorized to work on the airplanes.
I could tough this out until Friday, but I know that I want to surprise Rarity for the weekend, considering I’ve dealt a lot of heavy emotions her way. I owe her.
A few TV episodes later, I head out to get dinner from Portillo’s, because I can’t get enough of it, even though I live right by one.
When I return, Twilight is home, so after I show up to see her going through the fridge, she smiles at me and says,
“Thank you Max! You just saved me 2 hours. You did miss one thing though.”
I perk up my eyebrows waiting for her response,
“I don’t drink whole milk. I drink 2%.”
“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t even looking at the color.”
“That’s okay.”
“Since we have it, do you want to make a cake?”
“Have you been possessed by Pinkie Pie?”
“No. I just thought of a couple kinds of cakes we could make, since I bought a gallon.”
“Oh. What would they be?”
“Tres Leches, a personal favorite of mine, and a slight twist on devil’s food.”
“Ooh.” She responds with intrigue.
Since we’re short some ingredients, we purchase those and a gallon of 2% to correct my earlier mistake.
Following the recipe but wishing I had it memorized, the first cake goes in the oven just as we start the devil’s food. Instead of the traditional choccy frosting, I’m going to attempt to make scratch chocolate fondue based loosely on the recipe that Mrs. Cake and Pinkie shared with me, the only real changes being less sugar and more chocolate, since I’m going less for a maple syrup viscosity and more of a motor oil viscosity, closer to a ganache. I like chocolate sauces thicker and runnier than most.
The smell of both cakes in the oven is absolutely intoxicating, and Twilight looks more excited than I do, especially when the 3 milk cake comes out.
As I puncture the cake to air it out and accelerate the cooling process, I combine the titular ingredients and whip together sugar and clotted cream, a secret ingredient I use instead of regular or heavy whipping cream to add a little buttery-ness to the milks.
This cake can be enjoyed immediately, but I’ve found it better to let the cake soak in the milk overnight so it doesn’t dry out too much.
When that cake goes into the fridge, I make the fondue just as the chocolate cake comes out of the oven. Rinse and repeat, puncturing the cake to let it breathe and to get the chocolate both wickedly sweet and warm.
Wishing I could be more ambitious, I make a traditional 3-layer with Twi’s help keeping it steady. Once formed, I decide to set it in the fridge for about a half hour. The two of us decide to watch bit of telly before we take it out and cut into it.
As I take my first bite, I’m hit with the feeling of resounding success as Twilight similarly hums, “mmm, I love this!”
“I’m glad. The icing is closer to ganache than fudge, so the secret, for both cakes actually, is in the extra butter. Helps with moisture retention, and keeps it from, hehe, caking.”
“I noticed. I’m actually surprised there’s still a lot of chocolate taste. I was scared it was gonna become too creamy or buttery.”
“So was I, but I usually add a little more to help. Though it’s fortunate that my adaptation is more friendly to lower altitudes.”
“What elevation are you at?”
“Victorville’s 2,900’-3,000’, and March is about 1,500’. I don’t notice much change between those two, so I know that those fourth and fifth thousands of feet make a real difference.”
“Mhmm,” Twilight nods. “Water boils faster, bake times are longer, and portions have to be modified so that dough or batter don’t retain too much water.”
“If you were living in, say, Denver or Albuquerque.”
“Here in Indianapolis, we’re slightly below 1,000’, so I am technically lower than you.“
“Exactly. That reminds me, I should say that using a ganache comes with one inherent fault, it’ll dry out and become hard.”
“Well, I’m sure Timber will like it.”
“He’s coming into town?”
“Yeah. Day after tomorrow.”
“Aww, a weekend date.”
“It’ll be our second.” She beams. “First time, we met in Chicago to visit the Adler Planetarium, but that night it got fogged in.”
“I’m sorry to hear. Are you gonna give him the full department tour?”
“Of course. I can point out a lot of constellations this time of year.”
“That’ll be nice. I’ll leave soon after then.”
“Take some cake with you.”
“Of course. I’m sure Rarity will enjoy a bit of our handiwork.”
Next morning, much the same drill, except instead of grocery shopping, I walk around downtown Indianapolis. Twilight takes me to campus, and from there I start to navigate.
Not 20 minutes later does my phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello Max, this is Rarity! Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure!”
“Can you pick up Sweetie Belle from Minneapolis?”
“Sure. Does she have a time she wants to be picked up?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“No problem. I’ll talk to her.”
“Thanks Max! Can’t wait to see you!”
I slowly decide to return to campus right around lunchtime. Navigating around campus to the dining hall, I purchase a meal and find a table in the lonely corner, hoping I don’t intrude on someone’s spot.
Pulling up some of my social media feeds and checking email and text, I’m out in about a half hour. I then find a seat under the shade of a tree and put some music on while I wait for Twilight.
About a half hour later, I decide to just walk home, since it’s only about 7 miles away.
Next morning, as I defog my brain with a glass of water, I find a text from Sweetie Belle.
“Hey Max, Rarity said you’d take me to NY?”
“Yeah,” I respond, “sorry getting back so late. When’s good for you?”
“I won’t be free until the afternoon, but I do want to get into NY before dinner time.”
“No problem. Can you send me your address or wherever you’d like me to pick you up?”
“N528EG, where are you parking?”
“Premier Jet.”
“Roger, turn around in the box, left G, to the ramp .”
“Double back in the box, G to the ramp, 528EG.”
“Hey Max!” Sweetie Belle beams as we share a hug in the terminal. “How’ve you been?”
“Better than I have been. Been a bit slow in the office, but I can’t complain.”
“Yeah, I understand. I’m sad to report that my parents have decided to leave Minnesota.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know how much you love this place.”
“Yeah, but I understand why they’re leaving. City politics.”
“I know how that feels. Where are they planning on moving?”
“They’re not sure yet.”
“Well, if they need any assistance, please feel free to let me know.”
“Of course Max! After everything that’s happened, you need all the support you can get.”
A quick ship switch back to EI-DWK before hot-braking into Westchester, Rarity picks us both up and tosses me the keys.
When we arrive at home, I get settled then take out the leftover cakes and put them in the fridge.
“There’s cake I made if you want to try it.”
“Save me a slice!” Rarity calls as she runs to the bathroom.
“Wait, I’m gonna try some too!” Sweetie Belle calls as she runs into the kitchen.
“There’s tres leches and Devil’s Food made with fondue-style ganache.”
“Ooh!” Sweetie Belle exclaims as she eyes each of the confections.
“Heavens, Max!” Rarity exclaims as Sweetie Belle takes a small cut of both cakes. “Since when did you get so into baking.”
“Actually, Pinkie and Mrs. Cake gave me the recipe for the Devil’s Food a while ago, the ganache is my own variation. The tres leches is an old family recipe.”
“You’re going to love it!” The younger sister beams from the kitchen table.
“Well, if it’s made with the same craft and precision you apply to an airplane, it’s sure not to disappoint.”
“They were made a couple days ago, so I hope they’re still good. This ganache dries up and hardens if it’s not eaten within a few days.“
“Why didn’t you ever introduce me to this before?” Rarity asks eyeing the food on her plate.
“The opportunity never really came up. Plus, I only recently rediscovered the recipes while I was moving to March.”
“You need to make it more often!” Sweetie Belle suggests between bites.
“Not possible. These cakes are guilty pleasures.”
“Well, this can be our own little thing then.” Rarity smiles rather slyly.
“Try them first.”
When she bites into the Devil’s Food, the look on her face and the gleam in her eyes says it all.
That evening, over a dinner of take-out, Sweetie Belle waits until Rarity’s out of earshot before she says,
“Max, I know it’s still a sensitive subject, but why do you still call your blood relatives family if all they did was treat you like an outsider?”
“Because I know at heart they’re good people, just not to me. Before they disowned me, I was truly one of their own. It wasn’t until I said I didn’t want to go to medical school did they finally say they wanted nothing more to do with me.”
“I’m really sorry they did that to you, and that that was one of the biggest mistakes anyone could ever make. I think you’re a pretty great person, and I would love to work with you more.”
“Would you be willing to... become a flight attendant on charter flights?”
“Sure!”
“You’d be a real help to your passengers and me. Though I should admit you would likely start and end trips in places besides Minneapolis.”
“I can work with that. What’s the pay like?”
“Competitive. You’ll be dealing with school-age kids, so I would offer a nice bonus. I only wish I could say the same about their teachers.”
“Would I be solo?”
“You can recruit whoever you’d like and get them in touch with me.”
“Okay! I know a few people!”
“Don’t recruit too many though. I don’t want to undercut those that currently do work as flight attendants.”
“I understand. I’m sure Apple Bloom and Scootaloo may be interested. We’d make a pretty good team.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“Keeping it simple tonight are we?” I ask surveying the bowls of spaghetti and penne along with marinara and Alfredo.
“Yes, darling.” Rarity responds as she sets a container of Parmesan on the table. “I think this meal should be more of a conversation. Plus, I don’t have anything else readily available.”
“You really want to get into detail about the accident?”
“We want to get a chance to know the real Split Scimitar.”
“Well, where should we start?” I ask anxiously sitting down at the table.
As we help ourselves and pass the food around, I spread some Alfredo on spaghetti.
“What got you into aviation?” Sweetie Belle asks as I pass the plates down to her.
“I can’t really give a… solid answer to that. There was no singular event or anything that cemented my decision. I’ve just always been in love with airplanes and have always loved them.”
“So what led you to do your own thing?”
“I always wanted to keep my options open. I was dead set on the airlines, but I got shaken off after I worked with one too many shitty people. Finally decided to leave after I worked with an incompetent who pushed the envelope and tried to pin it all on me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sweetie Belle responds, “I can’t say I understand how you feel, but judging by the life you’ve lived from what we’ve seen, you leaving the airlines may have been a good thing.”
“I mean, irrespective of some recent events. But I’m past it now. I’m here both to show you how I’m doing and to thank you. It seems clearer and clearer to me by the day that all of you kept me going, even when I was bleeding out. You told me to hold on, and I did. Your faith and confidence in me never shook, even when mine did.”
“Max,” Rarity then responds lovingly, “I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. I know things weren’t easy then, and they certainly aren’t now. The first step is always the hardest, and you have a support system behind you. I implore you to let us help you when you need it.”
“I know we haven’t really spent a whole lot of time together,” Sweetie Belle adds, “but hopefully we can change that. I think you’re a pretty cool guy, and I can always use a friend who’s up for some fun, especially when Apple Bloom and Scootaloo are in town!”
“I’d like that, for the both of you.”
At meal’s end, Sweetie Belle loads the dishwasher as Rarity turns on the TV.
“The United States has issued a travel ban for flights traveling into and out of Qatar starting next week in the wake of civil unrest amidst voting fraud and fixing the selection process for the upcoming World Cup. We go live outside of the US Embassy in Doha for further coverage.”
“Yes indeed, tensions have been running high as allegations of inhumane working conditions and substandard pay for workers being compared to slavery adds to potentially rigging the vote to host the World Cup here in Qatar. The US national team has yet to make a statement on whether or not they’ll participate, though we expect one soon. As this story continues to unfold, we’ll continue to report from here in Doha. Back to you in the studio.”
“Good heavens.” Rarity gasps. “I hope you don’t get any hires that direction.”
“Closest I’ve been in recent history is when we went to Europe. I had friends that lived in the UAE, but they’ve lived here for awhile now. Haven’t been back to that part of the world since I helped them move. Anyway, enough about me. So, Rarity, pardon me for prying, but it seems like when we spend time together, we’re always talking about me. What’s been going on in your life?”
She blushes almost instantly. “Oh, now Max,” she then chuckles, “there’s not much to say about me. It’s all the same: just business as usual.”
“Okay then, if nothing’s new, it’s been long enough, and I can’t stand it anymore. Where do we stand?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t deny it Rarity. You know what I’m talking about.”
Her blush immediately intensifies.
“Max, I… I… I can’t tell you! Even if things were normal, I could never tell you!” She squeaks out, face red as last night’s marinara.
“What did Europe mean to you? What did the trip to Europe mean to you? What did what we had over there mean to you?”
She takes a deep breath and says,
“Max, when I fell for you, I thought I had made the right choice. You always made sure I was comfortable both in where I was and where we were. We’ve been close for awhile, and being able to share the vacation we had is something I will cherish forever and would never trade away for anything. I cannot lie to you, I have pondered what it would be like if we did get married, and to be honest, I can understand why your marriage collapsed. Foolishly, I thought I could find a way to make it work with us. And then…” she takes a breath, “when we returned home, those feelings passed. Just like you said they would.”
I open my mouth even in the absence of a response, but Rarity quickly resumes.
“I‘m not finished. When those feelings passed, I was devastated. Max, you will forever have a special place in my heart for everything we’ve been through together. However, these past few months have shown me why you always suppress any romantic inclinations. I can’t say I’m not heartbroken because I genuinely believe we could have a chance, but after seeing things from your side, I completely understand. So, to answer your question of what everything means to me? More than you’ll ever know.”
I purse my lips and ponder her words, only to notice my own heart change from a strain to a pound.
“Thank you, Rarity. I appreciate your candor. It’s easy to write it off as a “holiday romance,” but that would discredit every little moment we had, from the Proms, to the Eiffel Tower, and especially when I fell ill. I know that we had something, and I sure as hell would hate to have something like that be just a one-time thing.”
Not only does her blush return stronger than before, but now she’s on the verge of tears. As am I.
“But as it stands,” I continue, “I don’t think I want to put myself through the strain of another relationship, even if it was with one of you. Please don’t misunderstand, I really do value your feelings towards me, and I’m extremely flattered, but after the emotional whirlwind I‘ve been through, I’m unavailable for at least the foreseeable future.”
“And I understand completely. I’ll still be right by your side regardless.” She says as she places her hand on top of mine.
I smile at her and wipe my tears.
“You know, it’s funny. I’m visiting all of you to thank you and show my appreciation for your friendship, and yet here we are pouring our hearts out to each other.”
“Know that you are loved. And appreciated.”
“Do you have the opportunity to take time off?” I ask Rarity before she leaves in the morning.
“Sadly no, but I know Sweetie Belle gets cabin fever easily.”
“Good to know. Text me if you need anything.”
“Can you drop me off?”
“Rolls or Lexus?”
“The Rolls-Royce needs gas.”
“Where’s the nearest petrol station?”
“I always go to Costco, but it’s all the way in Yonkers.”
“Well then, let’s hope Sweetie Belle will want to go out and do stuff.” I say as we both climb into her Rolls-Royce.
“Ooh, down to 30 miles?” I ask as I turn on her Phantom. “You like running tanks dry?”
“What?”
“Nothin’. I’ll get her filled immediately. She might run out if we wait any longer.”
After I drop her off at the boutique, I waste no time and map directions to the nearest Costco. Must be the one she goes to, since it showed up as a previous destination.
When I queue for the pumps, only three cars are ahead of me. Even though I’m right here, I’m still a bit anxious until I get to the pump.
Being a Rolls-Royce, I have to put high grade in it, so once I turn the pump on, I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
When the pump stops, the price is exorbitant, so I check the gallon count.
23.5
“Ooh, big tank. I always forget that.”
Nevertheless, I top off to the next whole dollar, adding less than 40¢, and once in, up and running, I head back home to the sound of Sweetie Belle getting ready.
“What do you want to do today Max?”
“I’m down for anything. You?”
“Same here. Wanna go into New York?”
“We can. Is there anything you like to do there?”
“Other than Katz’s Deli, not really.”
“You like Katz’s Deli?”
“Yeah. You been?”
“One of few I haven’t.”
“Well, looks like we have lunch figured out!”
“Okay, then what to do in the meantime?”
“We can figure it out on the train.”
“The subway runs out here?”
“No, but there is a train into Manhattan.”
“Where’s the terminus?”
“Grand Central.”
“Go figure.”
With that, I purchase train tickets and make for the metro station.
When we roll into Grand Central, I take my time to take in the Grandiose Centrality and unusually small crowd. Granted, we are arriving off-peak, but even by Manhattan standards, this is pretty tame.
Nevertheless, I take in my surroundings to orient myself within the city, and we’re soon headed to… the boutique?
“Hi, welcome!” Coco calls from behind the counter. “Oh! Hi Sweetie Belle! What brings you here?”
“Hi Coco! I’m in town and figured I’d stop by.”
“Well, glad you’re here!” She beams as she joins us. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Just browsing for now.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks Coco!”
A few minutes after admiring her elder sister’s handiwork, I receive a call from an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Max?”
“Speaking.”
“Great! This is Spike! Rarity told me you’re heading down to Miami in the next few days?”
“Yes. Pending what Rarity might need me to help her with while I’m in New York, I’ll be making my way down to Miami next.”
“Okay. Is there a possibility I can catch a ride down?”
