Instrument Meteorological Conditions Anne had just finished pruning her rose bushes early Thursday morning when she heard the telephone’s insistent purr. The cool, moist morning air gave way to the gentle warmth of the house that had been closed against the still, velvet night. She heard the clack of the screen door against its frame as the phone purred again into the quiet morning. In three strides she was over to the stand, lifting the slim, black cordless phone to her ear. She entered the kitchen, pulling a box of cone-shaped white paper filters from the top of the refrigerator and putting one into her coffee pot. “Hello Andrew.” Anne’s hand shook only slightly as she measured the preground French roast coffee into the filter and thought about the man at the other end of the line. He had been true to his word. Two days ago he had promised to call her. Since she had walked down the steps on his wooden porch and strode confidently across the lawn, past his rose bushes and out of his gate the day he said he loved her, she had thought of him constantly. Thoughts of him inserted themselves between appointments with students and parents, in teachers’ meetings, and they intruded on lesson planning time. The small metal scoop she had used to measure the coffee fell from her hand clanging noisily on the tiled counter. She wiped up some stray coffee and continued her conversation. “Are you up yet?” She had been up since 5:00. “No, I’m still in bed. Haven’t decided to get up, yet.” His sleep-roughened voice evoked an image of his fully stretched body swathed comfortably beneath warm sheets and blankets. His seductive strand of blonde hair worked its magic from far away. “What?” she teased him, trying to keep her mind from imagining that, “you’re not up yet? The day is half over!” the pilot chuckled, responding to the laughter in her voice. she thought she could see the smile in the dark. “It’s only 6:00.” “I know. Day’s half over, my drifter pilot.” “Well, I thought if I was going to call you I should do it now. You’re leaving to wrestle with the grammar habits of seventh graders soon, aren’t you?” “In about an hour, honey.” She took her cup and sat down at the kitchen table, pushing some stray vocabulary lists aside. “So did you sleep for two days?” she asked kindly. “I did.” His voice was soft and kind, gently filled with something she couldn’t discern. Was it sleep or some special something men got when they were in love with women? She didn’t know. Maybe it was all of it. Did he sound like that when he was talking to ATC? She had only been with him once in the plane and she had not remembered quite that timbre coming through on her headset. she had to admit, she liked this morning not quite awake quality caressing her ear from fifty miles away. “Crashed for two days, crawled out of bed yesterday evening to go downstairs to eat.” He was talking to her, she hoped she hadn’t missed anything. She heard Andrew moving around. Perhaps he was getting up. Anne took a drink from her cup and put it down on the glass table top. “Are you sleeping today?” “Maybe a few hours longer. I want coffee, though. I’m feeling better, have to catch up on paperwork and bills and such.” There was a pause, then he picked up the conversation. “I called to ask you if..if, um, you wanted to go to the air show on Saturday.” “You called me at 6:00 in the morning to ask if I wanted to go to an air show?” Andrew chuckled low in his throat. “Sounds kind of weird doesn’t it. I could send email, couldn’t I or at least wait till you were awake.” “Oh, I’m awake, alright.” She had to smile at his efficiency. Maybe it was just an excuse to call her? “I know you’re awake, Annie. I know.” She thought he sounded just a bit shy. She couldn’t imagine him being shy, but then there were things she didn’t know about him. It was part of his attractiveness to her; there was always something new to learn. “Actually I did want to know if you wanted to go to it, but I wanted to ask you if you could come to dinner, too.” “Tonight?” “yeah, tonight.” “Well,” she pretended to hesitate, “Yes. Are you kind of nervous, Andrew?” “Maybe a little.” “Me, too.” Anne gasped as a careless movement of her hand jostled a few drops of the coffee onto her open palm. It was hotter than she remembered. “Something wrong?” the pilot wanted to know. She could imagine he was standing at the top of the stairs getting ready to go down to the kitchen to make coffee. “I’m alright. I spilled coffee on my hand.” “Careful, dear.” Now he breathed in and took control like the confident pilot back in familiar territory, “what time shall I come