Velva Jean Learns to Fly (22 page)

He was checking his compass. He said, “Try south.”

I pointed us south, and we flew for a while over more farms and cows and fences. Then we flew west and then north till we were right back where we started but not anywhere close to Avenger Field. I waited to feel the panic that I usually felt when I got lost and didn’t know where I was going. This was one of the worst things about flying—trusting your judgment, knowing where you were, where you’d been, where you were headed. But I didn’t panic because Ty was sitting right behind me, and all I could think was that I was finally having adventures and wasn’t that what I’d been missing all along?

We landed at Bruce Field in Ballinger, where they trained Army Air Corps flying cadets. I knew that the base was southeast of Sweetwater by about forty miles. Ty helped me down from the plane as some of the cadets came to meet us. He said, “They won’t believe their eyes when they see you.”

I radioed back to Avenger to tell them where we were, and then we were invited to stay for dinner. We ate country fried steak with gravy and mashed potatoes, and I could barely eat because it was so hot and my stomach was jumping around from the excitement of it all. The cadets wanted to know everything about the WFTD, and sometimes I talked and sometimes Ty did. I liked sitting back and listening to him talk about my flying and how brave I was and how brave all us girls were because we weren’t just doing the same jobs as men but were having to prove ourselves on top of it.

And then the cadets talked about their flying and about why they did it. When it was Ty’s turn, he said, “The reason I fly is simple—because no matter how much shit life deals you, the sun is shining up above any overcast if you just climb high enough. I call it ‘ceiling and visibility unlimited.’ ”

I turned this phrase over in my mind and gave it a good think. I decided ceiling and visibility unlimited sounded like something I believed in too.

Afterward we walked to the BT and flew back to Avenger Field, where I was given two demerits for losing my way, and Ty was given six for stowing aboard without clearing it first. He walked me to my bay and said, “Sorry for getting you in trouble, Velva Jean.”

I said, “It was worth it,” which it was.

He said, “I’m thinking Bruce Field was a pretty nice base.” As he said it he moved in closer and my heart went thud-thud-thud. “Maybe I could put in a request so that when we’re transferred they’ll send me there instead of to California.” He was standing over me, and I had to tip my head back to look at him. The moonlight was catching the side of his face, and I decided I liked his long nose and his broad mouth and the way his hair was standing up here and there. He was bright and alive. There was nothing black and white about him.

I said, “I like your hair.”

He sighed. “Ah, that’s it, then. You only want me for my hair.”

I laughed. “It’s just about the best hair I ever saw.”

He said, “And would you love me just as much if I was bald?”

I’d never teased like this with a man before and I realized I liked it. I wondered if I was flirting, and if so if I was good at it. I said, “I don’t think so.”

“Well.” He rubbed his jaw. “I don’t blame you, although I’m pretty sure I’d love you if you were bald as a bullfrog.” For one moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he said, “Velva Jean, I want to take you on a proper date. We don’t have to go walking or dancing if that’s too much for you. We don’t even have to go fence hopping. But maybe something safe and harmless like drinking tea or sitting. We could even eat a meal of some sort, but I don’t want to push it.”

I laughed even though I didn’t want to, because the thought of going on a date with someone—anyone—right now was enough to make my head go light. I told myself: It’s only tea or sitting. It’s only a meal. You don’t have to marry him. You don’t have to fall in love.

Good, I told myself. Because I can’t.

And then I thought, He may not like you anymore anyway after you tell him about Harley.

“Okay,” I said to him. “I’ll go.”

July 16, 1943

Dear family,

I wish I could send you a picture of what I look like. I know newspapers and magazines are telling us to “Cheer the way to Victory by looking your loveliest.” But up at 6:00 a.m., sharing a bathroom with ten other girls, mess at 7:00, followed by PE, Morse code, flight simulation on the Link trainer, and flight training, leaves no time for primping. Also, we donated our lipstick tubes, all but one each—did you know they’re being turned into bullet casings? Between the four of us, we gave up eleven lipsticks, though most of those belonged to Mudge. We’re sunburned and freckled, windblown and covered in dust, tripping around in coveralls that are five sizes too big.