“Sure! What’s the occasion?”
“I’m working on a collab with DJ Vinyl Scratch. Keep that on the DL though.”
“No problem. Do you live in New York?”
“Actually, I’m down in Philly.”
“Do you need me to pick you up?”
“That’s alright. I’ll just take the train.”
“No problem. I’ll let you know when I leave.”
“That’s fine by me.”
“We’ll see how long Rarity needs me.”
“Perfect!”
“I’ll see you soon then!”
“Alright, sounds good. Later!”
“Bye.”
“Who was that?”
“Spike. He needs a ride down to Miami when I leave.”
“I haven’t seen him since Annabelle’s wedding.”
“Really? I thought you two would be close, since he‘s your sister’s ‘Spikey-Wikey.’”
“Yeah, that didn’t work out like he had hoped.”
“Did he have romantic feelings for her?”
“Yes. Yes he did.”
“Oh. Well, what are they now? Considering that she was crushing on me for that while.”
“Well, there’s no chance of them happening, but Rarity does dote on him a lot. She is considerably older than him, and as it turns out, to them it’s an issue of risking what they already have. They’re pretty close, so understandably, a relationship is probably not the best thing for them.”
“I see.”
Once we leave the store, we walk around Manhattan towards Katz’s. We have enough time and energy to just walk the whole way, seeing as we’re pretty close to Grand Central anyway, and Sweetie Belle at least wants to walk through Times Square.
As we parallel the shuttle route on the subway, I smile as we reach Times Square. The crystal ball, the current year, the bright adverts… it’s nice in a way.
“Alright, now I’m getting hungry.” Sweetie Belle says as we make our way out.
About a half hour later, we walk past the Empire State Building, but make no effort to go inside, only using it as a checkpoint.
“We still have a ways to go.” Sweetie Belle says to herself. “Do you want to take a taxi?”
“No no. I need the activity.”
“Don’t we all?”
When we reach Katz’s, the line is just out the door. We’re actually the first ones to wait outdoors. Unsurprisingly, the counters are at capacity, so we’re told to wait outside per the building’s max occupancy limit.
“Good timing I guess.” I say just as a few more queue up behind us.
“This is probably the closest I’ve had to wait. Every time I’ve come we’ve had to wait outside, sometimes past the next block.”
“That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.”
“We made good time though.”
“Are you two together?” The attendant outside asks.
“Yeah.” I respond.
“Aight go on ahead.”
When the door closes behind us, the relief of the A/C and the insanely heavenly smell of curing meats triggers salivation.
As per the layout, the counter runs from right to left. I peer first in the counter for the grill, but they don’t have what I’m looking for.
Next counter is where we both line up, since their famous sandwiches are cut and prepped here. Sweetie Belle ahead of me, I ponder which sandwich I want by asking.
“What do you usually get?”
“Turkey, white bread, lettuce, Russian dressing, slaw on the side.”
“Do you separate everything?”
“Nope!” She giggles.
“Oh alright then. Pastrami for me it is.”
“Next!” The meat cutter calls.
“Hi, turkey on white bread, lettuce, Russian dressing please!”
Without skipping a beat, the cutter slices the turkey, puts the bread down, dresses it up, and wraps it. She’s ready to go in less than 30 seconds just as another cutter calls,
“Next!”
“Pastrami on rye, mustard and mayo.” I call as he looks at me.
Immediately, the bread comes down onto the counter, is spread with a generous amount of mayo, with the slices of pastrami falling onto it rather ungracefully before being rearranged then wrapped.
“Thank you!”
Onto the next counter, drinks. As per the local recommendation: Dr. Brown’s soda and a side of steak fries.
Onto the back counter, where I ship some of their turkey, pastrami, and corned beef to home along with some of their salami. If it sounds like a lot of food, it is, but I do plan on making it last at least a month, so I’m basically buying in bulk here.
After my tab is closed out, we hold on to our tickets and find a table.
“I suppose there is some obligation for us to talk about our romantic lives or something.” I say more offhand than facetious.
“Yeah, but we’re not in the right spot for it. That table is in the full service area.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I say as she snaps a picture of her food. She then moves her camera and says, “smile,” so I do that, and gesture to both plates of food in a humorous way. Sweetie Belle laughs loudly and shows me the picture, and we both share one hearty chuckle before we dig in.
“Want to try?” Sweetie Belle offers halfway through her first half.
“Halfsies? You have half of mine, I have half of yours?”
“Okay!”
I now get half a turkey, and she gets half a pastrami.
“Mmm!” She hums as she bites into her half from me. “No wonder they’re known for this!”
“30 day curing process. Slow and steady, keeps the artificials out.”
“True. I said I was gonna try vegan when I got home, so no better way to mark it.”
“Sorry.”
She only giggles. “Going vegan will be more of a cleanse than a change at least for now.”
“I see. Well, just don’t try and force it on me.”
“I would never do that.”
After I pay for both of our meals, against Sweetie Belle’s wishes, we walk back to Grand Central just as the clock strikes 15:00.
Next morning, I make a call to Spike, since per Rarity’s schedule, I can leave tonight.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Spike?”
“That’s me!”
“Hi Spike, Max. How you doin’?”
“Good, you?”
“Good. I’m gonna leave for Miami tonight. When’s a good time to meet? Or did you still need me to pick you up?”
“No no! I’m already on the train. I want to see Rarity.”
“Where do you arrive?”
“White Plains Station. It’s my usual route.”
“Okay. I’ll just pick you up from there then?”
“Yeah!”
“Perfect! Let me know when you get there.”
“Will do! Thank you so much!”
“No problem. See ya soon.”
“Alright, bye.”
“What are you feeling for lunch?” Rarity texts about 11:00.
“[I’m] good with anything.”
“Sweetie Belle said she’s ordering for herself, so it’s just you and me.”
“You know the area better than I do.”
“Okay then. I’ll drive.”
“If we wanted to,” I say as we head out, “we could hop up to Rochester and get some garbage plates.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, but I want to take you to my favorite restaurant in Manhattan.”
“Wow, commuting into Manhattan again.”
“I told you I’d give you incentive to come back.”
To my surprise, she passes the station and gets onto the freeway.
“Where’s the restaurant?”
“I can’t tell you that. Would ruin the surprise.”
“If it’s close, you can park at my place.”
“I’m going to do that then.”
“Alrighty.”
As Rarity joins Manhattan traffic, I find an email from Delta with a cc to Boeing.
Mr. Scimitar,
Attached is the copy of all the transfer paperwork for the MD-95/B717 fleet. As most of our fleet of these airplanes came from Boeing Capital, the records do indicate that Boeing Capital facilitated the transfer from Delta Air Lines to Boeing Capital to yourself. These documents confirm and solidify your ownership of all of our now-former B717 aircraft.
As part of our efforts to consolidate both our maintenance and pilot faculties, we have decided to accelerate the retirement of our Boeing 757 and our older 767 aircraft. This is not a decision we have made lightly, but we believe that this is the best step for us to take moving forward.
To fill in the gaps left behind by the 757 especially, we are planning to lease some extra aircraft in the short term while we pursue their replacements. Further emails related to both the retirement of both these fleet types can be expected as our current situation matures.
Sincerely,
President, Interim CEO, Delta Air Lines, Inc.
It’s been awhile since I’ve checked email, so after deleting the junk mail and e-newsletters, I find yet another email addressed only to me.
Mr. Scimitar,
Thank you for working with us and Boeing to acquire our B717 aircraft. I personally would also like to express my gratitude for your assistance in acquiring our MD-88 and MD-90 aircraft. We’re glad and very hopeful that they have the opportunity to be converted into freighter aircraft. In light of that, I would like to propose a deal for the long term. After careful deliberation with our shareholders, pilots unions, and maintenance department, our long term plan is to move to an all-Airbus fleet within the next few years. Like retiring the B717, this decision was not easy, and in the case of the shareholders, the vote came to within ten.
After the resounding success of the previous transfers, we would love to do business again. If you are available either by an in-person or by videoconference, we would love to officialize this agreement.
Sincerely,
COO, Delta Air Lines, Inc.
Dear Chief Operations Officer,
Thank you for your email. I’m humbled and honored to be considered for such an opportunity and am excited to begin such a partnership. Please give me a call at any of these numbers to schedule an appointment.
(xxx) A321NEO
I look forward to working with you.
Sincerely,
Split Scimitar “Max”
Complete list of type ratings available upon request.
Just as I send the email, she pulls up to the driveway, so I open the garage and have her park inside. After I close it behind me, we get to walking.
Fortunately, since the house (and by extension the boutique) is close to Grand Central, we don’t have far to go, as I eventually find myself in the Hell’s Kitchen commune.
“Come on!” She beams excitedly as we head for her favorite establishment.
Seated relatively quickly, I order a appropriately location-based cocktail along with another cocktail close by. Manhattan to start and a Long Island Iced Tea for later, make sense?
As we enjoy an appetizer and some chitchat, I avoid asking questions since she‘s treating me and I don’t want to sour anything except what’s in my drinks. Okay, I know that was a bad joke. I’ll try and stop now.
Of course Rarity would be one to find some haute cuisine in Manhattan. Not that I have a problem with it.
“You know, we could just stay at your place for the night. I’m sure Sweetie Belle won’t mind.”
“We’ll see how the evening goes.”
As someone who is very much a hearty eater, one would expect me to expect more from the meal, but this time no. Don’t get me wrong, I know I might still be hungry later tonight, but given the situation and the company I’m with, I’ll rely on that to keep me content.
Since this meal is built on small portions, I drink a little more liquid than I would expect, but nevertheless, to close out the meal, I ask for the Long Island Iced Tea.
When it comes time to pay the bill, Rarity cards it, but at my insistence, I take care of the tip, so after leaving a 25% just for easy math, we walk back to my house, hand in hand as we exit the restaurant to a quickly setting summer sun.
The lights of the city that never sleeps shine bright like the diamonds by my side. In the few blocks we have to return to my place, she walks with her head against me for about half the duration.
“Rarity, not to sound unappreciative, but if what we had was nothing more than a holiday romance, what explains you wanting to cuddle with me for a night?”
“Just because I no longer have feelings for you doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you hanging. Besides, you’re probably the only one I trust who won’t take advantage of me.”
“I’m floored to have that level of trust with you.”
“Oh darling, of course!” She coos, nuzzling against my side for the last few blocks.
We both jump into bed and turn on the TV. She has a few programs she watches, so she plays catch up and shimmies up against me to almost “uncomfortable” levels. Not that I mind it. You know how they say the physical touch of human contact increases dopamine and serotonin levels? Confirmed. I mean, yeah it’s true and everybody knows it, or they can certainly feel it.
When she calls it enough of her stuff, she then rests her head on my chest and pats my sternal area. She smiles as I notice her try to listen for a heartbeat.
“Oh Max, I’m so glad you’re still with us.”
“So am I, Rarity. So am I.”
“Hot today.” I say to Big Mac, eager to break the silence for the ride to the farm.
“Eeyup.”
“Felt it comin’ in. Took a while to slow down. Ate up more runway than usual.”
“Eeyup… by the way, don’t take anything AJ does personally. She’s got a lot on her mind.”
“I’m sure I’m the source of most of it.”
When the remaining siblings return home, I swallow my pride, steel my nerves, and check for an e-cigarette.
The front door opens with Apple Bloom entering first and hugging me. Her older sister however relegates to the “awkward half-hearted upper body only” hug, saying only “glad ye’r here, Max” and heading straight for the dinner table.
“Well,” I think to myself, “I don’t have a car, so I can’t make an excuse to go out for food.”
“Come on Max! Dinner time!” Apple Bloom calls.
An assortment of plates makes its way around the table, and I partake a little more lightly than usual.
“Y’alright?” Granny Smith asks, since she’s sitting next to me.
“Yeah, just had a big lunch before I left Miami. Pinkie’s treat.”
“That girl does know how to feed a crowd.”
“That she does.”
That night, to my complete surprise, AJ has offered to share her bed with me, even though I’ve already made myself comfortable on their couch. Making no effort to resist, lest I agitate her further, I relocate to AJ’s room and get comfortable as I can.
Before I can get comfortable though, she closes her door and says,
“Sit down. We need to talk.”
Too afraid to say anything, I do as I’m told and have a seat.
“Now that ye’r here, we can finally figure somethin’ out. As you know, Sweet Apple Acres has gone through some… financial difficulties. We simply don’t have any room for purchases in our budget, and we’ve cut costs as much as we reasonably can. Do ye’ remember how I said we’ll need some… assistance?”
“Yes, of course.
“Then shall we start working things out?”
“Please,” she practically begs, “we really need the money to fix our equipment.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“Oh thank you! Thank you very much, sugar cube!” She says hugging me tight.
“There is, however, one small thing I have to say.”
“What?”
“This seems a little unlike you. You’re the most honest person I know. This seems completely out of character for you. Applejack asking for money?”
“Granny Smith doesn’t want us to just ask for money or get a loan. She’s afraid we won’t qualify for a good interest rate. As for just asking for money, she and I both don’t like asking for such huge favors like that. Unfortunately for me, that’s just what it’s come to.”
“I see.” I respond, now figuring I can assert some dominance by virtue of knowing I have some cash flow that I can be a bit liberal with the amount to lend. “Well, I can go through your finances and see if there are other ways to cut costs. I’m quite the thrift king if I say so myself.”
“Okay.”
“It’s getting late. Do you want to go over it tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but let me get them first though. You can review them on yer’ own while we harvest.”
“Oh alright then.”
Next morning, Applejack wakes me up before she heads to work, showing me where everything is. About 20 minutes after she leaves, I force myself out of bed and start to comb through a history that upon initial inspection dates back only 2 years.
Sifting through the collections of ledgers, checkbooks, invoices, and statements, I come across a few outstanding records, including car payments, the last farm-related equipment purchases, and the most glaring one, insurance estimates.
As soon as I see her, I call AJ back to her room.
“Okay, there are a few things that stand out to me. Your last farm equipment purchase was before any of your siblings purchased their cars. What happened there?”
“Uh, I needed somethin’ new, and also could be used for farm work.”
“Okay, combined use, no problem there, I can dig [it]. As for the equipment purchases themselves, type of equipment aside, I know we did everything by hand when I was here last, so when was the last time you used them?”
“A few years ago. Over time, they just stopped workin’ and we never got around to fixin’ ‘em since the repair bills were sky high.”
“Which leads me to my next question. Why is the equipment insured for so little a value? Even I know that the type of equipment insured here isn’t even worth half of the coverage amount.”
“That’s the highest value we could get. They refused to insure it for more. It’s exactly why most of our equipment has just been sittin’. Insurance wouldn’t cover it, nor did they wanna write it off.“
I groan, knowing that insurance basically fucked them over.
“Well… there are few things we can do to try and stop the bleeding.”
“Oh, we fired them as soon as they stopped coverage. If we had the time and money, we could just fix them ourselves.”
“So they’re currently uninsured?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Um, do you want to keep them?”
“No. We’ve been okay without ‘em, though I kinda wanna keep ‘em just in case.”
“What’s your supply and demand like?”
“Well, it’s been pretty low, so we’ve been lucky to just do all the pickin’ ourselves.”
“I see. During that time period where your equipment first went down until roughly now, did the nature of work change?”
“Can’t say it made much of a difference, but most’a the equipment on average saved about an hour or two.”
“Okay. I’ll ask again for clarification: do you want to sell your equipment or keep it?”
“I’ll sell it later, but just in case demand goes back up, I’ll wanna repair it.”
“Will doing your own maintenance affect the resale value that much?”
“Max, I’ve been doing my own maintenance since before I could drive.”
“I’m only asking just so I can see how much money you’ll need.”
“Oh.” She blushes. “We’ll admittedly need quite a bit.”
“Not a problem. I just want to have some accurate statements in my notes.”
“D’ya really have to be this formal?”
“For my sake, yes. I don’t just lend money to anyone who asks.”
“Ye’ have enough to pay for anything and everything ye could want, yet you’re still going through a formal process to approve us for a loan?”
“This isn’t really a loan. I don’t expect you to pay back everything within a specific timeframe. I trust you very much, and I can also see here that the problem is a bit more dire than what you told me in hospital. Also, now that I know this is because of, or at least largely due in part to, your insurance, that basically guarantees what you’re calling “pre-approval.” You need money. How much, how often?”
“What?” She responds very clearly in a state of shock.
“How much money do you need? How often should I transfer it to you?”
“You’re going to give us money to fix everything up?!”
“Affirmative.”
“M… Ma… Max, I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Before you do, there is a bit of collateral to discuss.” I say putting my hand up.
Her face drops immediately. She then removes her hat and holds it at her chest.
“Oh. Yes, of course.”