get you tonight?” “7:00.” He came in to the living room, sat down on the floral printed sofa, relaxing in its comfort. Nothing had changed since the last time he had been here. It was still peaceful, still decorated with flowers, and still very cozy. The pilot’s eyes wandered over the landscapes and flower arrangements, coming to rest on a large family picture. He studied it with the sharp-eyed observance of the flight instructor he was. Anne, her mother and father, two brothers, and two sisters stood in front of a farmhouse. He knew of course that Anne hailed from Illinois around Sangamon County perhaps 200 miles from Chicago. She had come to California to pursue a teaching position since her own state did not have enough jobs in that field. “You know they’re all still back there. They love it there. I kind of like it here.” “Wouldn’t want to go back?” “Maybe for a visit, but not to live, though it’s beautiful there. I like it here.” Andrew slipped his fingers into hers, turning away from the picture, caught her gaze. “Would you come to Missouri with me sometime?” “Missouri? Who’s in Missouri now?” “I still have cousins there I like to see on cross country sometimes. Maybe we could fly there together sometime.” “Sure, okay.” Anne wondered if he was trying to test her, to see if she was ready for the idea of settling into marriage, but she decided not to push it. There would be plenty of time for investigating those avenues later. “So, Mr. Drifter Pilot, where are you taking me for dinner?” “Missouri!” He laughed and turned to her, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. He took her in his arms, kissed her softly, his lips on hers, gently insistent. “I don’t think your little 150 would make it to Missouri, honey, not without a lot of stop overs!” “Hmmm. I think you are right!” She put her head on his shoulder. “We don’t have to go anywhere, Andrew. I could cook.” Suddenly, Andrew thought that was just the best idea in the world. Where had he been for two months? Flying passenger’s cross-country? Consulting charts? Updating frequencies? Making perfect if sometimes tense touchdowns. Suddenly, to be with this woman in a quiet house with a movie and her cooking, and dishes, and no waiters interfering, suited him just fine. “I thought about driving you down to that place in Ocean Side we like, but I think I like this idea better.” “I am your local chef,” Anne said with an exaggerated French accent as she ran to get her purse. She tugged on Andrew’s hand almost like a child. “Come on, let’s go to the store, I’ll fix something even people from Missouri will like!” “Andrew, you’re going to fall asleep.” He was lying on her couch with his head on her breast, his cheek against the softness of her blouse, her hair teasing him. She looked at him, his eyes half open. This seemed the most natural position in the world. The peace of this little house and the calm kindness of this woman had eased his fatigue, nourished his hunger for food, made him laugh with the comedies they had watched, and added a measure of calm to a sometimes hectic, topsy-turvy existence. It reminded him that this easy enjoyment was in sharp contrast to the turbulent forces which had swirled in him during his relationship with Elizabeth Stringer. They simply were not existent in this one. Eighteen months of stormy argument with tearful apologies, mostly on her part, didn’t exist here. What was it he had seen in Elizabeth Stringer anyway? Soft brown hair, beautiful eyes, perfect teeth, cool heart? No, not cool, he thought, moving his head to look into Anne’s quiet face. Never one to settle comfortably, he had not really investigated the possibility of getting a wife, but he knew that Elizabeth with her stormy ways could not fill such a position for him. Anne with her quiet, confident ways, self-assured and gentle, yet willing to pull up stakes at a moment’s notice seemed a more suitable mate to the pilot who had spent the last sixteen years collecting pay checks from the ABC Charter Company. “What are you thinking about, my drifter pilot? You look very far away.” Her voice came to him on a wave of gentleness, easing its way into a heart that had been racked by turbulence. “You want to know?” “Yes.” She moved her left hand from under his weight; her fingers were falling asleep. He held her while they both sat up. “Maybe, if I tell you, I better not lie here, I’ll be asleep and you’ll be annoyed.” She had to laugh at that one. “Am I soothing like a siren?” She curled up beside him, turned into his embrace. She pressed her lips against his cheek. He pressed his lips firmly to hers, letting