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My Life In Sevens - Part Three
I am twenty-one.
It’s a hot, summer day in 1963.
I’m in Lubbock, Texas, at Reese Air Force Base
And I’m climbing the ladder into a supersonic T-38 jet.
The parachute strapped to my back is cumbersome.
I can feel the sweat running down my legs.
Settling into the ejection seat, I strap myself in,
Attach my G-suit to its umbilical cord,
Connect my oxygen mask, microphone and headphones
To their nearby connections.
I am exhilarated as the plane and I are becoming one.
Yet, I am the master and it will faithfully follow my commands.
I start through my lengthy checklist,
And as I power up each engine,
I feel my supersonic rocket ship coming to life.
The engines’ whine reverberates through my headphones
As the instrument panel comes alive
And the myriad of needles jump and stabilize in unison.
I signal the plane captain to remove the chocks.
He salutes me and I smartly respond.
A gentle nudge of the two throttles starts us on our way.
I close the canopy and turn on the air conditioning.
A cold mist blows out of the vents.
I take my mask off and smell it to make sure it’s not smoke.
It never is.
I pull down my helmet’s visor
And tune the radio to the ground control channel.
My headphones come alive with air traffic chatter.
I can see other T-38’s in the distance taking off and landing,
Gracefully, like giant storks swooping down to earth
And then back up again.
I eagerly await my chance to join the flock
As I feel in complete synergy with my exquisite flying machine.
Now it’s my turn as I pull onto the runway.
I press down hard on the brakes
As I push the throttles forward
And check my engines’ instruments
For the thousandth time.
I focus on the centerline ahead of me
As I release the brakes
And push the throttles into full afterburner.
I feel them rather than hear them
As they explode behind me
Leaving a trail of angry, red hot flames.
Their force pushes me back into my seat
As I accelerate down the runway like a dragster.
I pull back on the stick and feel the wheels leave the ground.
We’re airborne!
Gear up, flaps up, as the ground quickly recedes beneath us.
I point the nose upwards and we head to thirty-thousand feet.
My rocket ship and I are happy.
I am smiling.
Life is good.
Copyright ©
Philip Mygatt
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