Nota Bene:
In this alternate universe,
most educated people have adopted
Samuel Clemens' simplified spelling
(e.g. "thru", "thout", "nite", "altho", etc.),
and the logical-nesting of punctuation.
Reflecting silvery on the mud-green sea, filtered by foam on the curling breakers, the scant lite of the stingy sun seemed to transport ultra-violet coldness rather than infra-red warmth on its reluctant beams, as they crashed upon the pale and scabby sands, where the easternmost boundary of the state of North Carolina became the fringe of the Atlantic Ocean.
I was sorely tempted to turn away from the window and flinch back under the covers, hibernating in wait for a warmer hour or a more-temperate day. But, no; the gearless, springless mental alarm-clock I had constructed for myself was unmerciful, unyielding. Today, it had to be, and - regardless how puny its self-announcement had been - today, it was.
Today: Monday, December 14th. Today. Regardless. Brrrrr.
My little brother mite flinch. He mite easily be persuaded to postpone the test. But not Will! No, not me.
Brrrrr, it's even colder as we near the top of the hill. Maybe another day would be better, after all. Sure, there's a good wind blowing, and all. But a warm wind shuld provide just as much lift as a cold one. Shouldn't it? Maybe more. (I'll have to check that out in the chamber, when we get back to Ohio.)
Is that Ma's voice? I thot I heard her sweet voice saying something. Just above the whistle of the wind. What did she say? "Run, run!" Was that it? Perhaps it was, "Good luck, son". Maybe, "don't look at the sun". (She had taught me all about Icarus.) Or was it, "don't go on!"?
Oh, Ma, why can't you talk to me any more? I know. I know. I'm so glad I didn't go to Yale, Ma. I'm so glad I was able to take care of you, instead. But WHY can't you guide me, now? Oh, Ma! You always know what's best. Maaaaaa!
Wuzzat?! I'm moving, now. Oh. The lifeguards are pushing the rig into place, on the rails. And I'm strapped to it.
"Are you OK, Will?", my brother asked.
"Of course I am, you ninny," I replied, scornfully. "What's the matter with you? Don't go soft on me, now, Ollie."
"No, Will. Of course not. It's just so COLD."
"Yes, but maybe cold winds create more lift."
"Really? You think so?"
"I dunno." We'll check it out, back in Ohio." Now, let's get 'airborne'." That last word really deserved an exclamation point, but I was shivering too much to add one. "Faster, Ollie. Push. PUSH! PUUUUUSH!!!! It's all downhill, from here. The dune'll provide the acceleration."
"Yeah, Will. I remember Newton said , 'Give me enuf acceleration and I'll move the world.'."
"No, you idiot, that was Archimedes. And he was talking about -- OUCH -- levers."
"Sorry, Will."
The [board] under my chest and neck pushed straight up and liked to strangle me. Then it shoved up on my pelvis, and I could feel the hip harness sawing into my flesh. One jolt reminded me of that Shinney bat - but I won't say where it hurt.
Suddenly, I felt the strangest feeling - like I was feed from slavery. A bondage I hadn't ever thought about. Slavery to gravity. I was FREE! Squashed fiercely from the bottom, but freed from the pulling downward that had chained me to the Earth, invisibly, for all my life.
Until now.
Just as I was starting to experience what a bird might feel, there was a sharp jolt, a loud crack, and a horrible tearing sound. As I tumbled sideways and downward, I had an irrational, fleeting thought that somone had snuck up and chucked a Shinney bat at the flyer. But that was too silly. My head felt fine, except for the cold. My body felt OK, now, but I was no longer lifting into the air. Gravity had won, once more.
As the others gathered round, not quite accepting my protests that I was unhurt, I craned my neck to see beyond their legs. A tear clouded my eye when I glimpsed the battered and broken outline of the wing. This caused another round of solicitous inquiries as to my pains, and more repeated denials. My fractures were non-physical and therefore invisible. My real pains were intangible and therefore unmentionable. Men neither admit nor discuss such hurts.
Moments earlier, there had been a bit of bodily pain, from the tumble that winded me. Now, I sensed no physical effects at all, due to the counterirritant of a deeper hurt caused by merely seeing our magnificent machine mangled, mutilated, murdered.
I was too choked with emotion to breathe at all. My brother's eyes followed mine as I noticed Uncle Charlie's motor still chugging and whining, as trying vainly to make the propeller churn thru the sands. "Shut it off!!", he yelled. They did. I never loved my brother more than at that moment. The silence was deafening.
I don't believe I actually passed out at that point, and nobody recalled such a lapse, but I have no memory at all from the time when the motor was silenced until I opened the cabin door. They say the lifeguards carried me to the Doctor's office. Doc said I would be fine, but had me rest on his couch. I have no recollection whatsoever. The lifeguards kept mum, and told him I'd taken a fall. (Playing ball, running down a dune, or some such fib.)
I guess I walked back to the cabin under my own steam, but I just don't remember doing it. I came alive, mounting the steps, when I heard the words, "It's not as bad as it looks."
"You mean, you can fix it?" I asked, incredulously.