Can't
get it out of my head. I see it when I close my eyes to try and
sleep. I see it when I look at a blue sky. I see it when people are
talking to me. I don't hear them.
It's
only been 10 days and I've replayed it a thousand times.
Down he
went, beyond a distant tree line. He would come back up. Yes! Yes, he
would come back up. He's okay. He is. He's okay.
Then the
smoke.
I
shouted. No. Screamed. No. No. No. No. No. I sank to my knees. Cried.
Bawled like a baby
The
others didn't see it. Their back was turned to it. They wondered why
I cried.
I cried
for the best friend I had ever had. A friend I knew better than
anyone knew him outside his family. I cried for the man who I shared
that wonderful machine with. The machine he loved. Said it had
changed his life. Said he had never dreamed he would do what the
machine had let him do. He made his choice and knew the risks.
Accepted them.
I hardly knew him when we decided to buy it. Violated every rule in the book. No agreement. No contract. No nothing but a hand shake.
And for
fourteen years we worked on it, tinkered with it, fixed it, improved
it, caressed it, displayed it to thousands, flew it with untold
relish.
And all
those years, never a cross word passed between us. Not a single
argument.
My
friend. My friend.
George
“Bud” Myers.
I
chose the skies
That
few have known
To
follow where
The
winds have blown.
To
battle storms
That
none have seen
To
find seas of gold
And
lands still green.
And
if some day
I
don't return
Don't
cry for me
Don't
be concerned
For
high above
The
clouds will sing
For
a world I loved
And
silent wings.
The
Choice
by
Geoffrey H. Tyler