We started cross-country this week. Mudge and me flew to Big Spring, Lubbock, and Spur, and today Sally and me buzzed over the lake at Abilene doing lazy eights and chandelles, which is a climbing turn that starts with a dive to gain speed and uses the momentum of the plane. When we’re not flying, we’re marching in parades, doing infantry drills, cleaning our barracks to get ready for inspection (trying like everything to get rid of the sand), and studying, studying, studying. My back aches so much at the end of each day that I can hardly stand up. I’m afraid I could walk in the door and you wouldn’t know who or what I was.

But I’m happy. I think that even with all the fighting in Europe and the Pacific and worrying about my brothers and missing you all, I’m maybe happier than I ever been in my life because I know I’m being useful and that I’m playing a small part in this great big war.

I love you, each and every one—

your Velva Jean

TWENTY-SIX

F
or our proper date, Ty and me packed a picnic and drove to Lake Sweetwater. On the way there, I thought about all the things he didn’t know about me and wondered how long it would take to fill him in on everything, all these things Harley already knew. How could he get to know me without seeing Daddy Hoyt and Granny and all the people I loved, in the place where Mama was buried and where my songs came from? He wouldn’t know about Indian message trees. He’d never heard the way Fair Mountain hummed like it was making its own music. He’d never been to Deal’s or ridden up on the Scenic, that road on top of the mountains. He didn’t know about the giant that lived in Devil’s Courthouse or the Nunnehi that helped you find your way if you were lost in the woods. I sat there thinking all these things and I got myself so worked up that I thought, You should just get out right now and start walking back to Avenger Field.

Lake Sweetwater was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps, just like the Scenic. Besides the lake, there was an open amphitheater, a baseball field, two fish hatcheries, a stone clubhouse, a boat pier, a fishing pier, a nine-hole golf course, and a suspension footbridge over the lake. There were picnic benches, camping areas, rock bridges, lookout houses, gravel walkways, and a paved road that ran around the outside of the lake.

Ty carried the food in a brown paper sack, and we walked over the suspension bridge and the rock bridges until we got to the picnic area. We didn’t hold hands because I was careful to keep mine in my pockets, but we walked side by side. It was a beautiful day—a little hazy, the sky white instead of blue. I could see people playing golf and swimming, but we had the picnic tables to ourselves.

Ty set everything up, and I helped him, and then we sat down. I looked around me for a long time before I started eating, and thought what a lovely place this was and how I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else at just this moment, not even the Opry.

Ty said, “I hope you don’t eat like a girl.”

I said, “I love to eat.”

“Thank God.”

We ate watermelon and ham sandwiches and potato salad. I thought the food tasted better sitting outside in the sun at Lake Sweetwater than it ever would have if we’d been sitting inside the mess hall.

Ty said, “I’d like to thank you for coming on a proper date with me, honey, even though I’d a lot rather show you an improper one.” He clinked his bottle of Coca-Cola against mine and drank it down. “One thing at a time though.”

Then he set his Coca-Cola on the table and said, “Tell me about you.”

“About me?”

“Yes.” He leaned back on his arms and smiled at me. “Don’t leave anything out, because I’ll know if you do. And don’t just tell me the good stuff.”

I thought, There’s more bad stuff than good stuff. And I wondered how that had happened to me. I was charmed. I was lucky. Everyone from my own mama to Aunt Junie, the witch-healer, had told me so. I didn’t feel like one of those people that other people felt sorry for because they had too much sadness and heartbreak. But when I sat down and added everything up I realized I could have been.

I told him about Mama and Daddy and Sweet Fern and my brothers, especially Johnny Clay. I told him about being saved and going to fetch the moonshine when Mama was sick and how I prayed to Jesus to save her. I told him about the note that Daddy left and how Mama took to her bed afterward and never got up again. I told him about my daddy leaving us with Sweet Fern and how Johnny Clay and me ran away and then how we came back and the panther almost got us. I told him about the road that was built across the mountains and how my brother and my daddy went to work on it. I told him about the Wood Carver and how I would go visit him and the train wreck that killed Danny Deal. I told him about Lucinda Sink and Johnny Clay and about how he gave Danny’s yellow truck to me and how I taught myself to drive it. I told him about making my record and saving up money for Nashville. I told him about the outlanders and how the Wood Carver was chased away along with so many of my friends, and I told him how I knew then that I had to leave no matter what and that my daddy had left me money and Johnny Clay gave me a map and he also gave me the note my daddy wrote Mama, back before she took to her bed, and how all it said was that he loved her and was trying to earn some money to help her feel better.