them rest lightly there, her response gentle, insistent, playful. “No, not like a siren,” he said warmly when they could talk again, “more like a gentle breeze.” “Oh, that’s so poetic, Andrew!” Her smile and rough hand on his shoulder teased him. “So honestly what were you thinking about?” His eyes grew serious again. “I was thinking about the differences between you and the girl I almost married.” “Elizabeth?” she asked gently. “Yes. Did I tell you about her?” “Once while you were in a motel in New Mexico waiting for an engine part replacement you mentioned her name. You said you’d tell me sometime.” “Elizabeth.” Andrew spoke her name almost regretfully. “She was a sweet girl, but very moody. She’d get angry with me for no reason and then be very apologetic. I couldn’t ever tell what mood she would be in when I called her. We met at an air show. She was staring up at this plane doing some lazy eights. I said I was a pilot, and we kind of hit it off. She worked as a receptionist in an auto parts store. We went out for about a year and a half and then I asked her to marry me. I should have known it wouldn’t work; though perhaps I did and didn’t want to admit it. I don’t know. Well, anyway I called her from some small place in Minnesota somewhere on a break on cross-country with a student and she was with another man. I could hear it in her voice. She wrote me a letter. She said she couldn’t marry a pilot after all she wanted someone who could come home every night. It was a while ago, Annie, six years ago. It took me a long time to heal from that. I would just look at the sunset and the sky when I was in flight and I would just be sad. Then one morning I was doing preflight and I just thought to hell with this she cheated on me! I don’t need that! I’ve always been on my own, I didn’t have to deal with all this moodiness and cheating. What was I crying about? So there you have it, Anne. Not too exciting. I’m not much of a womanizer; I don’t have a girl in every airport waiting for me to land. I’m just a hard-working commercially rated pilot who loves planes and rock climbing, and you. I love you, Anne, Annie, you’re just calm and self-assured. I can trust you. If I call and you can’t talk you say so. You’re different.” He held her hand, put it on his nee. His hand was cool, confident, still, the fingers gentle and possessive. “So I passed preflight then?” His face broke into the smile that made his eyes sparkle and Anne felt her heart swelling with love for this man. “Annie, you have the best sense of humor. Here I am telling you some deep, dark secret and you relate it to a plane. You’re nuts!” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Tired?” asked the teacher, getting to her feet. “I wore you out.” She pulled at his hand. “It’s late.” The cool denseness of an early foggy morning met them as they made their way to the small concrete porch. He stepped down to the small patch of green grass that met the bottom step. “It’s hard to leave you,” he said quietly, taking her into his embrace. “You don’t have to leave me,” she said, gently, almost under her breath, “not if you don’t want to.” Their kiss was longer, gentler; his hands stayed on her waist, warm, easy, comfortable. “Yes, I do. I don’t want to…” Anne saw his face redden just a little. “Sleep with me?” She helped him complete the sentence. “Right.” “Thank you.” She snuggled up to him. “I wouldn’t let you even if you wanted to, Andrew. I don’t do that. I just don’t think it’s right. Not till marriage. There’s too much at steak. Call it my Protestant, middle class upbringing, my strong commitment to God, it’s the way I am. I don’t want to change that. I can’t change it, not even for you my drifter pilot.” “I’m glad,” he said, standing at a respectful distance, removing his hands from her waist. “I wouldn’t want you to change that.” They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, neither of them willing to turn away. Around them, the morning was serene, calming their desire, restoring ease. He took a few steps across the dewy grass. Her hand stopped him. “Wait, Andrew. You forgot the air show. Don’t we have that this weekend?” “Yes!” Suddenly his eyes lighted with a mixture of excitement and relief. “Yes. I’ll come and get you. I like the drive and the air show isn’t far from here. Saturday? 8:00? Breakfast?” She nodded and took a step toward the door. Placing her hand on the door, she turned and watched him walk to his car. The engine clicked and then he was gone. Happily, still tasting his kiss, she turned and let herself back into the house.
Copyright © 2003 Shelley J Alongi |