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I was visiting my seventy-something mother for the day. It was a Sunday, I’m pretty sure, because she had assembled a big breakfast: Sunny-side-up eggs basted in hot bacon grease dipyridamole 100mg pills $162.00, in order to hurry the albumen along before the yolk firmed up too much,  baked potatoes from the night before cut into big chunks and cooked until crispy, again in careless amounts of bacon grease. And then there was the mound of bacon itself, and perhaps some sausage links. I was in my early thirties, still a bachelor. I ate like a young man, with relish and gusto. “Delicious breakfast, mom, ” I said, pushing away from the table. “I’m stuffed. What’s going on today?” “Jim and I have reserved a Piper Cub. ” She looked at him. “What time is the plane, Jim?” Jim looked at his watch. “Eleven o’clock, ” he said. “We have to leave in about thirty minutes. ” I had loved the idea of flying since I was a kid. The Wright Brothers and all that. On this morning, my childlike airplane fantasies overwhelmed any memory of my last experience in a small plane. It was supposed to have been a small jet, but it turned out to be twin-engine job with enough room for maybe twelve passengers. We flew from Fort Lauderdale to Baltimore and back again. In Baltimore, a nurse assigned to come fetch me saw my sad condition – I was laying on the terminal floor with my feet up on a chair. She pulled me into a bathroom. I’m not sure if it was the Men’s or the Women’s. Anyway, she had me drop my drawers and administered a shot of prochlorperazine to get me back on the plane. The antiemetic tranquilizer, which is used on schizophrenia patients as well as  nausea sufferers, worked almost immediately: It made me not care a whit if the plane crashed. Maybe that’s why I had forgotten the ride north. The return trip south, with me soaring literally and figuratively, had been fun. And so I asked my mother: “Can I come?” “Sure, ” she said. “There’s room for two in the back. ” She had never flown in her life. Then she married Jim. He was retired, but belonged to a flying club and still enjoyed flying short hops from Miami to points up Florida’s eastern coastline, most often to pick up his sister for a visit. He always took my mother with him. One day, he suggested he teach her to fly, in case he conked out one day in midair. She wasn’t going to get a pilot’s license or anything. She wasn’t that serious about it. She just wanted to learn enough to get the plane down. We drove to the little airport. It was a field of sun-baked asphalt flanked by an administration building and two steel hangers where they housed the executive jets. Next to the administration building was a picnic area with one table under two trees. The single-engine Pipers were arrayed on the tarmac, looking too much like toys. Our plane had been gassed up, inspected and moved to a spot beside the runway. We could have just walked up, jumped in, started her up, and taken off. But this was a lesson. Jim, who’d been a careful chemist and fastidious engineer, insisted that my mother give the little airplane a pre-flight walk-around as he’d shown her how to do. I stood to the side and watched as the old woman made sure the ailerons, elevators and rudder moved freely, that there were no tears in the fabric, that nothing seemed loose enough to be in danger of falling off. Then Jim helped her lift the cowling and she checked a few things on the engine. I moved closer, but none of it meant anything to me. As a mechanic, I make a great cook. Jim closed the hinged cowling. It made a cheap clattering sound. He turned to me and said, [dipyridamole 100mg pills $162.00] “All dipyridamole 100mg pills $162.00 aboard. ” I got in first and squeezed into the back. The little plane’s cabin was about as large as a good-sized steamer trunk and as hot as a car left in the sun with the windows up. I fastened my seat belt and pulled it snug. Jim sat in the teacher’s seat, to the right. My mother took the pilot’s seat, to the left. Gauges were checked and controls were twiddled. The engine turned over, sputtered a couple times, then started to roar. My mother checked a few more gauges and said something into the radio. A crackling response came back. I understood none of it. I was sweating through my shirt. I hoped once we gained some altitude I could catch a cool breeze, somehow. My mother gunned the engine, released the brakes, and taxied out onto the little asphalt airstrip. I saw Jim look at the orange wind sock. There was a crosswind. Dipyridamole 100mg pills $162.00 “i’ll take her off today, barbara, ” he said. “You can have her once we’re up. ” “OK, ” my mother said. I felt a surge of relief. I hadn’t given sufficient thought to what it would be like to be in a plane with my mother at the controls. I didn’t even like to ride with her driving in the car. Jim gunned the Piper’s engine to the hilt and whatever relief I’d briefly enjoyed vanished as quickly as it had come. The little compartment that contained us shook like a jalopy as we accelerated down the runway. The engine was deafening, loud as a lawnmower, but deeper in tone, and more throaty. It seemed as though we’d accelerated for a long time, but had still not taken off. I looked out the front window but could see only sky. The view out the side window gave no clue as to where the runway ended. I looked at Jim. He was alert and calm. Finally, he pulled back on the wheel, the little plane leaped into the air and I imagined its front landing gear just clearing the power lines at the end of the runway. As we slowly gained altitude, Jim circled around to the west and headed out over the Everglades. The ride turned turbulent as we were tossed around by the drafts that reached up from the swamp and jostled us. Jim said, “OK, Barbara, it’s all yours. Let’s practice a few ninety-degree turns. What’s your heading?” “Due south, ” my mother said. “OK, bring her around due west, ” Jim said. Farther into the Everglades, I thought. I felt myself going green, just as I had done in the twin-engine to Baltimore. A loud crackling noise came over the radio. “What did they say?” Jim asked. My mother didn’t answer. Instead, she starting looking out the windows as if she were taking a Sunday drive on Miami Beach, trying to find a place to park. Finally she said, “I think they said something about another plane. I don’t see any other planes, do you Jim?” Jim started looking out the windows, too. “I don’t see anything, ” he said. While the two of them searched the sky for what I assumed was another plane – a plane that would hit us any second at hundreds of miles an hour – I felt my stomach do a loop-de-loop. I had only a few seconds to act. I dug into the bag I was carrying and found a sandwich-sized Zip-Lock in it. It was full of spare change. I dumped the coins into the bag and emptied my stomach into the Zip-Lock. The Zip-Lock brimmed and bulged. I held it upright by pinching its corners between the thumb and first finger of each hand. It was way too full to zip closed. The zipper itself was submerged. My mother looked back and saw me holding the Zip-Lock. My face was green and swampy. We landed. Jim taxied the little plane over to the grassy place with the two trees and the picnic table. I got out of the plane gingerly, holding the full bag in front of me as I went. I reached the picnic area, dropped the Zip-Lock into a trash can, then laid down on the grass and put my feet up on a picnic table bench. I didn't notice when Jim gunned the engine to continue the lesson. I was peacefully on the ground. I felt the earth's mass behind me and dreamed of Baltimore and tried in vain to conjure up a nurse carrying a syringe full of courage. ### 1414

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