Barnstorm Read Online Free Page B

off. He crumpled the torn poster corner in a tightened fist and took it with him.
    The young Trip picked up the broken model plane and the damaged wing. He tried to put the wing back into position, but it fell at his feet. “S-S-Someday,” he stammered.
    His brief flashback over, Trip held the broken model plane. He picked up the broken wing at his feet and looked at the Blue Angel poster, the torn corner never recovered. With a deep sigh, he stammered, “S-S-Someday.”
    ☁ ☁ ☁
    Trip shook it off in time to wash the Piper Cub windows before Buzz’s flight lesson. Crop dusting was the most adventurous flying in Buzz’s busy schedule. Dropping skydivers was the most boring. Take off, climb to ten thousand feet, drop crazy people over a target, land. Blah, blah, blah. The money was good, but, blah, blah, blah. Being a flight instructor was the most rewarding. The sparkle in a student’s eye. The quickened pulse. Sharing a student’s joy in accomplishing something special.
    Trip tried to hang around flight lessons whenever he could. The windows on the Piper Cub were about worn thin from his incessant cleaning. Trip was sure that Buzz was onto his scheme, but clean windows were a good thing. Trip was usually able to pick up a new piece of information from each lesson. Someday. Yep, someday he would make his own solo flight.
    Buzz, clipboard in hand, was conducting a pre-flight check with a female student. Trip washed the plane windows, for the third time, intently eavesdropping on the pre-flight check.
    The student kicked the tires. Buzz nodded agreement. The routine continued with wing surfaces, ailerons, propeller. Check, check, check. Trip mouthed check in unison with the student. Check, check, check.
    Buzz congratulated the student, “Great. Good job. Is that everything out here?”
    Trip nodded in the affirmative.
    “Yes, sir, that’s it,” she responded.
    “Agreed. Let’s load up.”
    Trip backed away, gave a thumbs-up as the student climbed into the plane. As Buzz turned to board the plane, he patted Trip on the shoulder. “Thanks, Trip,” he said.
    With hope in his heart, Trip sought assurance, “Maybe I’ll be your next student pilot.”
    “Sure, Trip.” Then under his breath, Buzz revealed his true feelings with, “When pigs fly.”
    The door was closed in Trip’s face. Trip’s shoulders slumped as the sure, Trip comment was understood and the when pigs fly wasn’t quite as under his breath as Buzz had intended. Dejected, Trip stepped back from the plane and imagined the instrument panel checkout.
    Buzz didn’t mean to hurt Trip’s feelings. As an experienced pilot and flight instructor, he was a realist when it came to the chops needed to handle the complexities in becoming a qualified pilot.
    The student fastened her safety harness; Buzz shook it. Buzz knew this future pilot was ready and said, “Let’s pretend this is your first solo flight next week. Let’s do it.”
    Soon to lose the title of ‘student,’ she eyed the instrument panel, touched toggles, tapped gauges. Confidence soaring, she verbalized the pre-flight routine:
    “Fuel – check.”
    “Ailerons, rudder, elevator – check.”
    “Seat harness – check.”
    “Okay, ready to go. Clear.”
    Buzz gave a quick fist pump and confirmed, “Roger that. Crank ‘er up.”
    Standing in the hangar large double doors, Trip watched as the Piper Cub engine started. He imagined his hand on the throttle, gently pushing forward as the engine revved. The plane taxied to the runway. Trip shaded his eyes to see the student pilot take off and slowly bank. “Much too cautious,” he observed. “Come on, show some spunk. Yep, I’ll show how it’s done. Someday.”
    ☁ ☁ ☁
    Trip had survived another day–barely. The Sky Gypsy Café was in close-down mode. The flattop had been cleaned. Deb gave the lunch counter a final swipe of her dish towel. Trip swept the floor. The Liar Flyers were long gone.
    Deb reassured Trip, “Looks