“I have no problem with giving you money for this. However, there are a couple of things I noticed as I went through your financials. 1. You still have an outstanding loan on your Raptor. 2. As much as I laud you for being able to own one, it may not have been the best choice, even though it seems you make good use of it both on the farm and as a personal vehicle. I’m happy to include the amount to pay off the rest of it, but there is a small price to pay.”
“Go on?” She responds with intrigue.
“I can give you the money as you see fit, but to not make it seem like you just asked me for the money, I’ll need to take that Raptor as collateral.”
“That truck is my pride and joy. I worked very hard fer that and was just barely able to buy it.”
“I understand. However, you know me, and I have two or three of them myself. I can’t think of anything else that you could do to make it seem like you’re not just asking for money. I did also say I will pay the rest of it off for you.”
“No, I want to be able to pay for it myself.”
“That’s fine, but I don’t think there’s anything else I can do. For your sake as well as your grandmother’s, having the money and keeping your truck will raise her suspicion.”
“Yeah… I know the farm really needs the financial help, and I could get in a heap’a trouble if Granny Smith found out you were just giving us money.”
“Applejack, believe me, I already feel guilty for considering taking your truck. However, for the sake of impartiality and to keep suspicion low, it’s all I can come up with.”
“I know, Max. I know.”
“Don’t think too hard about it. If you need to return to picking, try not to let it distract you.”
“Okay.” She says as she puts her hat back on and heads downstairs.
I then make a call, since I might be able to sweeten the pot.
“Hello!” Mario responds cheerfully.
“Hey Mario, how you doing?”
“Pretty good, you?”
“Not too bad. I’m calling about the two Tacomas you had as work trucks in Brooklyn. My friend Applejack and her family have fallen on some hard times and they need some help. Are you planning on keeping them?”
“We haven’t used them in a long time, but I know Luigi didn’t want to get rid of them just in case we needed to come back to plumbing. Let me talk to him and see what he says.”
“Okay. They’ll be used as work trucks anyway, just hauling apples instead.”
“No problem! I’ll get back to you!”
“Thank you so much. Let me know ASAP.”
“Okay!”
“See you later.”
“B-bye!”
With that, I head downstairs for the first time today, well past noon.
“Howdy Max!” Apple Bloom calls right before she leaves.
“Hey Apple Bloom.” I respond before I go hunting for cold water.
As I think of other ways to help, I can always just work under the table in the cover of darkness. Pay as a lump sum since either installments or a wire transfer in any amount might raise suspicions. Alternatively, I can just give them new equipment, but then they’d have two sets of everything, and the whole reason for the deal is to repair and then sell the equipment anyway. If working by hand still meets their demand, then the equipment is just dead weight and sinking costs.
I have no problem with loaning money, but while I feel bad about taking AJ’s truck as collateral, I shouldn’t. I know that because I know her relatively well, she’s trustworthy, and we’re friends, and maybe me lending her money could help win her favor, even if us being in a romantic relationship is but a pipe dream. (Ironically, that’s what I said when I first fell for Rosalina. Rather fitting, considering where she’s from.)
Nevertheless, as a friend (and potential lover) (no, bad Max), I am more than obligated to help her out. She needs help. I have the resources.
Granny Smith has dinner on the table just as all three return with plenty of barrels in tow. Having just missed the last delivery op, they’ll just have to make a run tomorrow.
“Wanna do an early round tomorrow?” AJ asks.
“Why not?”
“Alrighty!”
Knowing I’ll have deli meats from New York waiting for me at home, I very happily enjoy this bit of country-style home cooking.
When we retire for the night, AJ closes the door behind her and sits down on the bed next to me.
“So, have you made up your mind?”
“I’ll do it, but I need a truck of equal or lesser value.”
“Can be done. I have a few trucks sitting I can lend you, though to say equal or lesser value is kind of redundant. The only things worth more than your truck are Raptors off the showroom floor, SPS compensators, SEMA customs, and Baja builds.”
“Very funny. Just give me summ’n practical. None’a them frilly or flashy extras. Nothin’ frou-frou.”
“Of course not.” I say writing her descriptor down in my notes.
Next morning, AJ and I wake up at around the same time, but I use the shower first, since she takes night showers on account of the work in the heat.
As soon as I’m ready, I grab the keys to… Big Mac’s truck, a red single cab, long bed F-150. Built similarly to me (except way more muscular), I make no adjustments to the seat before heading for the delivery center.
Making the correct driveway entry, I’m in and out in less than 2 minutes, with two people taking crates and barrels of fresh apples.
On the way back, I get a text from the owner of the truck to come to the west orchard.
Parked at the loading bay, I hand the keys over then walk back home so I can have an e-cigarette on the way.
By the time I reach the house, the stick has gone out, so I toss it and head inside to see what I can do around the house. Granny Smith assigns me to clean the bathrooms, so donning a hazmat suit (not really), I begin my work on room 1 of 5 to clean.
Two long hours of scrubbing and brushing, I emerge from the bathroom so intoxicated by the essence of clean that those first few breaths of fresh air remind me how precious air is, and how for granted I take it.
“Gee Max,” Granny calls as I sit down and rest, “you coulda just left the door open.”
“I live surrounded by jet fuel and petrol. Cleaning fluids are a breath of fresh air for me.”
“Dang city slickers.” She snarls.
As I put all the cleaning supplies away, the eldest two siblings enter the house. The smell must be that strong, because they immediately start coughing.
“Heavens Max! Did you clean the bathroom??”
“Yep.”
“Did ‘ye not air it out?”
“Guess not? I don’t even notice the smell.”
“That’s probably because ye’r delirious.” She says as she grabs me and shoves me out the door.
“Get some fresh air!”
I only roll my eyes and do as I’m told. So I do what I do best: have another e-cigarette.
The average lifespan of a single stick is about 500 or so puffs, so there’s no way I’ll finish this in one go. Instead, I return to the house after my mental timer goes off.
“Applejack’s lookin’ for ya’.” Apple Bloom says just as I walk in through the door.
“How much trouble am I in?”
She chuckles and says, “she’s in her room.”
With that, I head upstairs and find AJ waiting for me on her chair.
“Close the door.”
Doing as I’m told, Applejack then stands up and says,
“I’m ready. I’ll give you my truck. It’s time for us to just finally be rid of our old equipment. I’m sure I’ll find some place that’ll gladly take ‘em.”
“Okay then.” I say as I reach for my notes, but AJ has already written in ink her commitment.
“You committed before I asked?”
“You already asked. I’m just respondin’ late.”
“Ok then. How much? How often?”
“Well, I need to find time to start working on errythang. Sadly, that won’t happen until our offseason, so not until the holidays.”
“Do you want to start receiving money now?”
“Nah. I’ll tell ya when.”
“I’ll take your truck at that time. I also talked to Mario, and there is a possibility that you can use their old work trucks. Figured if they’re not using them, you can.”
“I appreciate that. Mighty kind of ya.”
“Of course. I hate seeing cars sitting, even though I’m very much guilty of it.”
“Why don’t ya rent them out?”
“I trust no one.”
She chuckles.
“You really are a gem, Max.”
“In a minefield. That’s been some people’s description of me. Consider it a diamond in the rough, but way more… volatile?”
“In a way, yes, but that’s just your sense’a humor. The word I would use to describe you is… unique.”
“Thanks.”
“Not like that! I mean ta’ say that there are a lot of good things about ya too. I don’t know anybody else who would take me to Chicago jus’ fer’ dinner. I don’t know anybody else who would drop everything and go across the country to help. I don’t know anybody else who in your situation would lend me money just because they can.”
“Well, I’m not anybody else.”
“And that’s, what makes you unique.”
“Mornin’ sugar cube! Wanna join me?”
“Why not?” I say mentally foggier than San Francisco but still assisted out of bed.
Fortunately, AJ’s morning chores in-house as it were are just enough for me to get ready, so once I’m dressed for the fields, I slide down the railing, land right in front of her, and join her outside ahead of even Big Mac.
“Largest yield’s [in the] Northwest orchard, so we’ll go there. Big Mac said he wasn’t quite done.” She says as she tosses me the keys.
“Yay.”
As I head down to the drive, Big Mac’s truck is missing, so maybe not ahead of him. Anyway, when we arrive in the northwest orchard, I join her this time and make sure to grab another step ladder. There are still quite a few trees to harvest, so I hope that my contributions actually mean something.
“Thanks for doin’ this. We’ve got a lotta trees here to get, and I don’t want this crop going past its time.”
“Happy to help.” I say making quick work of one of their less-plentiful trees.
Unfortunately, my methods are much slower than AJ’s, so she quickly passes me in both number of trees and Apples PC (per capita - kind of a lame computer joke there), but nonetheless, as soon as I finish the last tree due in this orchard, we load them up and head for the next one.
With only 75% of the trees here bearing fruit due immediately, we make quick work of this one too, and in no time at all, we’ve conquered two orchards and they’re off for the deliveries warehouse before 10:00.
Just as we return to the farmhouse, Apple Bloom is leaving, so she gives us a cheerful wave from the driver’s seat as we pass each other. Not quite the time for a break, we head for the east orchard, the closest one to the house and the one with the next highest priority.
“Whew-wee!” AJ exclaims as we pack the last crate, “at the rate we’re going, we could have this entire orchard’s ration ready to ship out in a day!”
“Hell yeah.” I respond smugly, to which we high-five and head out to the next orchard.
*text from Apple Bloom - via CarPlay*
“Hey sis, can you meet me back at the house for the returned crates and barrels?”
“On the way.” She responds.
With loaded receptacles of our own, we trade loads by trading trucks. AB’s run list is short today, so it’s not worth the transferring loads between trucks.
We have plenty of time and are well ahead of pace to finish before dinner, so we take our time returning the empties to the loading bays so they’re ready for their next load of apples. Since anyone can do it, AJ does all the driving and I drop off the crates from inside the bed. I haven’t had this much fun in a truck in quite a while.
When the bed is empty, I hop back into the cab, suddenly realizing that AB’s truck is the only one on the farm that runs on diesel.
“Why is that?” I then ask AJ.
“Personal choice. It’s the same reason she got a Chevy. She just…wanted to be different.”
“And how did you react to that?”
“We didn’t really care. As long as it’s reliable. Even Granny Smith wasn’t that concerned about it, even though her family have been Ford strongholds since forever.”
“Did your parents have a divergence in that regard?”
“Uh,” she ponders as she puts the gear lever in park, “mom’s side from what I remember were Toyota people.”
“Toyota Pickup or early-gen Tacoma?”
“Both I reckon, since Tundras were darn expensive.”
“They still are. Most Tacomas too.”
“I know. Pinkie’s sister Marble has one. It’s the most expensive thing that entire family has.”
“Next to Pinkie’s Escalade.”
“Well, I mean on their family farm.”
“Fair enough.”
“I don’t even know why Pinkie got that. She should’ve just gotten a regular GM SUV.”
“Luxury rideshare? She probably would’ve been fine with a Denali anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“I ain’t judging. It just seems weird that she would have a Cadillac when she moves more cargo than passengers.”
For brunch (AJ usually skips breakfast), we have a simple scramble of home fries and eggs. Nothing too fancy, veg in fact!
I grab some water as it is starting to get hot, even inside the house. With a cooler and some bottles stashed, Apple Bloom returns, we switch trucks back, and we return to picking apples.
Three orchards down, three to go by noon. I set us a target time of 17:00, so we can try and finish before the hottest part of the day. Though with a forecasted high of 102°, it’ll probably be treated as a cutoff.
Given the rate at which we finished two of the largest orchards already, we have this one in the bag, so wasting no more time, we head out to the property’s two most distant orchards to conquer a task that would require active counter-productivity to miss the 17:00 target.
Leaving only room to breathe, I start picking away at the fruit on the trees. I can’t keep pace with Applejack, but at least I can try.
By the time we finish the orchard, I put a single crate in the cab just in case we run out of bed space. The Raptor’s bed is less than 6 feet, so it is a possibility.
Soon, we arrive at the last orchard, and immediately, there’s a problem. We’re short on receptacles. To my chagrin, we head back to the farmhouse, drop off the loaded goods, then run between other orchards and grab a couple, since I made the mistake of dropping them all off in the orchards we already picked.
In the end, it works out conveniently, since we now have enough bed space for this last orchard. As such, we pick every last tree here, leaving only a single Apple only just budding, nowhere near ready to be picked.
When we return to the house, the clock strikes 17:00.
“Right on time, and really reliable.” I think to myself.
“Dinner’s ready!” Granny Smith cells a few short minutes later.
As I check emails through the course of the meal, waiting to see if there are any changes to my schedules, Big Mac finally returns.
“Uh, Max, can I talk to ya?” He half-whispers.
“Okay.” I say worriedly, glad AJ is busy talking to the other women.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I know about the, Uh… deal you’ve been making with AJ.”
“Oh. Well, I know she wouldn’t do it if she wasn’t any more desperate than it seems you are now.”
He nods.
“Plus, if insurance did that, I wouldn’t hesitate to lend you money.”
“Look, Max, I’m not here to tell you no. You need to know that if Granny Smith finds out, things might not look so good for you. Plus, I’m kinda with her. I hate asking fer’ money, but if it means getting rid’a that dead weight, I won’t stop you.”
“I’m honestly surprised you aren’t putting up any resistance. I’m sure you know that AJ herself didn’t want to have to do it, but if that equipment needs repair, insurance literally did the opposite of what they’re supposed to do, and you can’t afford to fix it, I’m not going to be a bystander here.”
“Mac? Max?” The elder sister calls not 3 seconds later.
“Speaking of.” I quip.
“Can ‘ya help Granny rearrange the fridge?”
Big Mac nods and gives me a look of reassurance and mutual trust before heading downstairs.
“He knows.” I mutter, trying to keep it subtle.
“Say what now?”
“He knows about the money.”
“Did he try and stop ya?”
“No, but he did voice his “disapproval under other circumstances.” Sounds like he’s fed up with insurance as much as you are.”
“Well, he did have to do most of the talkin’ to ‘em. Ain’t never seen him go that mad before.”
“I don’t blame him. I hate insurance too. Mine once doubled my rate because some schmuck who was texting and driving rear-ended me, but it was still ruled my fault because the light had just turned green, so ‘I should’ve been in motion at enough of a speed to have been able to prevent the accident.””
“What kind’a cockamamie nonsense is that?”
“A chicken-shit move by a company in an industry that basically plays politics to dodge responsibility and shift the blame away from them.”
“‘What good is insurance if you get punished for using it?’”
“You got me.”
Next morning, with all the work completed early, AB goes on a clean sweep run in case we missed any fruits so the other three of us can inspect the equipment in question.
Thanks to Granny Smith’s old fashioned methods being instilled into her grandkids, automatic harvesters, mechanical pickers, and even a motorized smasher are under covers, and not in use because of the head of ops. As such, they’re worth quite a bit and have only been used once or twice. Most of these are sellable as is as they haven’t even been properly broken in yet, but because there aren’t any other apple orchards around (short of the larger scale ones deep in the Ozarks), they don’t have any buyers.
Other equipment in their shed includes pruning supplies, chainsaws, handsaws, and a couple of lawnmowers, which are showing signs of long disuse. When Apple Bloom was still very small, they had a very close call when one of those machines picked up a piece of debris and almost lacerated and very well could’ve lost her eye. Since most of the acreage isn’t covered in grass anymore, having been slowly converted into dirt roads for vehicle use, their need for lawnmowers has basically come to nought.
One of their machines had a prop shaft snap at the U-joint. Fortunately it was the auxiliary line and not the drive line, so the rig is drivable, but worth substantially less as is. Definitely worth a DIY replacement. This is the piece of equipment that insurance specifically refused to cover.
Aside from chains or blades that need sharpening, replacing, or general servicing, and the virtually nonexistent need for grass cutting equipment means that the biggest task other than replacing the auxiliary prop shaft is finding willing buyers for everything. Unfortunately, the reason they still have to ask me for money is because the insurance money was not paid out, as the company held them out of their other policies’ coverage, which is why they fired them. Cutting those losses and stopping that bleeding cost them dearly, which is why, now that I have both of the eldest siblings on the same side, I have to take AJ’s Raptor. She’s still upside down on it but refuses to let me pay for it, so I decided her sacrifice would be to have to pay for it even though she’s not using it. All the other cars have been paid off, so it really has come to this.
Working in a poorly lit shed to move some things around, I regret not bringing a pair of work boots, because in the pile of saws, I step on some old, dull blades and in the case of one, have an old chain nearly take out my ankle.
I then receive a headlight and find some other lost treasures of hand tools and missing attachments that are immediately returned to their toolbox. Feeling more like a mechanic than a farmhand, I eventually get a pile started, with AB sorting the For Sale pieces from the junk, along with a third pile of “usable, but TLC/work needed.”
Granny Smith eventually checks in on us then goes through the piles with her youngest grandchild and disposes all the broken glass, chains, and splintered old tool heads from what I can only imagine came from her era.