And then I told him about Harley. I didn’t want to tell him everything, no matter what he said. (I thought: But you did just tell him everything, girl—you told him things that no one else knows the whole of, not even Harley, not even Johnny Clay.) So I just said that I was young once and fell in love and got married and then I left him.

Ty said, “Do you still love him?”

“No. I haven’t for a long time.”

“No regrets?”

“No.”

Ty was quiet for a moment and then he said, “Thank you for telling me about that. I imagine it wasn’t easy to do. Thank you for telling me about everything, honey.”

I said, “You’re welcome.” And suddenly I felt lighter, like I’d just set down one of the burdens I always carried around with me.

That night we watched a baseball game—Champion versus Divide—and after Champion won there was a pop and then a crack and then a burst of color, just like a star exploding in red, green, and blue. Ty and I sat side by side and watched the fireworks, and I thought about how fireworks were a good idea because they made a person happy to see and to hear. Then I remembered the fireworks at the Tulane Hotel and the way Charlie Jones had kissed me.

Ty took my hand then and he was warm and strong, and I could feel his pulse beating into mine. There was an explosion of purple and gold, and I said, “Oh!” Then that was it—after just a minute they were over. I sat waiting for more.

Ty said, “They have to skimp on the fireworks because of the gunpowder used to make them. Too valuable to waste these days.”

I said, “They were pretty while they lasted.” I was still watching, just in case.

He said, “Well, look. There’s another one.”

I said, “Where?” The only light in the sky was the moon.

He said, “And another. That was a good one—red, white, and blue.” The sky was quiet and dark.

I thought, He’s making them up just for me. It was the sweetest thing I could imagine. I said, “There goes another. Purple and green. Like a starburst.”

He said, “Red this time. Then blue. Then red again.”

I said, “I like the gold ones best.”

He said, “Well looky there, honey! A gold one. And another.” He was pointing. “And another. There and there and there.”

In my mind I could see them clear as day. I said, “They’re beautiful.”

Ty brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, never taking his eyes off the sky.

Back at base I started wishing time would slow down. I wanted to go back to the beginning of the day and start over again so I had everything to look forward to. I moved slow as could be getting out of the jeep because I didn’t want the date to be over.

Ty stood there holding my door. He said, “Please take your time, honey. The longer you take, the longer the date lasts.” I laughed because he had read my mind.

When I was out and standing there, he shut the door behind me and we stood looking at each other. I felt like I should say something but I didn’t know what to say. Thank you for the most wonderful day? Thank you for listening to me and wanting to know so much? Thank you for sitting there while I talked on and on about the deepest things in my heart and for never looking twitchy or bored or bothered and for not thinking bad of me for having a daddy that left and for having a marriage that didn’t work out?

He said, “You should see your face.”

I put my hand to my cheek in case my thoughts were showing through—things like, Thank you for hearing all the bad things that ever happened to me and still making me feel loved.

And then I thought: Oh my God. I feel loved.

He said, “Hell.” And then he kissed me. For a minute I let myself be kissed. And it was warm and electric and sweet, and my stomach dropped right into my feet. I thought I might melt right into him, right into his skin, and then he pulled away and he said, “I hope that was okay.” He had his hands on my shoulders, those long fingers playing with the ends of my hair. “I mean, I know it was okay because I’m a damn good kisser, but I hope it was okay to do that.”

I looked up at him and for a split second, there in the moonlight, he looked like Harley—tall and dark and handsome—but different. I felt a chill, even though it was hotter than hot out. I said, “It was.”

He said, “I thought it was a bit . . .” He frowned, thinking. “A bit
blam!
Like in comic books. Pow! Blam! Magic!”

I laughed even though I was shaking like I was standing in a snow bank. I said, “Blam!”

