Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

Mia Norris was thought to have grown up in a life of privilege, the girl with everything, but nothing could be further from the truth. While Mia was the stepdaughter of the successful businessman and former director of the FBI Sam Norris, she was born Mia Sullivan, daughter of Joe and Patricia Sullivan.

Joe was a lieutenant in the Navy-a SEAL in his twenties, a strategic analyst in his thirties-and as a result, according to her father, the world was their home. While the world may have been their home, where she laid her head at night was in constant flux-eighteen beds, thirteen different countries, in fourteen years.

In all of the eighteen homes she lived in by the age of fourteen, she was never bitter. When her father would arrive home and announce a new exciting assignment in some foreign land, she would feel a tinge of sorrow at being suddenly uprooted when she was just getting her feet wet, but at least they were together. So many children in the military wouldn’t see their fathers-and in some cases mothers-for six months or more at a time, and many of them kissed their parents for the last time when they left, not realizing that they would lose them on the battlefield. Mia was fortunate that her father had already spent ten years in serious combat around the world before she was three. His body proved it, dotted with scars from all types of minor wounds-except for the long not-so-minor squiggly one on his neck-with which Mia played connect the dots. Since becoming an analyst, he only endured paper cuts and jet lag, leaving the threat of dying for his country in the past.

Since Mia was a young child, she dreamed of flying, staring up at the soaring birds, riding the updrafts, the air current carrying them higher and higher, only to nose-dive back to earth. It was a child’s fantasy, one she shared with her dad on more than one occasion. They would lie in a field or on the beach, staring at the clouds and the birds flittering about. He would feed her fantasy, telling her to close her eyes and imagine the feel of turning to and fro in flight.

Her mother, Pat, would always admonish him for encouraging her, but her dad would laugh her off and turn to Mia and say what he always said when faced with adversity: “Remember, Mia, nothing is impossible.”

She loved her father. She loved that they shared a passion for junk food, candy, and chips; movies and early rock ’n’ roll; sports and puzzles. Joe Sullivan was handsome, broad, and tall, unlike most kids’ round-about-the-middle dads. He was sympathetic, knowing how difficult it must be for his daughter to sacrifice her childhood for his career. And so he compensated. His free time was not spent playing golf or cards, racing off to some hobby; his time was spent with Mia, teaching her to sail and shoot, showing her the cultures they dropped into for six months at a time. He taught her the value of being happy in your work, of the pain of sacrifice in pursuing your dreams, that the value of life was not in riches but in the richness of one’s existence, in loving someone, in putting others before oneself. Simple lessons that had been forgotten by so much of the world.

It was on a Friday that Mia turned exactly fourteen and a half. Her father believed in celebrating not only birthdays but half-birthdays, too, always saying one shouldn’t rejoice in someone only once a year. They had been back in the States all of three days, settling into a small two-bedroom house just outside of Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach, Virginia. It was a late-spring morning; school didn’t start for an hour. Her mother was busy unpacking and getting breakfast ready when her dad snuck into her room and kidnapped her for a day of fun.

With the windows rolled down, the radio blaring, and two bags of chips, candy, and waters on the seat between them, they escaped.

Arriving at NAS Oceana, they drove around a road crew repairing pavement near the front entrance and stopped at the security gate. Joe introduced the three guards to Mia and, with a wink and a smile, continued on to a large hangar. Without a word, her father led her inside. The cavernous space was filled with F-35 Lightning II’s, F/A-18 Hornets and Super Hornets, the greatest fighter jets the world had known, capable of speeds in excess of mach 1.8. Mia looked at her father with curious eyes as they walked toward a locker. He reached inside and pulled something out.

“Put this on,” Joe said as he handed Mia a flight suit.

“What are we doing?” Mia begged with a smile

“Just go into the ladies’ locker room and put that on.” Joe pointed to the door before turning into the men’s locker room.

Mia stared at the tan jumpsuit before looking at the two-seater jets and her heart began to race with excitement.

Three minutes later, Mia exited the locker room, but her father was nowhere to be found. She left the hangar, looking at the nearly vacant runway, seeing nothing but a 757 jet, its engines whining in anticipation of takeoff. She saw no fighter jets prepped and ready, no planes of a smaller stature that her father would be taking her up in.

Then, from the doorway of the 757, she finally saw her dad in his jumpsuit, his short dark hair blowing in the morning breeze, waving to her. She waved back, a smile on her face that expertly hid her disappointment. Being the daughter of a naval officer, she had been in the cockpits of large jets such as this one on too many occasions to count. She had gotten her hopes up for something exciting and new. But she would never let him know.

Mia climbed the stairs and entered what she realized was not a typical 757. The room she stood in was like a scientific lab; instruments and computers abounded. Four young officers stood when she entered the plane and nodded hello. Her father quickly introduced them as naval scientists who were studying the effects of spatial awareness in low-gravity environments.

Her dad pointed her to a door that led into the cabin of the jet, and they entered what looked like an insane asylum. There were no windows, and the walls and ceiling were padded. Against the walls were harnesses, spaced evenly apart. Along each wall, the ceiling, and the floor were ladder rungs affixed to the body of the plane, running the length of the large tubular room.

“Let’s strap in,” Joe said, smiling at his daughter.

“What are we doing, Daddy?” Mia asked, her curiosity growing.

Joe just smiled as he sat on the floor against the padded wall and strapped himself in. Mia followed suit.

“What kind of plane is this?”

A red light on the far wall lit up, its glow painting the white wall padding bright crimson. The whine of the jet grew, and she could feel the four large engines vibrating as the jet lurched forward, quickly picking up speed. And although there were no windows, she could imagine the Virginia countryside whipping by. After thirty seconds, the roar of the engines peaking, she felt the jet jump into the air, the engines screaming as they climbed high into the sky.

“Mia,” her father finally said, “in life we are faced with adversity, with tough choices, difficult decisions, but what you must remember is that there is always a solution. Nothing is impossible. Your mother doesn’t believe this, and that’s OK. But I do, and I know you do, too. I can’t imagine what your heart must go through every time we pull you away from friends, how difficult it must be always to feel like a stranger, but that will soon end. I’m going to retire and move into the private sector. We’re finally going to have a normal life.”

Mia looked up at her dad and smiled. “To me, it’s always been a normal life. I wouldn’t trade a single moment.”

The red light on the far wall winked out, replaced by a yellow one, and with it, the whine of the jet’s engine disappeared.