As the bins go out for collection tonight, we picked a good day to clean everything up. Once Big Mac goes through the broken machinery, he makes a list of serial, parts, and service numbers so he can start ordering the necessary parts.
That evening, AJ emerges from the shower and insists I take one. Following her lead, I then jump in bed next to her and we start looking for a program to watch. Quickly though, she falls asleep and rolls towards me, so I instinctively try to dodge her, but she wakes up.
“Sorry sugar cube. Normally I have the other pillow to hold.”
“Wanna hold me?” I ask on a whim.
“You’d let me do that?”
“If it helps.”
“Come’ere. I’m gonna make you feel safe tonight.”
“I’ve never been the little spoon before.” I say as I climb in.
Apple Bloom takes me back to the airport so her siblings can continue sorting out the junk. Just before I walk through the doors, she stops me.
“Max, I know that I may not be the most qualified one to tell you this, but ye’r family to us, my sister especially, and here at Sweet Apple Acres, family is an implicit contract, not limited or defined by blood. No matter how bad ye’ mess up, family’s always there to catch you. Family is that one final immutable safety net that remains constant even when your entire world has crashed and burned around you. Those relatives of yours that you were close with when you were young put on one hell of a ruse if they up and left you out to dry just because you didn’t wanna become a doctor.”
“My own flesh and blood disowned me because they claimed to love me until I said I wanted to be a pilot. And it’s not just that. They used love to fat shame me, career shame me, justify their remarks and blame me for not submitting to their will. That six-letter F-word means nothing to me.”
“I hear ya, and I know exactly what you’re sayin.“
She then reaches her hand out but quickly retracts.
“Ye’ve been a very dear friend of the family ever since we met. I understand if you have reservations about who you call family. I don’t blame you for that, but please understand that, especially with Applejack and I, you have family here, and family means that no apple gets left behind.”
“Nice landing, Ryanair. Left F6, F6 F G4, hold short runway 7R . Top 1% exiting the ramp now.“
“F6 F G4, short of 7R, DWK.”
Eventually, after holding for various evening arrivals, and purchasing enough fuel to waive the security fee and add about an hour of flight time, I pay up, grab some water, and wipe my sweaty face down. Instant torrential sweat from stepping out into 48°/118° heat. Any hotter and I probably would’ve had to hold or divert. Most commercial flights have to cancel or delay to the night, which corroborates the fact that the only traffic moving on the ground with the intention of flight were business jets.
Sunset rolls around to grab me after only a few minutes of waiting. I jump in and am greeted with an embrace when we get home.
“Welcome back, Max.”
“Happy to be here. Thanks for getting me. I chose not to take a car this time.”
“Wow. You’re really roughing it.”
“Thanks.”
She chuckles in response. “Were you planning on buying another car?”
“No, but this is probably one of the best places to do so.”
“That is true. So, did you have anything in mind?”
“Not really. I just wanted to drop by and show how much you mean to me. We did have fun driving up to the Grand Canyon, but I don’t see a need to necessarily repeat that.”
“I agree.”
“Wanna go to Vegas?”
“Not now. I have work on Monday. I’d love to see Flash though.”
“We can go. I like flying into Harry Reid.”
“Nah. Feels pointless to go for basically less than 24 hours.”
“Less than? Monday an early day for you?”
“Yeah.” She sighs.
“How are you awake before me?” I ask groggily as Sunset wakes me up.
“I woke up to go to the bathroom. No point in going back to sleep, so you wanna go for a walk?”
“No.” I groan, though wishing I did have the willpower to join her.
“This is the best time to. In about an hour or two, it’s gonna get blistering again.”
“I know…” I grumble.
Sunset then gets me upright and defogged enough to fix my hair. As soon as I breathe in that fresh air and the first real feeling of warmth (heat to come) hits me, I smile serenely.
I know I’m off to a rocky start, and I certainly wasn’t doing myself any favors after seeing Matthew jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. Everything from San Francisco up until Indianapolis has been a blur. Now, in Phoenix, it feels a bit different. Though there is a nice warmth right now (it’s gonna get real hot later, like I just said), I feel more than just the warmth of the environment.
With Sunset at my side, I hold myself back at throwing one of my arms over her shoulder. I know we’re close enough to where she’s not put off by it, but I still know that my own personal timidity is keeping myself in check, just in case it makes her uncomfortable.
Amidst all my thinking, I notice Sunset, one who I would describe as usually talkative, is keeping silent. I feel an obligation to break the silence, but I still have a lot of thinking to do. I’m just checking in to see if I missed anything. Looks like I didn’t.
As we continue walking, my brain stops scrambling but now feels stuck in a void. Two steps any which way could start something else, but for now, I think I’ll just enjoy where I am. Enjoy the moment as it is.
Keep walking.
I check street names so I can orient myself, when Sunset smiles and offers her hand for holding. I warmly accept it, interlocking our fingers glad that even as friends, we‘re close enough to do something like this.
Walking hand in hand with only the morning sun as company (I’m surprised no one else in the neighborhood is up this early), we eventually round back home, going through the kitchen to figure out breakfast.
As I expected, there is no red meat anywhere, so if I want a protein, I guess I’ll have to settle for… Impossible Burgers?
“I like them better than Beyond, which is Fluttershy’s favorite.” She says opening the package. “This tastes more like a burger, and it’s easier for me to find, or rather, closer.”
“Hmm.” I nod. “I have a very slight, like 50.01%, preference for Beyond because it feels more marbled, so if I’m reading you correctly, you say it feels more like a burger. Would that be because it’s leaner?”
“Probably. You wouldn’t be wrong to say that.”
One normal package can be made into 8 slider-size patties, so she cuts it into four pieces and returns half of them to the fridge. I have a pan pre-heating with a very slight bit of sunflower oil, which is the fat that these burgers are made out of (Beyond use coconut and canola oil, the former of which is where that extra .01% comes from.)
Sunset then does the burgers while I make work of toasting the buns and preparing the toppings. Tomato, lettuce, mayo, mustard, ketchup, and… I guess that’s it.
The buns pop out of the slotted toaster just as she turns off the gas. Two burgers about 1.5 times the size of a slider apiece, we sit down and dig in to the evening’s prime time TV offerings.
As we share a few laughs at reruns of Friends and Home Improvement, we eventually find the latter’s spiritual successor, Last Man Standing. Sunset enjoys this one quite a bit, and as a result, sets a season pass for her DVR.
By now, the OAT is well in excess of 38°/100°, so as Sunset adjusts her A/C, I find another way to pass the time. To do some more thinking, I head to her backyard and have a cigarette. Moving one of her lawn chairs under the shade, I begin work on another stick and meditate on my thoughts.
I have plenty of cash to cover helping Applejack out, and I am not by any means going to hold her to a strict repayment schedule, but that’s not what’s troubling me. No, what’s weird is even though I have made substantial efforts to get over her, as soon as I saw her, everything came rushing back, and I had two simultaneous reactions. 1. Spending time with her is obviously very important to me, since not only is she one of my best friends, she seems to like me too, more than just merely tolerate my presence. In line with that, I feel like Applejack, while privy to my feelings for her, still appreciates my presence despite the barrier that in most relationships would be presented as tension. 2. While I was helping her out in the orchards, I still had those feelings of “potential lover,” which marks my quashing of feelings as a failure, and by extension failure to myself. I should’ve known that it wasn’t going to be that easy, and while I had banked on just being honest with her and telling her early on, (in an effort to quash said feelings), she not only took it gracefully, she welcomed it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad that Applejack has been able to play off the fact that I did (and sometimes still do) have a crush on her, but maybe the fact that she took it so well is the reason these feelings still exist. Could being honest with Applejack have backfired?
“Max?” Sunset calls just as I wrap up that thought.
“Sunset?” I ask nervously. “Do you remember how I asked about the relationship I have with Rarity and Applejack?”
“Yeah?”
“Wait!!!” My inner voice shouts at me to the sound of skidding tires and locked brakes.
“Uh, never mind.” I then say to Sunset. “What’s up?”
“Are you smoking?”
“Yeah. Electronic of course.”
“I know. I don’t have a problem with it. If you were smoking real ones, then I would ask you to move to the front.”
“And I would’ve gone.“
She smiles. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to get something for dinner.”
“It may be a late one for me. I’m still full from earlier.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I was gonna go in like a half hour anyway, but I just wanted to know if you were feeling anything.”
“No preferences.”
“I’m good with anything too.”
“If all else fails, we can just go to like Waffle House or something. I’ll probably want something small.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Good on ya for pumping the brakes.” My inner voice then rebuts.
“It provides a lot of plausible answers granted, and it would explain a lot about why I still have feelings for her.”
“I’m listening.”
“She, according to Princess Twilight, is the element of honesty. Obviously that makes sense it would transfer here. I have no reason to doubt that because I was honest with her, not only is she choosing to stay loyal to me, she treats me like a best friend. As the element of honesty, being honest and upfront with her almost immediately was not going to destroy the friendship or a potential relationship. On the contrary. Trying to use her own element against her not only backfired, it was in her eyes a standard expectation.”
“You may be right, though not all your points hold water.”
“I wonder how she’d react now if I told her I still do.”
“I don’t know. You seem to be pretty good at suppressing those feelings.”
“Until I saw her again, then…”
“It all came right back.” We both say in unison.
“I don’t think I can tell her. At least, no reason to. We’ve cemented ourselves as friends, maybe even siblings per her little sister’s accounts, and nothing more.”
“You never know until you try.”
“No. This is Rosalina all over again. The only difference is this time, I didn’t wait to reveal my feelings.”
“Rosalina found out you liked her almost immediately. It’s probably the only reason she let you hold her hand after only having met once before.”
I sigh. “I won’t argue.
“There’s no way I can let history repeat itself. If I got into a relationship with any of them, when it‘ll fail, it probably would go as bitter as it did with Rosalina.”
“Only worse.”
“Yeah, because not only would I lose her, I may as well lose everyone else.”
Immediately, without the need of my inner voice, I realize I have to talk to Sunset.
“Waffle House?”
“Sounds fun, let’s do it.”
Having made no more than simple chitchat at dinner, we return home. As soon as I close the door behind me, I ask Sunset,
“Can we talk?”
“What’s up?” She asks with a warm, welcoming smile.
“You know how when I was in hospital, you said I was your boyfriend so you could get time off work?”
“Yeah?”
“How could calling me your S/O be reason to be granted leave? I don’t know who would allow that.”
“I run the practice, but I called you my boyfriend because I didn’t want to make it seem like I’m cutting work.”
“I guess having your S/O in hospital would make more sense to take leave than just any one of your friends.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“Don’t even trip. You did say you would kill me if I told anyone.”
She glares at me.
“I haven’t!” I quickly reassure her. “I just find it surprising that you’d say I was your boyfriend. Though I guess if it was just to create the sense of urgency, then…”
“What brought that thought up?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just thinking about my time in hospital. You did also say some were interested in a relationship with me.”
“Oh… yeah. About that…”
She reaches out and grabs my hand. I raise an eyebrow in confusion.
“I still owe you cuddles from last time.” She smiles as she rubs my palm with her thumb and smiles sheepishly.
“Big or small?”
“I was supposed to be little spoon, so it’s up to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, we’ll see how the evening goes. It’s still pretty bright out.”
“We’ve got what? An hour until sunset?”
“Give or take.”
After we both slide into her bed, Sunset reaches for me, grabbing just above the wrist. She holds on for a few seconds, and when she lets go, she stares at me and asks,
“Max, you… you still have feelings for Applejack?”
“You finally figure out what happened when I asked earlier?”
“Well, yes and no. When I touched you, I saw a stream of memories.”
“What did you see??” I ask urgently alarmed.
“You were in a room with a couple copies of yourself. It looked like something out of an investigative drama. You had presented the idea of how being honest with Applejack immediately may have worked against you. Despite some initial hesitation, you wanted to let her know of your feelings immediately, so you could try and nip your feelings in the bud. However, because Applejack is the literal representation of honesty in Equestria, not only did Applejack seem okay with it, she probably liked you more for it.”
“[Hit the] nail on the head.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to see that.”
“Did you see anything else?” I ask too nervous about her seeing anything else than the fact that she literally just saw my memories.
“No.” She shakes her head feverishly.
“100% honest truth. Did you see anything else?”
“I promise. I did not see anything else.”
“Okay then.”
“I can pick up thoughts in the rote and short-term memory.“
My face drops again. “If you were able to see my long-term memory or subconscious, I probably would run all the way back to Sky Harbor.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, what would you do to me if you were my boyfriend?” She asks as her blush creeps up her face.
“Wow. Going right for it, huh? Well, I’d want to take you out to dinner, wherever is good really. I always like asking for an opinion to see both what they like and if there are any dietary restrictions or allergies, even if I’ve known them a long time. Don’t mistake my consideration for lack of spontaneity. I’m almost always the deso [driver], so I would likely not drink. After dinner though, depending on how things go, I’ll play my physical interactions by ear. At the very least, I like hands around the waist, or hips, or, um…”
As I think, I notice Sunset’s blush has gone down, but her intrigue remains quite high, to my complete surprise.
“My love language is quality time, and probably the next one down would be physical touch. I take a lot of precautions with that though. Quite a few of those I’ve dated have been wary of that, but nonetheless, I enjoy cuddling and the like. I like taking things slow, and I’m also iffy about PDA. If I do want to be really physical with someone, I wait until we’re at home. Other than that, as long as I’m spending time with someone, and I can hold them close…”
“That’s really sweet. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
“Ha!” I refute instantly. “Three failed marriages, Sunset. Three. And might I add the last one helped send me over the edge. I don’t want that to happen again. It’s why I don’t want to have feelings for AJ anymore. I can’t put myself through the strain of another relationship.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“Oh heavens no. I’m not ready. Rarity however, was privy to it, since she had that thing for me. I did say I kind of broke her heart by telling her I always default to suppression of feelings, and by the looks of it, if she is or was still interested, she’s backed down. She said she understands my side after being a witness to most of the ordeal surrounding the accident. If any of you are still interested, I would immediately advise you to avoid me. I’m nothing but trouble, and as of the accident, off the market, and out of the ring.”
“I understand. I just have to say though that if you saw yourself as how we saw you, I can almost guarantee you would not have attempted suicide.”
“However true that may be, keeping that gap between my ideal self and where I actually am is how I be myself, but better.”
“Horseshit.” She immediately snaps back, pushing herself up off the bed. “That’s exactly what put you into that nosedive in the first place. You set the bar so impossibly high and kept it so far out of reach that you inevitably stalled out. Knowing you in hindsight, I should’ve stepped in when I had the chance.”
“Believe me, I’ve heard that so many times I should be sick of it. In any case, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it, and it’ll never happen again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She responds sternly crossing her arms.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
She sags her shoulders and sighs.
“Promise me this though, not just for me, but for all of us. If you ever feel down, please just talk to one of us. We’re your friends.”
I sigh in defeat, but utter a slight variance on Pinkie‘s promise mantra.
“Cross my heart, wish for death, put a bullet through my head.”
“Good. Now, would you like to hold me like you said you would?”
“Thank you for stopping by Max!” Sunset beams as we embrace once again.
“Thank you for letting me crash for the weekend.”
“Love ya, Max! Stay safe and come by when you can.” She says before giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
“Phoenix ground, Boeing EI-DWK with Golf.”
“Boeing EI-DWK, Phoenix ground, runway…”
The transmission cuts off.
“Uh, Boeing EI-DWK, with the wind 080 at 5, could you accept 25L, 25R or take a slight delay?”
“How long?”
“About, uh, 10 to 15 minutes. Traffic a couple arrivals within 5 minutes of the airport, then we‘re gonna do a runway change.”
“I’ll wait for the runway change, DWK.”
“Boeing DWK, Roger. Would you like runway 7R or 7L?”
“7L.”
“Roger, runway 7L, taxi via H H1, hold short runway 7R.”
“H H1, short of 7R, Boeing DWK.”
“Phoenix tower, Boeing EI-DWK short of 7R for 7L.”
“Boeing EI-DWK, Phoenix Tower, Roger. Break. Speedbird 291 heavy, runway 25R, cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land 25R, Speedbird 291 heavy.”
As I patiently await my clearance, I try and spot the mighty Brit’s approach, but since they’re landing on the opposite runway, my view is obstructed by sitting in the left seat.
“Speedbird 291 heavy, right E6 or E5, right E, hold short of E8.”
“Taking E5, E, short of E8, Speedbird 291 heavy.”
“Boeing DWK, cross runway 7R, runway 7L, line up and wait.”
“Cross 7R, line up and wait 7L, DWK.”
“Boeing EI-DWK, say hello to your colleagues on the taxiway, runway 7L, cleared for takeoff.”
