For Meeting That One Girl

Big Fishes Carnival at The Lake - For Meeting That One Girl

Have you ever gotten frustrated just because of a malfunctioning button or switch? You would probably try to push the button again and again, the next attempt with more force than the previous, blindly hoping that brute force would solve problems like magic. Flipping useless switches also invokes similar annoyance, but it wasn't similar anymore when the switch determined whether the plane you piloted could continue flying. Tension and fear overruled frustration, and as clouds began to dominate the vision, a piece of memory surged into my consciousness.


"Dad, what are the clouds like?" my little angel asked. As we enjoyed the breeze gently sweeping over the flower field, we treasured our precious time under the warm and bright sun. She rested her head on my lap, probably tired after running around happily among the flowers. Being under a tree really made you sleepy, and I had but few chances of enjoying such simple moments among the midst of first world country's workload. Stroking her long, smooth hair with affection, I answered, "They're soft, my dear, and warm, and comfortable."

"Is that why you worked there?" 

"Pretty much. I liked the sky."

"I want to go there," she muttered, half-envious, half-curious, while extending her petite arm to the faraway clouds, perhaps hoping that one day she could touch them. If clouds were like what we described to our children, it would be paradise, so it wasn't really a sin to give them a little fantasy. I continued stroking her hair gently after she put her hands around my knee, and at that moment I promised that I would protect her and grant her wishes. As if able to read my mind, she mumbled in her sleep, "promise me not to leave me alone here. Let's go to the sky together..."

Then it was the open wide ocean, its blue very striking that I needed to squint my eyes. As I began to see no point in spamming the button any longer, I sighed and decided not to fight the inevitable any longer. I was utterly lost, and it seemed that the fact that nothing could be done and death was imminent were easier accepted than fought against, only then realizing that resignation could erase fear. I signed an unwritten pact the first time I rested my hands on these panels: that I would love flights even with its dangers and risks. So if it was time, I'd rather die a pilot. Isn't that what I wanted all these years?

"Mal, focus!" shouted the voice that brought me back to reality.

"Mal, our engines are not fully malfunctioned - at a certain altitude they would be able to lift us back up - now all you need to do is pay attention to where we are while I take care of the rest - immediately pull us up with the jet when we are low enough - any lower than that and we wouldn't be able to make it in time - do you hear me? Do you he-" and then everything faded and time slowed down. I got the gist of what he was saying: it was a split-second action that make or break our hope.

I thought I had gotten over my grief - and thus I tried to pilot once again - but it seemed scars would never heal, and worse still, it could open up anytime: on the faintest of relation to flowers, on the most vague silhouette of a 5-year-old, on the slightest mention of death. Only then did I realize that I had fallen too deep in love, and that losing someone so dear doesn't come with the will to live on in one package. As I stared at the ever-dropping altitude indicator, I wondered if the two of us could be more prepared of farewell should she had such convenient way to indicate her remaining time.

"I want to play the piano," she insisted, although weakly, for she had but little strength in her. Again with the same expression, I rubbed her hair gently, wondering how much time would I have left to do such simple yet meaningful gesture. Then I grabbed her hand, which was previously mimicking the hands of a pianist, and brought my forehead close to it, trying to hold back the tears I was supposed to be used to. "Because dad likes piano.." she continued, although the tubes interfered with her pronunciation. I never wished that this could last forever - just longer.

The altitude were still too high, and it was still dropping slowly, as if knowing that waiting wasn't my cup of tea. I looked outside the window and saw the raindrops, mostly following the disrupted time and some even took its motionlessness to a new level. As I watched some of the raindrop clashed against the window of the plane with flashes of violently bright light dancing behind, another memories surged.

"Sorry we couldn't make it in time, dear," I apologized as I, again, enjoyed the gentle hair she had loved, while she pouted in disappointment and began licking the soft vanilla ice cream which was meant for compensation. She was teary-eyed, after expressing her sadness much like the sky that was pouring its polluted acid drops atop the bus stop we were staying at in particular. "I - Mal! - the sky," she grunted, "you always go there without me.." 

"I like the sky, dear."

"More than you like - Mal! -? Why don't you just stay there, then?"

"Of course not, my dear," I lifted her, jealous and cute and all, and put her on my lap, then hugged her like a teddy bear. She was warm, she was comforting, she was the only one in my life. I patted her head and I swore I could hear her blush, so I laughed and she didn't seem to understand why. Jealous and confused, she tried licking her ice cream one more ti-

Pain hammered through my shoulder.

The fact that I was no longer seated brought me back to reality, my body flying and head bumping to the metal wall, sounding much like a gunshot, did even more so. I wasn't sure if it was just my injured head malfunctioning, or I heard a scream. Obviously Eric didn't have that girl-like scream; he was concentrating on lifting the plane back up, the way I should have done. From his fierce expression as if detesting someone I knew very well, and the windows showing the raging thunderstorm that were only visible when you were lying on the floor, I knew I failed. My intention of meeting her on the other side blinded me from the fact that I was bringing everyone else with me.

Then clairvoyance was sapped away from me: vision blurred, sounds muffled, head spinning, blood trickling. The next thing I could vaguely capture was the cockpit door suddenly being slammed, exposing a silhouette of a tall man pointing something black to Eric, shouting, "I don't want to die!" It made me wonder if there was something happening at the passengers' area. And thus reality finally concealed itself, without even answering my doubts of whether it wasn't paradise I was going to.