"Flying, flying, wanna go flying, need to go fly!"
Mr. Crieff looked at his son in the hospital bed. The little eleven year old had been fighting off the congestion in his lungs for the last week. It had come to a particular head that morning, and they had decided that a trip to hospital was in order. He had been gasping and wheezing heavily by the time they got him there, so the paramedics had given him a shot of adrenalin to open him up. That hadn't been quite enough, though. So they had given him another.
"I wanna fly. You're gonna see me fly. You're gonna look up. Thing in the sky. What's it gonna be? Me, flying a plane. Flying. Flying. Flying. Fly fly fly fly. Gonna be a captain. Gonna wear a hat. Gonna fly."
The doctors had said he would calm down soon enough. And if Mr. Crieff were being honest, he would have to admit this was not that entirely different from what Martin was like usually. Just a bit faster and a lot higher pitched.
"Dad, Dad, Dad, what's your favorite thing about flying? (Mine is flying.) Go down a runway, engines full, pull up take-off gear, fly. Fly. Fly fly fly. In the air. Lots of air. Lots of cold air. Up when you're flying. Flying in a plane. Being a captain. Of a plane. A flying plane. Not a plane for the ground. Air plane. Aeroplane. To fly in."
At least he had stopped doing the different voices. Nothing was quite as strange, sad and annoying of a mix as a sick, hyper child talking to an imaginary plane.
"You are the best ever at flying."
Speak of the devil.
"I'm the best! Yes. You've flown around the world fifty times. Only a captain could do that. I'm a captain? I'm the best captain? You are the best captain to ever fly. Everyone wants to ride in your aeroplane. Is it the best aeroplane? It's the very best. All the other pilots are jealous."
Simon had suggested videotaping him, but Mr. Crieff had put a halt on that idea. He didn't want this obsession following Martin for the rest of his life. He'd grow out of it soon enough, and things like this would just be silly reminders of the past.
"Fly flying flying, flown, in the air, flying, atmospheric pressure, bird strikes, altimeters, tail fins, flying, all needed to fly. Fly fly fly… Flying flying… Fly."
His eyelids were starting to droop a bit; the adrenaline might just be wearing off, putting an end to the last four hours of monologue.
"Martin, how about you lie down and get under the covers. It's been a long day."
"Can I fly there?"
"Sure, you can fly to bed. Just lay back down."
But apparently something grabbed his attention again, because the next thing he knew, Martin was standing on top of the bed, shouting.
"FLLLLLYYYYYYYYYY! YEEEEEE HAAAAA!"
…It was good they were already in a hospital. The doctors could take care of the broken nose from that swan dive fairly easily.