“Pass the message onto ground, cleared for takeoff 7L, Ryanair [sic] DWK.”
Takeoff thrust set.
80 knots.
V1
Rotate.
V2
Positive rate, gear up.
Flaps up.
“EI-DWK, contact departure, cheerio!”
“Over to departure, adios, Boeing EI-DWK.” “Phoenix departure, Boeing EI-DWK off Sky Harbor, 2,600 climbing 8,000 on the CHILY Four.”
“Boeing EI-DWK, Phoenix departure, continue on the CHILY, upon reaching 8,000, climb and maintain FL200. At MESSI, proceed direct BTY.”
“Climb FL200, direct Beatty at MESSI, Boeing DWK.”
“Max!” Fluttershy calls as I step out of the terminal. “Over here!
“I’m so happy to see you!” She exclaims as we share a long and tight hug.
“So am I.” I whisper back, though likely muffled by her hair. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll be out of your hair in a couple days. If you’d like me to stay longer, I don’t mind.”
“Well, whatever works for you. I know it won’t be easy with my work schedule.”
“I can be a househusband if you want.”
She giggles. “That’s alright. I just spent this weekend cleaning.”
“Well, at the very least, I’m here to personally thank you.”
“For what?”
“Your support. Had it not been for you and the others, I probably would’ve been a goner. I’ve lost a lot of supporters since even before the accident, so forgive me if I come on too strong, but I’m very thankful for you and your friends.”
“Aww!!” She blushes.
With her i3 to take advantage of electric car parking, we head for the city and Pike Place Market, where I start dozing off right after getting on I-5. Must be that tired already. Weird, considering I haven’t done anything else today other than travel.
When we arrive, the remaining range justifies a slight premium to pay for electricity, so once she plugs in and I pay the tab, we head for the market.
I go for my usual here, Caffe Lieto, home of “Seattle’s favorite” southern comfort icon laced with attitude and riddled with swear word(s), Biscuit Bitch, currently serving a limited menu for reasons related to kitchen complications. Sounds pretty serious.
When I emerge from the restaurant with my haul in tow, I ask Fluttershy where she is, but she doesn’t respond. Based purely on instinct, I can only assume she’s in one place: the namesake of Pike Place, the farmer’s market.
Sure enough, as I find the very colorful and wholly abundant fruits and vegetables both staple and exotic lining the stands for the length of the outdoor hall, I pick out Fluttershy by the butterfly hairpins and of course her hair, admiring and purchasing some fresh fruit from what I can only recall are local farmers from the Olympics or the interior valleys.
As I myself partake in the eye candy of colors and flavors (yes, I actually enjoy fruit and veg), I eventually catch up to Fluttershy, who pulls out her phone just as I tap her on the shoulder.
“Oh!” She gasps. “I was just about to ask where you were.”
“I’m here. I have my haul. Is you ready to go?”
“Mhmm.”
Back at home, I enjoy some filtered tap water with my dinner. Fluttershy then joins me with what appear to be leftovers.
“So, Fluttershy?” I ask slowly. “How have you been?”
“Things have been good. Miss Kitty was adopted a couple months ago, the one we helped rescue.”
“How about Princess?”
“She was adopted too!”
“Yay! Does the shelter need help?”
“We can always find a place for you. Most of the animals love to interact with humans, and the ones that don’t always stay with me.”
“When do you show up?”
“Usually 8 or 9. Paisley’s off tomorrow, so we should probably arrive closer to 8. Volunteers don’t begin until 10, but you’ll be a huge help to me tomorrow.”
“Happy to help. Maybe spending time with another organic life form will at least soothe some of the torment I’ve been feeling since I got out of the hospital.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way.”
“Don’t be. I’ve just been struggling to find work. I haven’t had any hires since Crystal Prep, and I’ve put more cycles on my airplanes than clients have in the past year.”
“I wish there was some way I could help.”
“From a work standpoint, I’m sure there are rescue flights available. I’ve met a few pilots who do those almost exclusively, but I don’t have any in’s on those types of flights.”
“Could we start something with you if the opportunity arises?”
“Sure. I have all the certifications necessary, your most obvious problem is going to be costs. I can knock a little off as demand dictates, but eventually I’d need to rely less on a friend discount, and there’s the issue of having to get your transported animals to and from Boeing [Field] or Renton. Plus, jet fuel is pretty expensive.”
“I know. And I also know that there are a lot of animals who could find forever homes outside of Seattle.”
“I’d really love to operate some shelter rescue flights, and I’m sure the shelter could receive some well-deserved attention. If your only euthanized animals are due to terminal illness, then that’s at the very least a step forward!”
“I’m sure some of my colleagues would love to start something or at least raise some awareness! We had great successes in Hawaii, and we may soon see efforts to tackle the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Keep an eye out for that, because we might need to hire you!”
I can only beam!
Next morning, I’m up at the same time as Fluttershy, so she gives me a towel and points me in the direction of a spare bathroom.
Humming little nothings as I wake myself up with slightly cold water, I get dressed and wait for Fluttershy to get ready. We’re quickly out the door with leftovers for the two of us in hand, arriving at the shelter at 8:15.
I watch Fluttershy do her morning routine, greeting the animals as she turns the lights on. A couple of dogs and cats each run up to their cage in hopes of being pet, so Fluttershy obliges them happily.
One of the cats then starts meowing desperately, so Fluttershy lets it out. Suddenly, as she picks it up, the necklace she’s wearing starts to glow.
“Max, Julio here says he would like to stay at your side for today.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Yes. Julio is one of our most well-trusted and liked cats, but he is our longest-tenured resident. His previous owner’s mother died and could no longer care for him.”
“Aww. Well, I’m happy to have a companion.” I say as Fluttershy sets him down.
He walks towards me, rubs up against my leg, then meows and wraps his tail around said leg. I let him sniff my hand, and he licks it before he moves on to my wrist. I let him do as he pleases before he purrs and stands by my side, eager to follow me around.
“Until the shelter opens, there isn’t much else to do. How well-versed are you in receptionist activities?”
“I can answer phones, but I do worry if anything specific pertaining to adoption may come up.”
“Oh, there are pamphlets available here. Financial information is kind of case by case here, since we do adjust our rates based on the care we provide. Other than that, since you’re not qualified to do any telephone adoptions, you’ll have to encourage callers to visit in person, so they can obviously see what we have.”
“Okay. Does Julio have any… behaviors I should be aware of?”
“Um, other than kind of wanting to do his own things, not really.”
“Is he afraid of water?”
“No.”
“So he bathes easily?”
“He loves baths, don’t you Julio?”
He doesn’t respond. Probably too afraid to admit it.
Julio however then makes himself comfortable on the desktop and is content to sit in a loaf just next to me.
*Call from Rainbow Dash*
“Why’s Rainbow Dash calling me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hello?”
“Hey Max, are you home right now?”
“No. I’m in Seattle with Fluttershy.”
“Well, when will you be home?”
“Either tomorrow night or the night after. What’s up?”
“I was just curious. If I have time, would you want to hang out?”
“Of course. How can I turn down time with my favorite first officer?”
“Don’t call me that.” She says indignantly.
“Sorry.”
“Hehe, I’m just kidding! I’ll let you know then.”
“No problem. Hope something works out.”
“We’ll make it happen.”
“Sure.”
“Awesome! Gotta go, talk to you soon!”
“Later.”
“Does Rainbow Dash want you to be home tomorrow?”
“Don’t know. She wants to hang out, so I assume she has some time off. In any case, knowing her, she *might* want to fly with me.”
“If you need to leave, just let me know and I’ll take you back to Everett.”
“Well, I’m here to show you how thankful I am for basically… no, outright saving my life. I want to show you how I feel, and how much I appreciate you.”
“Max, I felt how grateful you were even when you were still in the hospital. All the others can agree.”
“Did Rosalina ever come to see me?”
“Yes, while you were still intubated. She wished she could come see you post-op, but she was facing a pilot shortage.”
“Unfortunately, across most of aviation, we’re now in the surplus cycle.”
“I’m sorry, but at least you’re not out of work.”
“Oh, I’m very grateful. Otherwise, I’d probably be going crazy because literally nobody would hire me. I’d lose job opportunities to people with shinier profiles than me, whether they’re veterans, have spotless records, or can make twice the progress in half the time.”
“Max, are you okay? I’m sorry if I hit a nerve.”
“No. It happens from time to time. I reminisce about my lowest points to remind myself how far I’ve come.”
“You don’t need to beat yourself up over what happened in the past.”
“Lest I forget.”
“I get that you don’t want to forget or wish it never happened, but if I’ve been taught anything, it’s that you’re not doing yourself any favors by choosing to latch on to those memories. I was bullied for a long time in school, and if it wasn’t for Rainbow Dash staying by my side, I don’t know what I’d do. The same thing is happening with you now. Rainbow Dash was by my side, and she and I and the rest of us are certainly by yours. You don’t have to do this alone, Max. You have friends who love you, care about you and care so much for you.”
“Love you…” a voice not belonging to the one I chat to whispers behind my head.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but…” I then pet Julio, much to his pleasure. “I don’t want to rope you into drama that’s been persistent in my life since long before I met you.”
“Max, you’re not listening to me! None of us care if you were born into drama or even if you were the cause of it! You’re continuing to push us all away, just because you want to protect us?! You even said that that drama caused you to snap and attempt suicide! Max, we are here to help you! Please! Stop pushing us away! We would not be doing this if we didn’t want to help you! You may think it’s an inconvenience, but I’m more inconvenienced by the fact that you refuse to let us in!”
“That’s exactly it, Fluttershy. I’ve been working at this alone for quite a while. I’m ready to let you in, even if by venting I roped you in when we first got to know each other. At this point, I’ve put you through so much and it was my own fault. If you want to help me, then all I ask for is moral support, and be willing to let me vent. This is not a battle I can face with help. I know what I have to do and I have to face it alone.”
Before Fluttershy can respond, the office phone rings.
“Snoqualmie/Mt. Si animal shelter, how can I help you?”
“Hi, I have a question about the adoption process.”
“Sure!”
“What kinds of commitments financially can I expect for the adoption process?”
“What kind of animal are you looking for?”
“What do you have?”
“Dogs, cats, lizards, geckos, guinea pigs, hamsters…”
“Can you give me a rough average across the board?”
“Yeah, one second.
Once I find the fee list, I continue.
“Okay, anywhere from $150 to $420 is the adoption and filing fee itself. Add another $350 for spaying or neutering, and your tentative total at the absolute highest should not exceed $750 or so. Bear in mind that that’s the higher end, you may end up paying less.”
“Can I schedule a viewing?”
“Sure! We’re open today from 10:00 to 19:30 if you can make it today.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll see if I can stop by!”
“Alright then!”
“Thank you so much!”
“No problem, happy to help.”
During my phone call, a couple of people have walked in, and Fluttershy takes them to the kennels for visitation.
“Well, this should be fun.” I say to Julio.
He only meows.
“Hi welcome!” and the occasional phone call along with some delivery sign-offs pretty much define the morning. I appreciate the work, and to my surprise, Julio hasn’t left my side, even when I’ve gone to fetch him water and food.
Minding his own business and taking the occasional bites of food, I’ve had to refill his water bowl a few times already, so I make use of a water bottle and the occasional paper towel in case he makes a mess.
The afternoon slows down with only one other phone call asking about our operating hours. Granted, running a shelter on a Monday isn’t exactly the most exciting of days, but at least I’m out of the house, even if I’m doing roughly the same amount of activity as at home (minus the fact that I’d likely be sleeping.)
At the end of the day, Julio thanks me for the day by rubbing up against me again and licking my fingers very clean (though maybe that’s because of what I had for lunch) before he goes back to his kennel for the night.
When we return home, Fluttershy gets ready for bed and then in her sleepers, sits me down at the kitchen table and picks up where we left off.
“Max, I would never ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. However, it may be worth your while to at least let us offer our assistance however we can.”
“Look, Fluttershy, I’m afraid you might be in a little over your head here. I’ve been wrestling with this bear for a long time before I met you. Aside from you just being there for me, there isn’t much else you can do.”
“Then please let us be there for you!” She pleads desperately.
“I want to help you help me, but as it stands right now, all I need right now is moral support. Sunset has kept an open line to talk, and it seems like you are also.”
“Of course Max! I’m your friend! I want to help you.”
“I know you do, and right now, all I ask is that you remain open to talking.”
“Then let’s talk.”
Came Around to Fix It All
“Yo Dash, I’m home.” I text rather brazenly soon as I‘m parked at March.
Not expecting a response and hoping I don’t get one immediately, I take care of some more immediate items of housekeeping and busy myself.
Using an airport diagram and some little nuances in the pavement and layout as I drive along, I set up a nice little track and pick out my favorite performer, a car that’s as crazy as… as I am. Normally I’d say Pinkie Pie, but the Pinkie I know is zany and bubbly, so to call her crazy would be a broad, sweeping (and incorrect) assumption.
Anyway, the car in question is… not even street legal. It’s a Pagani Zonda R. Described as the final movement of the swan song for one of the greatest automotive masterpieces ever made, I fire up the wild beast and head out, driving slightly aggressively to get everything warm and utilizing the old “NASCAR under pace car” technique.
In the process of warming up the tires, I make the decision on whether to do a flying lap or start from a standstill. Ultimately, because of the layout, I start from a standstill, so with stopwatch at the ready and enough fuel for maybe a few laps, I rev up and count down.
3!
2!
1!
*Incoming call*
“Oh, for…” I say as I let out some pent up aggression.
“God damnit. Telemarketer.”
Revs up. Drive wheels eager to turn, held back by the brakes.
3.
2.
1.
And we’re off!
From where the turnoff centerline begins at taxiway C, a good run down runway 32, then a dab of brake, gas at the apex, and through onto taxiway D.
Now onto the slalom section. Using the runway centerlines for 12, slalom to taxiway C then a hard left followed by hard right on the ramp, not quite a chicane but enough to require quick thinking and driver input.
Speaking of quick thinking.
As I exit the turn, revs pick up and the backend kicks a bit. I lift my foot off and the car starts to recover, but as soon as I reapply power, I feel the tires give again, this time with much more dizzying results.
“Oh dear,” I shout to myself, “I’ve just spun $4.5M. I should probably go change my pants.”
*There is someone at the front door*
“Bloody [hell].” I grumble with a Manc twang. “Wonder who it is?”
The mic picks up a very nervous, “C… c… c’mon!”
Of course it’s Rainbow Dash. Why didn’t she ever text me back?
“Scimitar?? I know you’re in there!”
Well, I better go answer the door. Figuring I might be able to spin her ‘round in the car, I park it immediately and head inside.
A couple hasty rings on the doorbell hurry me up, and once I look through the peephole, she’s gotten even more anxious.
Before I can cause any more strain, I open the doors and ask,
“Dash, what’re you doing here?”
She says nothing, instead walking straight up to and wrapping her arms around me, clutching on like a child reunited with a parent.
She’s not crying, she’s not sobbing, breathing’s normal. Good, she’s still tough. Even so, she still doesn’t let go.
Eventually, seeing as I can’t find anything else left to do, I decide to reciprocate, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her gently.
Now, as much as I value human contact, and the best hugs are the ones that last or about 20 seconds or so, to share this with someone like Rainbow Dash is equal parts humbling and off-putting. I love Rainbow Dash, and she is arguably everything most pilots strive to be: well-loved, honored, respected, commander of the Blue Angels… the list goes on. That being said, what I see before me is a side of Rainbow Dash I’ve never seen before.
“Max!”
“Yes, Rainbow Dash?”
“What’s up?” She asks casually.
“Uh, nothin’. [D’ya] want to come inside?”
“Let me grab something from my car,” she says as she runs back and grabs a duffel bag, of similar size to my travel bags.
“Okay.” She says as she squeezes past me and straight for the living quarters.
“Wait, Dash. You want to spend the night here?”
“Yeah. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course. But I do have to ask why.”
“House is tented.”
“Termites?”
“Yeah…”
“Why didn’t you say so? I was expecting a text back.”
“Oh.” She then says sheepishly with a creeping blush to match. “Sorry.”
“Eh, no matter. How long are you planning on staying?”
“Tonight and tomorrow night.”
“Belated congrats on the promotion. Hope Spitfire can enjoy her retirement.”
“She’s been in England for the past couple weeks, so I imagine yes.”
“That’s nice.”
“What’s been up with you though? I haven’t seen you since the hospital.”
“Nothing unusual. Except running into Rarity, and Rares.”
“I heard about that. Poor girl.”
“I put her through a lot. And unfairly. She’s the reason I’m friends with all of you. We wouldn’t have met if it wasn’t for her.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
I shrug my shoulders and show her to a bedroom.
“Let me change into something a little more comfortable and we can go do something, yeah?”
“That’s fine.”
