Trent Reedy - Stealing Air

“Are there any injuries?”

“I’m not broken,” Alex said. “But that was the worst belly flop I’ve ever done.”

Brian touched his puffy, sore cheek. “I think I’m okay.”

Max dropped down to his knees, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I saw the fireball and assumed the worst. What happened up there?”

“The engine wouldn’t start,” said Brian. “I had to keep pulling the starter cable, and that rocked us around a lot.”

“Then one of the rings on Mr. Piggly broke and started the stupid balloon on fire,” Alex said. “We were hanging there tipped on our side and I fell off.”

Max closed his eyes, rested his chin on his chest, and let out a long breath. “It was great to hear you yelling to each other. You are very fortunate that you went down over the river.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he took another deep breath, put his glasses back on, stood up, and walked toward Icarus on the bank. “How’s the flyer?”

“She was flying, Max,” Brian said. “If she would have had a more controlled drop, if we would have had just a little more time to level out, I swear she would have pulled out of the fall.”

Max examined the aircraft. “We’ll need to get it back to the Eagle’s Nest and check it under better light to be sure, but there doesn’t appear to be any damage.”

“A waterlogged engine, though.” Alex coughed. “Maybe Icarus wasn’t the luckiest name.”

“You named the flyer Icarus ?” Max asked.

“Ms. Gilbert talked about it,” Brian said. “We thought it would be cool.”

“Did either of you actually take the time to read the story of Icarus and Daedalus?”

Brian shook his head.

“The end of the Icarus story is that he flies too close to the sun, his wings melt and burn, and he crashes and drowns in the ocean.”

“So the flyer needs a new name,” Brian said. “And a new takeoff plan.”

The next morning, Brian’s mouth watered at the smell and sound of hot sizzling bacon. But he stopped when he entered the kitchen, surprised to find Grandpa and not Dad at the stove.

“Morning, sport!” Grandpa said. “You’re just in time. Got some bacon and home-fried potatoes for you. I remember how you hate eggs.” He placed a plate on the table and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

Brian sat down. It was true. He couldn’t stand eggs. Something about that whole gooey glob of yellow pre-baby-chicken slime thing made him want to throw up. He just wished Grandpa had made this awesome breakfast another day when he didn’t have this huge bruise on his face. He tried to keep Grandpa from getting a good look at him.

Brian ate in silence while Grandpa cleaned up the kitchen. It was a much better breakfast than his usual cereal. “What are you doing here?” he finally said, finishing up the last of his food.

Grandpa groaned as he sat down across the table with a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “Truck’s in the shop and I got a doctor’s appointment at the V.A. in Iowa City. Your mother’s going to drive me there on…” He peered closely at Brian. “Her way to… work.”

Grandpa put his coffee down. The thud of the mug on the table echoed in the quiet kitchen. “Let me see your face.”

Caught. He couldn’t hide it now. Brian showed him as directed. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“No big deal.” Grandpa’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back. “I think you better come with me.”

Brian wondered why adults bothered to say things like, “I think you better” as if it mattered if he thought differently. They really just meant, “Do whatever I’m about to tell you to do.” He followed his grandfather out onto the back porch.

It was a cool morning, but sunny and bright. Grandpa reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown cigar. Then he opened the top on his metal lighter and flicked the flame to life. He lit the cigar, and after a few puffs, he lowered it and tapped some ashes to the ground. “Brian, you may think I’m too ancient to understand much about what you’re going through, but this old man is sharper than you know.” His shoes clomped as he crossed the wooden floor. He took another drag on his cigar. “You’ve been into some trouble after school. Coming home with all these scrapes and bruises. I know what you’ve been up to.”

Brian felt cold. Grandpa must have seen them bringing the flyer back to the Eagle’s Nest last night. Now he’d tell Mom and Dad, and everybody would know about the stolen Plastisteel. He’d be grounded for the rest of his life and he’d never get the chance to fly. “I’m sorry,” Brian said.

“Hold on.” Grandpa had been smoking and looking out over the yard. Now he faced Brian again. “I know I made you promise to stay out of trouble, and I’m sure you tried.” He pointed his cigar at Brian. “But sometimes trouble finds you, and it’s not your fault.”

What? How could working on the flyer in the Eagle’s Nest possibly not be his fault?

“You got some guy thinks he’s tough. Coming around making life hard, picking on you.” Grandpa took a long drag. Brian felt relieved that he hadn’t discovered the Eagle’s Nest. A moment later Grandpa blew out smoke. “And I appreciate you trying to be good like I asked you to, but Brian, sometimes the only thing these tough guys understand is toughness. You sock him a good one” — he punched the air — “be amazed at how quick this so-called tough guy will fall. How quick he’ll leave you be.” He stabbed his cigar into the dirt in a flowerpot, then he waved his hand back and forth to shoo away the smoke. “Don’t tell your mother I’ve been smoking out here. Okay, sport?”

Grandpa had his secrets too. “No problem,” said Brian.

“And you think about what I told you,” Grandpa said. He patted Brian on the shoulder as he went back inside.

Later, as he skated to school, Brian considered Grandpa’s words. There were just two problems with the whole fight-back-against-Frankie thing. First, for a tough guy, Frankie was really tough. Sometimes in gym class, before Mr. Darndall even had them do anything, Frankie would knock out push-ups for no reason, sometimes over a hundred.

The second problem rolled up next to him just as his iPod switched to the Beatles’ song “Getting Better.” Brian popped out his earbuds, careful to keep the bruised side of his face away from her. “Hey, Wendy,” he said.

“What? No half-pipe this morning?” she said.

“I don’t think I could handle it today.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Hey, do you think you could give me a few pointers sometime?”

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe.” He sounded like an idiot.

“We could meet at the skate park tonight.” She kicked up her speed a little. “Or, you know, we could get ice cream too.”

One thing Brian knew about his life in Iowa so far was that everything could change very quickly. Last night he was miserable after crashing the flyer into the muck again. Now he almost felt like he could fly all on his own. He smiled so much that it hurt his bruised face. Without thinking, he reached up to touch his swollen eye.

“Wait. Are you okay?” Wendy asked.

Oh no. He kicked the ground to speed away from her.

“Brian,” she said, “let me see your face.”

“It’s cool. Don’t worry about it,” said Brian.

“Come on. Show me. You can’t hide all day.”

“Fine.” He looked at her.

Wendy gasped. “Oh my gosh. What happened?”