He said, “You make me feel fifteen again, honey. But only in the very best way.” He leaned in, and this time I put my hand on his chest. I said, “I want you to do it again, but you shouldn’t.” There was so much else to say: I’m married, but not married, and until I’m not actually married I can’t fall in love with someone new. I’m here to be a member of the WFTD and earn my wings and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve traveled a long way to get here and I won’t let anything come in the way of that now.

He looked sad, somewhere behind his eyes. But he smiled when he said, “Too much magic?”

I said, “Yes.”

And then I turned around and walked to the barracks and didn’t look back once. That night he played taps in the normal way, without anything added. Three days later the cadets were transferred out of Avenger Field and sent to Ontario, California.

On the afternoon of July 20, just before mess, I was in the latrine washing my face and hands, trying to get the dust off me, when I heard a crash from our bay and, right after that, another. I dried my hands and walked into the room to find Loma lying like a dead person, facedown on her cot, her books and shoes scattered on the floor. Mudge was standing in front of her wardrobe mirror, brushing her hair.

I said, “What happened?”

Mudge said, “I don’t know. She just came in here throwing stuff.” “Loma?” I sat down beside her on the cot. Her shoulders were shaking and she was making little sounds into the pillow.

Suddenly Sally and Paula came running in. “We just heard,” said Paula.

“Heard what?” Mudge shut the door to her wardrobe.

Loma said something into the pillow.

Mudge said, “What did you say, Lolo?” She looked at us. “What did she say?”

Sally sat down on the other side of Loma and started rubbing her back in little circles. “She washed out.” She cracked her gum like an exclamation point.

“What?” More and more girls were washing out—31 from our class of 112 already. But those were other girls in other bays. Loma was one of us.

She rolled over, her face red, her hair sticking to her cheeks. I brushed her hair away and handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and then cried harder and then wiped her eyes again, and then she sat up and said, “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you all along? I knew I was going to wash out.”

Paula sat right down on the floor beside Loma’s cot and said, “Tell us what happened, Lo.”

“I was up for a check ride today, but no one told me ahead of time, and they gave me three, one after another. Three! The first one was okay, but the second was bad, and I blew the third one by coming down bumpy and overshooting the runway.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Mudge said. She was looking at us. “Talk to Puck? Go to Miss Cochran?”

Loma said, “You think no one else has tried that? You know as well as I do that once you wash out, you’re out.”

We sat there, all of us, not talking. And then Sally cracked her gum—one, two, three times—and started to cry. Suddenly Mudge was crying and I was crying and even Paula was crying a little. We wrapped our arms around Loma in a big group hug and just rocked back and forth, back and forth.

When we pulled away, all of us sniffling and snuffling, Loma said, “I can’t go back to making supper and cleaning the house. My little girl and my husband are so proud of me. Now I’m nothing but their stupid old wife and mother again.”

This made me think: Why wasn’t it enough for Loma to be a wife and mother? Would it be enough for me? For any of us? Could we go back to regular life after being here, after we’d lived up in the sky? I thought that after the war was over the ones that could put away their silver wings and go back home and have babies and not feel like they were missing out on anything would be the lucky ones. I thought about Sweet Fern and her tidy house and her tidy hair and her quilts and the curtains she’d sewn herself. And I remembered her telling me to go because she couldn’t. That she needed me to.

“How can I ever tell you fools good-bye?” Loma said. “I’ll never in my life have friends like you again.” Then she swore for the third time in her life, and put a whole dollar in the cuss pot.

Loma left the next morning. The rest of us flew to one of the auxiliary fields they’d set up to help with air traffic, and we rode home in the cattle wagon. While the other girls talked and laughed, Paula, Mudge, Sally, and me sat in the back in silence. I stared out the window at the flat, brown landscape, and it suddenly hit me how beautiful it was in its own ugly way. What if I had to leave it? Where would I go? What would I do? Go back to work as a waitress? Go home to Fair Mountain and sit up in Mama’s old house, up in my old bedroom, when a big, terrible war was changing the world?

As far from home as I was in that flat and dusty place, I felt home again. I guessed that was who I was now, this person meant to struggle on my own, out in the great wide world, doing things for myself. One thing I loved about flying was that no one could keep you grounded or rooted like a bush or a tree when you were in the sky.