5 minutes later, she emerges and asks if I’m hungry. I’m not, so she asks if I want to go for drinks. Again I decline. She asks if I want to go walking around a mall, and to that I say no.
“What’s the matter with you, Max? I came here to see you and have some fun on my weekend off.”
“I’m fine. I’ve not lost interest, I just don’t know what I feel like doing.”
“What were you doing when I knocked on your door? Were you racing?”
“As a matter of fact I was. Wanna ride along?”
“Do I?!” She says as her eyes light up.
With plenty of daylight, I fire up the Zonda R and get Dash onboard.
“You’re in for it now.” I mumble to myself right before I give it the beans and rocket forward, hitting 200 kph in a blistering 2.8 seconds.
With the start/finish line located on runway 32, I run the circuit as a flying lap with Dash along for the ride, so…
After the pseudo-chicane, at the end of the ramp, take a right onto A, then a left onto A. From there, a slingshot corner onto runway 32, give it the beans, but brake ahead of a sharp but high-speed turnoff onto B, backtracking on A, to the ramp.
We’re not done yet. Left at D, then onto the [closed] runway 30. Hairpin left on F, onto runway 14, then across the line where we started.
Not eager to set a time, I didn’t even bother starting it, with a passenger in the car.
Being a track car, I can’t hear a thing Dash says if she did, so after I finish the lap, I bleed speed off and return to the house via B and A, parking in front of the Pax Terminal.
“Ya likey?”
“That! Was! AWESOME!” RD shouts throwing a fist in the air. “I wanna try!”
“You want to?”
“Wh…what???”
“She’s worth $4.5M or so. If you want to. We have our own racetrack, it’s plenty wide for most of the circuit. You want to?”
“No. That’s okay.”
“You command a squadron worth a combined $750M and can maneuver in three dimensions. I think you can handle $4.5M in two [dimensions].”
“Fine, fine. Since you’re so insistent on it.”
Switching seats and belting up, Dash then sets first gear and drives back out to the runways.
As I expected, she can’t think fast enough to shift, as through 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, she hits the rev limiter.
“Whoops.”
“Sorry.”
“My bad.”
I can only laugh, but there is that slight part of me that hurts, seeing as how this the only car of its type in America, and one of 15 worldwide.
In any case, as Dash gets comfortable with the car, I can feel her noticeably nervous, though that may be because she’s intimidated by a car that redlines faster than she can think.
After about 10 minutes, she returns to the garage and asks me to get her another car to race.
To my surprise, she chooses a near-equally rare car, a car that famously lost one while still in production, less than a year after its first deliveries , an Aston Martin One-77, affectionately registered as ‘ONE 76 ’.
“Easier find than the Zonda. Road legal. And mortal enemies with curbs. Fortunately for you, Dash, there aren’t any here unless you want to hug the edge of the runway.”
“Shut up. You can trust me.”
“Yeah, since this car can shift itself.”
“Ugh!” She groans as she fires up the engine.
As she drives the Aston around, definitely fast and aggressive but not racing-level, I almost yawn by comparison, which is an unfair sentiment, considering we transitioned from a purpose built vehicle to a road car.
As she makes her rounds and pushes the car to pretty close to maximum performance, I check the fuel tank. So far so good, running right now at about half. I sit back rather relaxed by this point as Dash starts to slalom around the centerlines like I did, but looking a bit less graceful, seeing as she’s taking these way faster than I would.
After about a dozen or so rounds, she returns and parks the car in the garage. I then have her join me to the fuel pumps so I can refill both the Zonda and the Aston. For being a track car, she goes through quite a bit of petrol. So, once we return to the main room, Dash turns on the tv and looks for something as I sit down next to her.
“Nice driving out there.”
“You had real guts to let me drive that Zonda.” She says as we fist bump.
“Airports make some of the best racetracks, just ask IndyCar .”
“Drag strips for sure.” She replies as she tunes a Jet Drag replay.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not gonna let you use either, or any of my airports for that.”
“dUdE, yOu’Re NoT mY MoM!”
“Very funny. If you wanted to invite friends to drag race with road cars, I’d be down.”
“I have a few friends who would probably like that.”
*Call from Van Nuys*
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Mr. Split Scimitar?”
“Speaking, Max is fine.”
“Hello Max. My name is Sunny Flare. I’m a colleague of Torque Wrench’s. I’m calling at her insistence. She says it’s time for her to add another mechanic to her workforce. Could I arrange an interview with you?”
“Absolutely. I’d love to meet you. When would be a good time for you?”
“I’m not available this week or the next. I can be available the week after that.”
“Okay. Um, one second. Let me check my calendar.”
-Delta: Flight 1159 to Atlanta.
“I have appointments in two weeks but nothing before. How free are you the… last weekend of July?”
“I should be available, but is there anything available the week before that?”
“Um, there shouldn’t be. Which day works best for you?”
“Either that Monday or Tuesday works.”
“Okay. Let’s do… Monday. Would it bother you if we went multi-day on an interview? That’s just my track record; it’s what happened with Torque Wrench.”
“Sure. That’s fine with me.”
“Excellent! Just a couple things to keep in mind, I think we can expect a practical and an interview portion as it were. Also, just a couple of questions for you so I can understand where you’re coming from.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“What kind of work specifically are you seeking?”
“Electrical. So, avionics and other things like that I enjoy.”
“Okay. And uh, what sort of work are you seeking? Full-time, part-time?”
“Torque Wrench praised you for her schedule, so how would you consider that?”
“Full time, but also on demand. With the current downturn in travel, I haven’t seen many new hires. One last question, where do you live right now?”
“Burbank.”
“Would you like to do your interview in Victorville or Riverside? I’ll happily work with you on that.”
“Where does Torque Wrench usually work?”
“Victorville.”
“I’ll go to Riverside then. Probably an easier commute.”
“Sure. What time of the day is best for you?”
“Anytime between 10:00 and 16:00.”
“14:30 okay?”
“That’s fine.”
“Alright, you are set for a 14:30 interview on Monday in three, well two and a half, weeks. I look forward to meeting you.”
“Likewise. Great day.”
“Thanks, same to you. Goodbye.”
“Who was that?”
“A friend of Torque Wrench’s. I have an interview with her in a few weeks. Rightfully so. She’s been working harder than ever. Finally time she need another set of hands to help her out.”
“Nice. You’re finally growing.”
“What do you mean? I’ve been growing since we met. We’re just finally short staff. Except in the flight department.”
“Aw, come on! Seriously?? You’ll hire a second mechanic but don’t want another pilot?”
“Why would you want to work for me? You’d be downgrading from commanding the Blue Angels, and you’d be in much slower aircraft.”
“That’s not the point, Max. I want to serve at your side, by your side. Look who you’re chillaxing with! I’m Rainbow Dash, god damnit! World’s greatest aviator, and most awesome friend!”
“That’s not fair to the others. You’re all awesome in your own way. I can’t say any one of you is the most awesome. But you can keep telling yourself that.”
“Max, I almost lost you. I’m here to help get you back into the swing of flying! So, help me get airline ready. You wouldn’t leave me out to dry would you?”
I can’t even formulate a response, but eventually, when one comes, I can only say,
“I don’t mean to sound unappreciative, I’m floored that you’re doing this, but this seems a little out of character.”
“I never leave my friends hanging. You need someone who will always stay by your side. Lucky for you, I’m one of the most loyal people I know.”
“I appreciate your gesture, I really do, but I don’t wanna inconvenience you.”
“I knew you were gonna say that, and we’re not taking no for an answer, so too bad. We decided it’s best for one of us to live near you, and since I’m technically the closest…”
“What about Pensacola?”
“I’ll go when I have to. But there’s no way you’re spending the holiday season alone, especially since the Blues are at El Centro. That’s where everyone else comes in.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You need a family who loves you, because yours didn’t. They abandoned their own flesh and blood for their own hearts’ desire. Plus, you’re so much more than just family to me. You’re my plane ticket.”
“If I’m just someone who can get you jet time, why don’t you talk to your fellow Angels? Didn’t any of them go to the airlines? Airlines love veterans.”
“Why would I go to the airlines when I know I can count on you?”
“I’ve been a solo operation ever since I left the airlines. Haven’t seen a reason to change it.” I shrug. “Besides, I don’t get enough hires in a given year to justify hiring another pilot. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need to be on a payroll. I just want you to get me qualified.”
“You’re asking me, out of the hundreds of pilots you know and work with, to give you flight instruction?”
“Well, I’d love to get type rated in at least one of the jets you have.”
I think about it for a little, then suppress a smile and say, “okay. What type would that be?”
The joy in her expression would put heart eyes to shame. I smirk knowing I have her in my hands, so I present her with pictures of every type of aircraft I have.
“Don’t rush to pick a type. I made that mistake and look at where it got me.”
“You can fly almost every single airliner in the skies today.”
“Not my point. Just, please make sure you know the type you choose is the one you really truly want.”
“Fine.” She responds indignantly.
I don’t know if Dash is a petrol head like me, but at the very least, she seems to share very much the same interests as me. We both like speed, acceleration, cornering, agility, and sometimes practicality in cars. As for airplanes, that’s where we diverge. That said, I only know her as type rated in the F/A-18, so I’m equal parts anxious and excited to see which type she chooses.
She’s made her hatred of the 737 very clear. Will she go smaller and choose the 717 (which covers the MD-80 and MD-90 under the DC-9 type rating)? Will she go directly against that which she hates and choose the A320 family? (Sorry, no 727 here.)
Given she’s expressed a preference for wide-body aircraft, maybe she’ll choose the A330. Or the A350. A340 is out of the question, as I sent all of those to the Mushroom World. Will she then go all the way and choose the plane the size of her ego and pick the A380? (I have one A300 certified under the A310 type rating, but I lease her out.)
Or will she choose from Boeing’s offerings? The 757 and 767 share a common type rating, so it would allow her to fly two different types with one training course, but something tells me she wants something a little different. She could choose the 747 or its near-direct replacement, the 777. Maybe she’ll choose something else.
“Come on! Let’s go! I want some jet time!” Dash eagerly says shaking me awake the next morning.
“Pick a type?”
“7-5-[7]/7-6-[7].”
“Okay then.” I say as I fire up ‘ONE 76.’
Once up in Victorville, I ask “-200 or -300?”
“Uh, -200.”
“Pratt & Whitney or Rolls-Royce?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Uh, actually, let me ask you this: who’s your most regular or favorite airline?”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Well, American and US Airways, along with Continental, operated Rolls-Royce. Delta, Northwest, and United operated Pratt & Whitney.”
“Uh, maybe I’ll just…”
*Incoming call*
“Ugh! Who’s calling me?!” Dash exclaims. “Hello?” “I’m kinda busy right now.” “Really?” “Uh, well why does he need to see me? I’m not the one who authorized that deal.” “Okay. Well, do I need to get rushed back to Pensacola?” “Okay then. I’ll meet him in El Centro. Bye.
“Ugh!!!”
“Gotta go?”
“Super early tomorrow. I’m needed in El Centro.”
“Is it serious?”
“It seemed that way. Can’t give anything away.”
“I get it. If you’re up for it, we can race down 86.”
“Let’s just fly for awhile, eh?”
“I own airliners. It’d be tough to make meaningful flight with anything I have. These burn insane amounts of fuel below the flight levels.”
“Aw, come on! Do you not like flying with me? Or wait, are you jealous of me??”
“Believe what you want. I said I don’t want to hire a second pilot for financial reasons.”
“You’re avoiding the question, Max.”
“No Dash, I loved flying with you, and I may or not be jealous of you. I am however at the least intimidated by you, especially now. It’s not very often that someone can tout that they’re buddies with the commander of the Blue Angels, less so if you’re a fellow aviator. Forgive me if I feel inadequate next to you.”
“Chill, Max. I wanted to spend time with you to escape the hectics of the Blues, but if the only thing on your mind is just how great and awesome I am, then maybe you’re not as great and awesome of a friend as I thought you were.”
“Rich, coming from little miss ‘never leave my friends hanging.’”
“Max, if I’ve learned anything from the academy to field time to my reserve time and to now, you really need to stop comparing yourself to other people, least of all me. Just because I lead some of the best pilots out there doesn’t make me any more superior to you. Look at all your type ratings! That’s something to be proud of!”
“However true that may be, Rolls-Royce or Pratt & Whitney?”
“Rolls-Royce then.”
“Icelandair or ex-Con[tinental]?”
“I don’t care.”
Since I can’t release her in the airplane, even for training purposes, I pull out all the manuals and give her a basic lowdown on the airplane, making sure to highlight the specificities of Rolls-Royce powered jets. History lessons and variance among variants aside, she then joins me in the cockpit so I can show her the systems, and so she can familiarize herself with the cockpit.
As she adjusts the seat and orients herself to chair-fly, I scroll through the EICAS displays and scan for any errors or other messages outside of the ones normally associated with shutdown. The only one I end up seeing is “Low Fuel,” which is good news, since this plane has been sitting for a little while since I received it.
When Dash calls it a day in the cockpit, she brings her car round and runs my power circuit, posting a lap time with no metric whatsoever. To provide some parity against her Mustang, I grab one of my Camaro SS, tripedal of course.
As I make my way around, I throttle back my competitive spirit enough to deflate my desire to win, this is Rainbow Dash after all. In the middle of the hairpin down F towards runway 14, I throw away my chances of winning by throwing the car sideways, creating a nice smoke trail as I recover and drag it down the runway, crossing the line and very much getting quite an earful from the clear victor.
We each run a few more laps to increase our chances, declaring a draw after we take three races apiece.
Too caught up in the races to think about lunch, we instead take advantage of an early bird dinner by ordering from the drive thru, each in our own car, just for giggles and grins. With a dinner of a hodgepodge of fast food places, we share laughs, swap some food, and call it a night early, seeing as how in order to make her appointment, she’s gotta leave here between 3 and 4 am.
Rise and not shine, though at this time of the year, sunrise is close to 5, so I guess if you really want to, we should be at Palm Springs or to 86 by then.
Since she needs the stretch, ONE 76 will be chasing. All I have to do is keep up. 12.3 L, 1210 HP, 20 cylinders. ‘Dis gon’ ‘b ‘gud.
As we zoom onto 60, Dash puts her foot down at the on ramp, the loudest thing for a few miles. I let my less uncouth symphony sing out as I catch up to her with ease. If she feels a need to try and pull away, all I have to do is put my foot down with relative ease.
With so few cars on the roads now, I keep my radar detector handy in case of any traps. Making no effort to challenge her, I have her bested quite easily, I only drive aggressive enough to keep up with her as we meet the rising sun head on. Once it starts to get bright, we really hammer down so we can begin our more southerly track down 86, so the sun isn’t directly in front of us.
By the time we hit the desert cities exits, the only thing we’re waiting for is the ball of sun to appear on the horizon. Since we’re kind of surrounded by mountains, we can get lucky with that, so we hanker down again in the hopes of flying out of the interchange.
As Coachella isn’t for another couple months, I gladly take the opportunity to be loud down 86, especially during the stretch we parallel highway 111 because as soon as we cross over 111 and begin that southerly track, we encounter considerable truck traffic heading towards Calexico.
Dash, being the personality she is, does a bit of weaving, but for me, instead of shooting that same gap, I play it and see if it changes, quickly following suit just as another fast-mover comes up from behind.
Soon, we hit the Imperial Valley, but the NAF is located outside of El Centro town center. For security reasons then, when Dash makes the final turn onto the barracks access road, I continue straight so as not to cause a disturbance. Instead, I throw a uey at the next junction, heading back towards El Centro, figuring I oughta grab an authentic bite to eat down here.
Hoping she silenced her phone, I text, “heading back to PSP for lunch, unless you know a good place down here.”
With no care to how much a fill-up is gonna cost, I take Highway 111 to Palm Springs to get some more noise out of the engine, and because I figure I can take a scenic route. To my surprise though, when I get only to about Indio, the petrol light comes on. I know we did some pretty high-throttle motoring to get down here, but given how much I started with (one notch off a full tank), I’ve averaged about 9.8 MPG. I think I’ve managed worse, but as far as roadgoing goes, this is my new low.
No matter. A fresh tank is a reset for me, so once I arrive in Palm Springs, I cruise gently up Palm Canyon, wishing I had a convertible to relive a popular activity in the 80s and 90s.
Instead, I park right in front of one of my favorite ice cream joints, Lappert’s. Home to a few of my favorite ice cream flavors of all time, I order my usual, wishing I could get some pints to go.
Nevertheless, after eating just outside the shop, I just stare at the car, along with quite a few other people, who take notice and snap many a picture. I could’ve used one of my many Bugatti at my disposal, but I chose a car that although slower is much much rarer than them. I’m glad I did too. Seems a bit on the nose to drive one of the world’s fastest cars in the company of a Blue Angel, but whatever.
