by Diane Brady
It haunted my sleep, seeing that streamlined beauty on the tarmac, so familiar yet elusive. While the air outside my bedroom vibrated and rumbled with distant thunder, I walked around the airplane I would soon pilot; in dreams, you don’t always know where you’re going, just that you’re headed somewhere and, often, with apprehension. I sat inside the cockpit to study the panel, which at that point seemed unfamiliar and complex even though I had flown this bird for many years. There was someplace I had to be, someplace I was traveling to in a few days, and I sensed I would not fly myself there because something was wrong – very wrong. Although I have never desired to relive my past, I yearned then to move back in time so I could once again fly my little airplane with confidence high above the Earth. Suddenly, the morning sun streams through my window, and I open my eyes; but the air is still electric, as in my dream, the bright sunlight fading quickly as angry clouds move across the tropical landscape; I am caught between two worlds, confused, uncertain, questioning the heavens and the pounding rain, pleading, this time, not to sweep away my soul.
Diane Brady is currently serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Belize, C.A.