Anyway, right around 10 or so, the temp hits triple digits, so once I decide to leave Palm Canyon behind, I head down to El Paseo to walk around the shops there. Seeing no need to be anywhere until I get a response from Rainbow, I just do laps walking, since none of the shops here really appeal to me right now.
After about a half hour, fearful I’ve garnered attention as someone who’s wandering aimlessly around the property, I decide just for the heck of it to head back to Imperial. I think I’m craving some auténtico Mexican for I guess it would be lunch, sequentially speaking.
Taking Highway 111 down, I pass through Brawley when I get a text.
“We’re running a little behind. What do you want to eat?”
“I’m hankerin’ for Mexican.”
“There’s a couple places I like down here.”
“¿Por qué no las dos? Plus, I do have a couple of stops I wanna make if you don’t finish too late.”
“I hope so. We’ve basically gone nowhere but in circles, and we’ve been at this since 7.”
“Sorry to hear.”
When I return to El Centro, I find a promising taco bar and head in. Feeling a strange déjà vu, I banter with the bartender en español before ordering a bit of food.
To my complete and utter surprise, about 35 minutes later, after going through enough food to almost call it a meal, who should walk in through the front door? It’s Rainbow Dash. Plunking herself in the seat right next to me and even lightly body-checking me in the side, she orders.
“Talk about good luck.” I quip back after she gets her drink.
“How’d you know I’d come here?”
“I’m psychic, I don’t know. I’m a simple man. I saw “Taco Bar”, I went in.”
“This is the best here in town.”
“And since we have enough time, I want to pick up some things from Palm Springs.”
“Which places?”
“Pints from Lappert’s and some Manhattan in the Desert.”
“You have good taste.”
“So do you.” I say as I dig into what are probably my in the dozens tacos. Street style, soft corn tortillas, a bit of cilantro and cebolla, this is good.
“This other place, best ceviche I’ve ever had.”
“Thank goodness for small tacos.”
“Mexican food is the best!” She exclaims as she downs a bottle of beer.
“Ey, watch yo’self.” I say as I enjoy that sweet feeling of eating tacos.
Slamming the bottle back down on the counter, she smiles and slugs me in the side in the jolly spirit of a drink. It’s likely redundant for me to tell her, but she cuts herself off, so in response I order two shots: each “chased” with a taco.
In my buzzed stupor, I unabashedly slur out,
“Hello and good morning once again ladies and gentlemen. My name is Jose Cuervo and I am under the influence of Captain Morgan for today's flight.”
I see a stunned Rainbow Dash, mouth wide open, taco mere centimeters from her face. Immediately upon hearing that, she puts her taco down and loses it, laughing so hard, I think I may have broken her.
Thinking rather highly of myself for cracking a line like that, I activate my smug face and just indulge in a hysterical Rainbow Dash.
“Good one Max!” She says struggling for air.
Before too long though, I finish the last of my food and close the tab as Rainbow eventually recovers. She then orders two more tacos and a glass of cola before we head for our next destination.
Enjoying a large order of their house special ceviche for which RD praises, I let her enjoy it, since she paid for it.
“Here, have the rest.” She then says after about half of it goes.
“Why so much left?”
“I ate a bit at the mess [hall.] Plus, you have to try it.”
“Fair enough.” I say as I dig in. “Lappert’s and Manhattan in the Desert after?”
“I’ll get one of them and we can just meet at March.”
“Do you want to get the ice cream or the deli?”
“Manhattan [in the Desert]. I love that place.”
“Great minds, right?”
“Aw yeah! What do you want?”
“[Out of] curiosity, what do you usually get?”
“Turkey or Pastrami.”
“Alright then, I’ll do a Frankfurter and a Knockwurst (Knackwurst).”
“Plate or bread?”
“One on a plate, one on bread.”
“Cheese?”
“No.”
“Which one on the bread?”
“Doesn’t really matter.”
“I’ll make it random then.”
“You want a pint of ice cream from Lappert’s?”
“Sorbet [of] me?”
“Funny. That’s one of the ones I was gonna get. I’ll just double it up then.”
“I just want a double scoop for myself.”
“Oh alright then. I’ll double up on Hana Road.”
“Cool. I’ll meet you back at base.” She says as she closes her tab and stands up.
“Yeah.”
With that, we both race up 86 and hot brake at our exit off I-10, going our separate ways once we reach Palm Springs. I expect to have a time advantage, but I’ll undoubtedly have to fill up again.
“Hello again!” The same person behind the counter as this morning calls.
“I’m back, and here for more!”
“What can I get you?”
“Can I get a double scoop of Rainbow Sorbet and a separate double scoop of Kauai Pie and Hana Road?”
“Got it.”
After those two, I then order “two pints of Hana Road and one pint of Rainbow Sorbet.” Feeling rather gluttonous but knowing it’ll last me a while, I soon make my way out and make sure everything is stable. This is now a race to see who’ll make it back to March first.
Because Palm Springs is so far off I-10, Highway 111 runs as a proper highway and merges onto I-10. For those coming from Los Angeles, this is the first opportunity to reach the city. As such, once I clear the last traffic light and race toward the interstate, I put my foot down and drive as fast as I can, figuring I should pad my lead.
When I stop at the Morongo petrol station, I do a quick head calculation. If my more hard and aggressive driving nets just under 10 MPG, then how many miles to March? About 40 miles? This car has a 26 gallon tank, so at 9 MPG, that’s… 234 miles of range. I only need a few gallons then. Between 5 and 10 gallons roughly. I have enough then to act as my buffer, so if I use a round cash amount, I can make this pit stop a splash and dash.
Tortured metaphors aside, I guesstimate between $25-$30 for this fill up, so once I get the pump going, I watch the cash total, cutting the fuel flow at $25.25. Patting myself on the back for hitting a round total.
After I get going onto I-10, I change lanes frequently due to a sporadic mix of trucks who are hanging in the left lanes early so they don’t have to fight for CA-60 when they’re less than a mile from the interchange.
As I leave I-10 behind, I notice a police car behind me, so I gently pass a truck and move over so they can pass. The Dodge Charger are popular in this neck of the woods (for obvious reasons), as it passes along with a tag team partner in excess of 100 mph, even through this section, where the road is a dual carriageway.
Nevertheless, once they disappear from my radar detector, I increase my speed to about 85 MPH once we clear the last at-grade intersection. The road then winds through a mountain pass, so you know I’m gonna hunker down. The pass is a small one, and so the road eventually begins to flatten out, but is still a dual carriageway, so I weave carefully, making good time, and only slightly feeling trapped by the spread of lane hoggers and some trucks, I eventually take the exit for March and narrowly run a red light or two to get to the entry gate.
When the gates open, I drive through, and just as they start to roll closed, I hear a couple of honks ahead of what appears to be a noticeably upset Rainbow Dash. She lost, so I wouldn’t expect anything less.
I present her with her Rainbow Sorbet and her face changes slightly. I gesticulate to ask if she wants to park here, and she nods.
I return the Aston to its parking space while she parks on level 1. I give her her dessert and she gives me my dinner.
The Frankfurter is in the bun and the Knockwurst is on the plate, so once I cut each in half and do a halfsies on each, we dig in and start talking again.
“You know, the Blues cancelled the rest of their summer shows.“
“What happened??”
“DoD orders. I guess there’s some fighting in the Middle East somewhere.”
“Qatar.”
“Yeah, there. Something about a civil uprising?”
“The vote to host next year’s World Cup may have been rigged. Basically, since Qatar won the host vote, allegations came forth that Qataris are forcing people to work in inhumane working conditions, which has been likened to slavery. I think that may have been the tipping point.”
“I wanted to go, but Soarin wanted to keep me here.”
“Wait, Soarin’s SECNAV (Secretary of the Navy)?”
“No, he’s MCPON (Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy).”
“Oh. Wow. I didn’t know that.”
“He’s the acting, since the current MCPON wanted to go to the Middle East.”
“If they’re sending the Navy, sounds like a Hormuz conflict.”
“Maybe. I haven’t heard a whole lot about it surprisingly. It’s pretty need-to-know, even for officers like me.”
“That’s interesting, since you’re a pretty senior official. Though I guess keeping you home may be a bit of a marketing ploy, since having the Blues is a bit of a recruitment tool.”
“Maybe, but that’s what Top Gun is for.”
“Aren’t you under obligation to like it?”
“I do, but I guess it’s gotten old for me. I’ve seen it so many times.”
“Fair enough.”
“I guess I should be glad for the time off though.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, thanks for all this.”
“Of course! I’m glad we can hang out again, especially outside of work. I’m also glad hosting you worked out even though you had a bit of relearning to do when you made it to San Bernardino.”
“Thank YOU. No other airport nearby would be able to accommodate us.”
“Invite’s always open. As long as you don’t pin me for violating some DoD thing.”
“Nah. I’ve got your back.”
“Happy to help.”
Then, at the end of the meal, after I take care of all the trash and the dishes, Dash retires early, but calls me over before she heads to bed.
“Max, I’m only gonna say this once. I didn’t think I’d be as affected as I was when I saw you lying on the ground like that. Being a service member has definitely made me tough, but it’s different to see one of your own literally turn on themselves. I don’t know what you saw while you were in limbo, but thanks for coming back.”
She blushes, so I wait a little before responding,
“Well Dash, tell you what: you’ve gotten acquainted a bit, how’s we get started on that big adventure?”
“Obviously!”
“Alright then. Tomorrow, let’s fly happily.”
“Together.” She then finishes by extending her fist.
“Together.” I reply with a bump.
What’s Right There In Front of Me
I’ve had a few steady friends over the course of my life, probably only a hand’s worth or so at any given time. The longest tenured one lasted from my early school days to about my final year of college. Similarly, the most recent one to join those ranks has since abdicated. No fault on either of our parts, we just happened to drift apart because of our careers, ironically both in aviation.
Now, before I get all dark and depressing, I must say that who‘s to say what’ll happen and how things are gonna turn out. Friends may come and friends may go, but family is forever.
Bullshit.
As I was saying, who knows how things are gonna turn out. I know that I have a group of friends that not only welcomed me with open arms, but have also been a source of strength for me. I’ve said it a few times, and I’ll say it again: if it wasn’t for these girls, I’d probably be dead.
Fact of the matter is, these girls have rallied around me and have made sure I know they’re a support behind me. They’ve also made substantial efforts to show they’re willing to help, even when I continued to push them away. I hate asking for help, not because of my pride, but because of fear of inconvenience. I know it sounds like I’m beating a dead horse, but I built my own walls for a number of reasons. Defense mechanism for one, but also in how I perceive both utilizing my friends as a resource and what has happened from my own experience. I can be clingy, and obsessive. I’ve been called out on it by most of my biological family, who’ve also teased me about it among countless other things. Needless to say, I’m quite wary and especially self-conscious about being expressive. I try not to let it stop me, and I guess I should stop caring since the same people who picked on me for it have scrubbed my existence from their lives. As far as they’re concerned, I was never born.
That being said, there are a few who acknowledge my existence, and while I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the fact that this group of seven girls took me in as one of their own even as I weathered one of my many cyclical lows in life, I know one thing’s for sure.
I think the best way to summarize is with something I almost never ever do.
“To all of those who have helped me through what has undoubtedly been some of the lowest of lows, and the darkest of dark times. To those who continued to root for me even when I was ready to bow out. To those who had faith and confidence in me, even when I had none in myself. To those who persisted with me and for me, especially when I exhausted mine. To those who feverishly made yourselves my supporters in a time when I had none. To those who kept me fighting, and to those who fought with me, and yes, even sometimes for me.
From the bottom of my heart,
That’s what you are to me.”
Turned My Mind Back on Track
“Yo Max!” Vinyl calls as Spike and I step out of the FBO terminal.
“Sweet ride.” I say ogling the Bentley behind her.
“Oh thanks. She’s Tavi’s though.”
“She has good taste. 8 or 12 cylinders?”
She doesn’t respond, but the sound of the starter and the throaty growl of the engine at idle tell me that it’s a V8.
This girl has a driving style to match her music, because as she gets onto I-95, she holds 60 as a pickup and trailer pass, then floors it gently, as the gearbox takes its time to catch two or three gears down.
The beast howls as we whiz up into the 100’s of mph. I smirk smugly as Vinyl does a bit of mixing and shuffling, to get into the left lane.
As we get off the freeway, my heart rate rises enough to make my palpitations palpable. I don’t know why, maybe it’s ‘cause I’m in pretty good company in Miami, and because I know that someone like Vinyl is a quality chick. She’s devoted to her craft and you can feel that in her music. If she wasn’t, like, into what I can only assume evolved into a partnership, or, if I was a little more romantically inclined, I would probably pursue her. I mean, she seemed more than cool with me when we first met, and we had some great talking points despite the apparent DJ vs. Band Geek dichotomy.
We enter their home to the sound of Octavia practicing in another room. Clearly they’ve invested in some soundproofing.
“Does she prefer acoustic or electric cello when you record?”
“Acoustic 99% of the time. She only recently got an electric cello, so she still has to get used to it.”
“Either way,” Spike butts in, “she always sets a great bass line for us.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Vinyl takes Spike up to their room so they can work, but she says, “make yourself at home! Does Pinkie know you’re here?”
“No, I haven’t told her yet. I was gonna surprise her.”
“She’s coming over tomorrow night. Party’s at my place this time!”
“She’s gonna be so psyched.”
“Max!!!” Pinkie screams giddier than I could ever wish and runs towards me. “You never told me when you were coming down!”
“Surprise.”
“Now that we’re all here, we can go get a bite to eat!” Spike says.
“Calle Ocho?” Pinkie asks.
“You wanna go back to Miami? ¿Quiere La Carreta?” I respond.
“Oh HELL yeah!” Vinyl exclaims.
Piling into Pinkie’s Nissan Kicks, as she can fit all five of us, we get back onto I-95 and head for Little Havana.
We get seated quickly, timing our arrival just off-peak. I’m hungrier than I realize, because it seems like I could eat a few of these items in one sitting for sure. I don’t want to seem like a pig to my friends (since they say you are what you eat, and I do love me a good Cuban sandwich), so I load up on Café Cubano, Cortaditos, and enough caffeine to kill a horse. That should give me some energy for tonight’s party.
Diluting the coffee with almost equal parts water over the course of the meal, I happily cover this tab.
At around 19:30, the first guests show up. I don’t expect any familiar faces outside of the hosts, so instead of shying away, I decide to indulge a little on the liquor I’ll happily replace after tonight.
As the music gets louder and inhibitions delimit, I dance carelessly but not recklessly in a distant corner outside the intense noise levels and keep my shots coming. After all the coffee I’ve had, I know I need to slow down, but the water I adore is keeping my body in check, by body-checking me on the inside.
Once I somehow overcome the adverse effects of about a half-liter of liquid courage intermingling with about 5 or 6 cups of Cuban coffee, I suppress every urge to splay and flail my arms about, seeing as it’s a pretty good turnout for a Friday night house party.
“Hey Max!” Pinkie calls only partway uninhibited. “Having fun??”
“Of course Pinkie,” I slur out, “I’m here to thank you and Vinyl and… Octavia,” attaching an -r sound to the end of her name, like a Brit. “S-qz me.”
As I stumble to the back porch, the crowd is as jumping as it was at the start, and with Vinyl off the table, I look for some water.
I grab a cup and open the spigot, filling it up. Desperate to cleanse my palate, I take a mighty swig.
Hang on.
Oh… shit.
Too in shock at the quickly spreading burn in my throat, I freeze in place and let the remainder of what is clearly vodka in my cup run down my face.
I quickly slam the cup down on the table and pat my shirt down feverishly to stop any remaining dribble. By this point, I’m about ready to lose my balance, so I decide to let one knee slip so I can try and reset my internal gyroscope.
“Alright Max,” a familiar voice grunts, “it’s time to get you upstairs.”
“Pee-yew!” Another voice says as I feel myself eased onto a bed. “You’ve had WAY too much to drink tonight!”
By those words, Asian flush is settling in, and quick.
Blinded by the light, I’m greeted with wide open blinds, mild dehydration, and a sense of defeat. As I sit up in bed, I find a tall glass of water on one of the nightstands. I take a swig and slosh it around to coat the driest areas of my mouth before I will myself onto my legs and gather my toiletries.
As I enter the bathroom, I lock the door and splash my very oily and splotchy face. While my hangovers are rare but quick, the Asian flush will last well into the next morning.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I dry off and head downstairs. I pull a $100 from my wallet to pay for what I might have damaged last night as I enter the kitchen to the sound of sizzling.
“Good morning, Sir Max.” Octavia greets as she flips a burger patty.
“Top’a the [morning.]” I respond in kind. “Is that a burger I hear?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Veg?”
“Boca [as] a matter of fact.” She responds as she slides it onto a toasted and mayo’d bun. “Vinyl was waiting for you to wake up. I’ll go get her.”
“How much trouble am I in?” I ask rhetorically.
“Dude, you went HARD last night!” She calls a few moments later.
“I remember some of it. How much?”
“You took out half the Jack! Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Well, I’ll replace it. I think I broke something too, so here.” I say as I give her the Benjamin.
“Uh, you didn’t break anything.” She says refusing the money.
“Still, this is for letting me crash here. Is Pinkie gonna pick me up?”
“Yeah. She’s booked solid for the week though. Might be better if you stay with us.”
“As long as you’re okay with it, I imagine Pinkie would understand.”
“She will, but as soon as she’s free, I know she’s gonna snatch you right out of our hands.”
“I don’t wanna burden you. You’ve got that project with Spike to work on.”
“True, and I wouldn’t want you feeling left out.”
“We can always meet up for food or something.”
“Oh of course.”
“Hey Pinkie. I’m awake now. Vinyl tells me you’re gonna be swamped with work all this week? Whenever you can, let me know what’s happening, because Vinyl said she’s more than willing to host me. No pressure, but I know you did want to see me.”
“If you need anything,” Vinyl then calls after I send the text, “you know where the studio is.”
“Yeah.” I respond as I grab a glass and enjoy some water, knowing that even if I don’t feel it, I really need it.
As the rest of me starts to return to normal, I use the bathroom before I find the three musicians chilling out by the pool.
“Come on in, the water’s fine!” Vinyl says as she returns to sunbathe on a lounger.
Spike is very clearly enjoying himself in the hot tub, so I say “screw it” and get my feet wet, sitting on the 2/3 width Baja shelf so my feet don’t dangle.
“Did you not pack swimwear?”
“No. I’m not much of a swimmer.”
“Didn’t you used to live in Hawaii?”
“And I surfed.“
“Whatever. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“No sweat.”
“But you are.”
“I sweat all the time.”
After I dry off my legs, I ask Vinyl if I can borrow a car to make a food run.
“I’m coming with you. Plus, you have pockets.”
“No argument.” I say as she opens her garage door.
“Sweet ride.” I say as I approach a McLaren 720S.
“Got a good deal on it.”
“A few years past the current model but otherwise basically brand new?”
“Pretty much,” she responds as she ducks low and climbs in. I follow suit and close my door right after she does.
Firing the thing up and putting her in reverse, she asks, “where do you wanna go?”
“Wasn’t thinking anything specific. I was just gonna drive around and let the spirit guide me. Do you need petrol?”
“Half tank.”
“Are you an optimist or a pessimist?”
“Neither.”
“Free petrol on my tab.”
“We’ll let the spirit guide us then.” She says as she approaches a stop sign, then guns it as we join the main road.
“She’s got some pulling power.” I quip dryly.
“Yeah, yeah. Says the one who turns on the jets for living.”
“Do you have a comeback for everything I say?”
“No. I’m just getting lucky.”
“Well good, ‘cause I’m craving nothing in particular.”
“Seafood it is then!”
“How’d you know I was on a see-food diet?”
“I didn’t. Sometimes, the English language just works in one’s favor.”
Once we get seated, I’m relegated to the DD role as Vinyl starts the afternoon off with a Cape Cod.
“So, Vinyl,” I ask fighting the awkwardness, “you and I are pretty cool with each other, even though we’ve only met once before, and yet we’re bantering like we’ve known each other for much longer(?)”
“Thank Pinkie. She talks about you a lot. Secretly, I think she was trying to coax me into chartering you.”
“I see. Well, you and Octavia have a profile. Depending on how things go, you may be assigned an aircraft exclusively for you, and if that becomes the case, you can outfit it as you see fit (pending design approval).”
“Sounds like a pretty sweet deal. I haven’t been much into going on the road, and I haven’t had any big gigs outside of South Florida. Farthest I’ve gone is Key West.”
“Well, if you feel the need to support a friend, no pressure, I am available.”
“I do appreciate that, thank you.”
“So, I have to ask. What are you and Octavia? Are you together, engaged, married?”
“We are together officially, but we don’t have any plans to advance anything. Life hasn’t been the easiest on either of us, what with having a tough time finding work.”
“I understand. I don’t want to pity myself, but I too have been struggling to find work. I just bought another airport, so I’m hoping I can attract a little more business.”
“I hope you can.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” I smile back just as our food arrives.
After I pay the bill, we head for their local Costco to take advantage of petrol prices. Filled to the brim with high grade once again, we return home to the sight and smell of Spike and Octavia in the kitchen.
I skip dinner and instead pour myself a shot of tequila, slamming the glass down and high-fiving Vinyl in the heat of the moment.
“You two would make quite the couple.” Octavia teases.
“Isn’t that your own girlfriend you’re talking about?” I respond in surprise.
“Oh, don’t worry. She says that all the time.” Vinyl reassures.
“Well, if either of you need to travel for a gig or just Wanna Get Away, I’m your man.”
“I’ve been hoping to visit my parents.” Octavia says semi-rhetorically. “I’m sure they’ll probably convince me to move back in with them though.”
I only chuckle just as my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi Max! Pinkie Pie here! Where are ya?”
“Vinyl and Octavia’s.”
“Are you in the middle of something?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“I don’t want you coming all the way up here though.”
“Pfft. That’s not a problem.”
“Aren’t you booked for the week?”
“I’ve got a free day tomorrow!”
“Well, I can make myself available. You’ll have to claw me out of Vinyl’s hands though.”
“Told ya she’d like you!”
“I think you just told her to.”
She gasps.
“Max, how could you think that?”
“It was a cheap shot, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Can I grab you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I don’t think there’s anything planned here. I imagine they’re just gonna be working on their collab, so it could be just you and me.”
“Well let’s get to it!”
“See ya tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll text when I get there. Bye Max!”
“Later Pinkie.”
As some sound leaks out of the studio, I wish I had iPad with me so I could play some games, but it’s dead and charging.
*Call from Atlanta.*
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Mr. Scimitar?”
“Speaking. Max is fine.”
“Okay, Mr. Max. I’m calling with Delta Air Lines. How are you doing today?”
“I’m doing well. Yourself?”
“I’m not doing too bad. I’m actually calling to schedule the appointment about our retiring fleet.”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
“When is good for you?”
“Um, the earliest available time I have is maybe two weeks, hopefully at the end of next week, pending some errands and other commitments.”
“Okay. You’ll be talking to my boss, so I’ll have to send him a tentative schedule. Can you give me your earliest available times?”
“Starting two weeks from now. Any day of the week.”
“Okay. What time of the day will work best?”
“Are we meeting in Atlanta?”
“Yes sir. I’ll send you all the information once we schedule something.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Oh, my boss just got back from a break. One second please.”
“Hello?” A different voice calls just a few moments later, “is this Mr. Scimitar?”
“Yes sir. Max is fine.”
“Ok Max. You said you were available in two weeks?”
“Yes sir. Any day of the week, and any time of the day.”
“Okay… give me one second, let me transfer you to my line so I can look at my schedule. One second.”
“No problem.”
*hold music*
“Hi, Max?”
“Yes sir. I’m here.”
“Perfect. Alright… uh, would it bother you if we met on like a Friday afternoon after all of my appointments are complete?”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ll book the Ontario nonstop.”
“Perfect. You’ll get in right before my last appointment finishes up.”
“I love it when the stars align.”
“What’s that?”
“I love it when the stars align.”
“Likewise.”
Your flight to Atlanta is booked!
“I just booked the flight. That flight arrives at 19:15.”
“Yes, yes. Perfect! I’ll see you at 19:15 when you arrive.”
“I look forward to it.”
“So do I. Good night, Max.”
“Good night, sir.”
“Bye now.”
“Bye.”
I then set the calendar and corroborate it by adding the flight to it. I’m so excited. If this deal goes through, I could be looking at almost half of Delta’s soon-to-be former fleet in my hands. I’m kind of losing money by acquiring their T-tail aircraft, but I see a valuable life for most of them as freighters, so hopefully they’ll find a worthy operator.
Next morning, I get ready and pack up just in case Pinkie takes me hostage, which is okay, since I’d probably just be lounging around anyway.
As I lounge around waiting for Pinkie to communicate, I go outside for an e-cigarette or a few. As they’re all nicotine-free, I feel less impacted by it, but I know that even though I’m only addicted to the motion and the dragon’s breath, I don’t think I’ll have the girls’ full respect until I put them away for good.
Speaking of, two honks from a large SUV precede Pinkie’s arrival. I wave to her then head inside. I make sure I have all my stuff then head up to the studio.
As the recording light is on, I wait until it extinguishes before knocking. When it does, I enter and tell the three Pinkie’s here, so with handshakes, hugs and waves goodbye, I head out to see what little miss cotton candy hair has in store for me.
“Hey Max!” She says as she leans across the center console for a hug.
“Hi Pinkie.”
“How’s your life?”
“Ominous, but hopeful. Scary, but hopeful. Unsettled, but hopeful. Unsettling, but… ah, who am I kidding? I feel stuck.”
“But you don’t even have your seatbelt on.”
I can only roll my eyes and belt up before she puts her car in drive.
“So why do you feel stuck?”
“I haven’t had any hires since Crystal Prep. Normally at this time, I’d have at least two or three trips a month. Not like I expected it. I know that there’s a small decline in air travel but that’s not quite the issue.”
“Well, if it helps, I have pointed some people in your direction.”
“Really? I haven’t received any inquiries since last we met.”
“Well, I mean we did see each other a couple days ago.”
“Come on Pinkie. I’m being serious.”
“Sorry.”
“I know I got worked up about you doing exactly that last time, but I appreciate you doing that now. I haven’t flown in a long time, so I guess I have cabin fever. Proverbially.”
“I’m really sorry things haven’t been easy for you. I wish there was something more I could do. How can I help?”
“Well, I am here to see you, and Vinyl and Octavia did set the bar pretty high.”
“Good thing I’m hungry.”
“Going to the bakery?”
“Of course! I’m actually just about to go on a delivery run. Care to join?”
“As long as we get to spend time together.”
“Hooray! It’s just to a couple of places, then we can do something.”
“Alrighty.”
Plugging addresses into her GPS, we head for the first delivery in nearby Davie. A quick chat and contactless payment send us to the next address in Doral. Following there are drops in Hialeah, Coral Gables, and Opa-Locka before returning to the bakery and enjoying treats for ourselves.
As the business reaches a daily lull, both of the twins sit down with us to chat.
“You both remember Max, right?” Pinkie asks to start the conversation.
“Were you the one who fell into the pool?” Pumpkin asks.
“Yeah!” I laugh. “Were you there that night?”
“I heard all about it the next morning. Poor Pinkie got all worked up thinking you’d drowned.”
“No I didn’t! I knew he was breathing!”
“Well, you had a good time, and that’s what counts.” Pound adds.
“Aye, I did. And from what Pinkie’s told both of you, I’m happy to see her happy.”
“Aww,” Pumpkin responds, “Pinkie’s so lucky to have such great friends.”
“As am I. I’m not afraid to admit that I was afraid Pinkie was gonna be a bit too much for me, but somehow, we work.”
“How sweet.”
“Pound, Pumpkin?” Mrs. Cake calls from he kitchen. “Can one of you go help your father?”
“I got it.” Pound says as he finishes the last of his drink.
“So, what’s your story?” Pumpkin then asks me.
“Well, where do I start?”
“What got you into what you do now?”
“Well, I always had dreams to go to the airlines. Decided to leave for a few reasons. I amassed a small fortune and started with a couple ex-airliners to launch my own operation. I became popular for shipping and some occasional passenger shuttles and kept a relatively low profile. Most of my clients praised my ability to stay connected with them over the status of their package, granted I’m a significantly smaller operation because I had the ability to do so, and because I only had so many packages at once. It was nice, and then I met the mother of my daughter through her soon-to-be fiancée, and from there I began my first real expansion. I grew in popularity by getting in touch with old colleagues to see if I could find some extra work, and from there, I became popular in more than just my small circle. Fast forward to today, and Rarity was the one who introduced us. She’s the reason I’m close with Pinkie and all her friends. I’ve been very lucky. I don’t think I would be where I am now without them.”
“That’s nice. Speaking of shipping, if my brother has his way, he might want to bring Sugarcube Corner into more than just a local favorite. If he’s still for the idea, we might be able to contract you for some goods shipping.”
“You would need to get in touch with delivery driver services. I don’t have that available.”
“I’m sure some courier or delivery service would be willing to make pickups.”
“Here maybe. I also don’t want to have a lot of vehicle traffic at either, or any of my airports.”
“I understand. It would be a good opportunity to get some work, but alas, my parents don’t want to have to modify anything because they feel it’ll compromise quality.”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s too bad we can’t make it work. I would love to see Sugarcube Corner go national.”
“[go] Like a pro.” I respond instinctively, to which the three of us all burst out laughing.
“That was a good one.” Pumpkin then utters.
“Was there anything else by chance you wanted to do?” I ask Pinkie just as Pumpkin leaves the table to assist a customer with her mother.
“No. We can pop up to Lauderdale if you want to eat [the] orchids (Las Orquideas) if you want.”
“Since we had the cart on 8th (La Carreta - Calle Ocho) yesterday or whatever day that was, I’d be down.”
“I think the fact that you’re fluent in Spanglish makes life so fun for us. You’ve got a sense of fun about you.”
“I won’t argue.”
We decide to spend the rest of the day here. Pinkie as a part owner is obligated to offer her help, as this is her day job, though part time may be a little more accurate.
After the front door is locked, I help by cleaning the tables as the others clean up the counter and the kitchen.
When I toss the used cleaning rags into the designated bin, Pound grabs the bin and then puts it in their car. Once we complete their shutdown checklist, I get a small bag of goodies from the owners before we head home for the night.
Next morning, Pinkie wakes me up, so I jump in the shower and yelp internally when Pinkie is waiting for me in my bedroom.
“Pinkie?!”
“Hi Max!”
“Did you have a plan for today?” I ask grabbing my underwear.
“Conch Republic?”
“Yeah, alright. Can you give me some privacy?”
“You don’t trust me?” She pleads with beady eyes.
“I do. I’m just that self-conscious.”
“I won’t look.”
“Just don’t put it on the internet.”
“Eww Max! Why would I do that??”
“Some people.” I respond nonchalantly, grabbing my underwear and sliding it on, dropping the towel just as it reaches the area.
“Okay,” I then say as I slip my socks on.
“You don’t have flip flops?”
“You wanna go to the beach?”
“Why not?”
“Alright then.” I say discarding my socks and heading downstairs.
“Let me get you a towel.”
“I don’t plan on getting wet. I don’t have swimwear.”
“We’ll still need to mark our territory.”
“Fair enough.”
After about two hours of driving, I’ve managed to fall asleep, so when we reach Key West, Pinkie wakes me up by playfully jabbing me in the side.
“Hey!” I yelp out trying not to laugh at her attempt to tickle me awake.
“Come on, silly! Let’s go!”
I find a nice spot under the shade of a tree, watching Pinkie stroll down the sand to submerge herself in the water. Knowing I can at least work on my tan, I put sunscreen on my darker parts to try and even myself out, closing my eyes with only my head under the shade of her umbrella.
When I wake up, Pinkie is toweling off, so I flip onto my back and ask her to apply sunscreen to my darkest areas.
When I decide to call it good, Pinkie is sunbathing, hand holding mine. As my vision clears, I notice that she’s asleep with a smile on her face, so I close my eyes again.
Cut to Pinkie ready to go, holding hands, acting and certainly looking like a couple of lovebirds to anyone who’s watching.
Just as I put my seatbelt on, Pinkie leans over and gives me a quick peck on the cheek before starting the car. I can only smile at her antics because I really don’t want to get worked up about it. Pinkie being Pinkie, simple as that. That said, this is a side of her I haven’t really seen. I know she’s a touchy-feely type, and I don’t mind that (which took a bit of warming to at first), but I know Pinkie knows to respect my boundaries. She must have a sense for knowing when I’m vulnerable, but I also know she wouldn’t do those things unless she knew I’d be okay with it. I’m not going to criticize or make any judgments, because I appreciate the human contact.
When we return home, I immediately hop into the shower since some sand has been… lodged places. You’d be surprised at how much and where sand can end up, even if what you do at the beach could be described as minimal.
“Las Orquideas?” Pinkie asks.
“Why not?”
Exchanging some español with the waiter with questions about the menu, we get our food rather quickly, even for being the only ones here. Just as good as the last time, we eat slowly, but not really making any conversation.
No leftovers for the evening, we return home and tune a Heat-Pacers replay game, since we have nothing else of interest.
I sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ve had a pretty good day, and had pretty sweet company.”
“Awww!!!” She responds nuzzling up to me. “It’s great to have you back with us!”
