Meanwhile.............
(In the Planes)
Soda ran a hand through his light brown hair and wiped the sweat off his brow. He'd never felt anything quite uplifting like the sensation of flying through the air-except for maybe kissing Amber. All right, so he'd have to remember to separate the land from the sky, and he'd be fine. A slow smile flickered across his face and he voiced the wonderful thoughts aloud:
"Then again I could always bring her up here and make out---two sensations for the price of one."
Steve's voice broke through the intercom the two shared: "How, may I ask, do you plan on steering and swapping spit at the same time?"
Soda coughed, clearly embarrassed but his friend went on, "Don't get me wrong buddy, I'd be happy to fly you guys so long as you pay me---maybe it get it on and let me watch too. After all I---"
"*SHUT UP* Steve!"
"Well aren't we a little protective of our girl?"
"MY girl," Soda mumbled. "And you'd be pissed too, if you even had a relationship that lasted as long as three days."
Silenced pierced the cockpit and Soda immediately felt his stomach do summersaults.
"Jesus man, I.....I didn't mean that, really."
"No that's alright..." he murmured quickly.
"No it isn't. I just went from zero to jackass in 3.2 seconds. I didn't mean anything by it."*
"Yeah I know---it's not like I don't want a relationship or anything..."
Soda's stomach was still tumbling on the inside. How could he be so insensitive? Growing up Steve had a hard life with no support or love from his biological family-it wasn't until the Curtis's took him in that he'd felt comfortable with emotions. Soda knew it didn't matter what Steve said about relationships; he needed one. A real one: honest, open, and trusting.
"Just forget 'bout it man."
"....Mkay."
"Hey how about a game of chicken?"
Soda smiled, wryly. "We don't have enough time."
"And you're gonna let that stop you?"
"You calling me a coward?"
"Bok bok bok!"(Lol, I know that must sound horrible, but imagine a chicken making that noise!)
"Bring it on Randal!"
"Roger that."
And so they went off each in a different direction, soaring high above the clouds and the other planes that there going down for the landing. Sure, they'd probably get into trouble (chicken wasn't allowed and they were supposed to be heading back down already). Of course sometimes you just gotta ignore the rules---they are meant for breaking after all.
The intercom blasted out loud and clear as the harsh voice of Major Stebbins made its way into the cockpit.
"Lt. Randal, Lt. Curtis get yer sorry asses down here this instant."
The snickering of the rest of the band of pilots that had now landed grew increasingly louder. Steve smiled and switched off the sound with a flick of his wrist, although he turned it on a second later when he realized he didn't know what direction hid buddy was flying in.
"Sodypop?"
Soda groaned at the old nickname he'd grown to hate over the years.
"Yes Stevie?" His voice was sickeningly sweet, like sugar had been coated throughout his tongue.
"We going right or left?"
"Left."
The planes got closer and closer, for the game of chicken consisted of these rules: Two planes would fly straight at each other, and then each pilot would pull away and fly in the same direction as the other, narrowly missing each plane but flying with glory.
"Can't hear you--we'll go left right?"
"Uh...left right as in we're going left or going right?"
"Soda?"
"Uh...go right."
The planes broke threw the clouds and were now in sight of each other.
"You sure?"
"No."
"Soda!"
Closer and closer....
"We go right! Righty tighty!"
The pilots watched in awe, as the P-40's got so close they couldn't possibly get out of each other's way. At the last instant, both planes snapped a quarter turn so that their wings were vertical, and they shot past each other belly to belly.
Zoooooooooooom!
They looped passed each other with slight hesitation but mostly excitement. The pilots on the ground below whistle and whooped in the air, congratulating each other and earning stern glances from their commanding officers. Major Stebbins glared up at the air,
"You know what they say... You can take the crop duster out of the country - but don't put him in a P-40."
A huge grin broke onto Soda's boyish face, knowing his superior was probably right, but there was nothing he could about it.
"Wooooooooo! Now THAT is flying!"
Soda banked to land as Steve tucked in behind him, having Soda's plane in his sights. Steve beamed, and muttered into the intercom,
"If I had guns I'd be chewing up your..."
Suddenly Soda feinted left and banked right, appearing just behind Steve.
"No, if you had guns you'd be pissin' on 'em."
The two boys were almost to the landing strip, Soda behind Steve. But as Steve's wheels were about to touch, he gunned his engine and snapped the nose of his plane straight up. The other pilots stopped laughing.
Tim Shepard, a tall greaser with black curly hair and dark blue eyes (also from relatively the same neighborhood as the boys) spoke up, bubbling with excitement, "He's doing an inside loop!"
Major Stebbins groaned, "Aw, shit......"
Steve pulled it off, just barely making a full circle to come in behind Soda and bounced to a stop on the runway.
"Yee-hawww!!!" cried Steve, as though nothing in the world could stop him now---and nothing was gonna.
Steve taxied his plane over to join the others. He grinned as he slid back his cockpit cover; then asked, "Where's Soda?"
Curly Shepard, who looked just like a younger version of his brother, tipped his chin toward the air. Seeing Soda's plane still in the air, Steve started to refasten his harness.
The major glared at him, "You're down, Randal! That's an order!"
Steve frowned and motioned towards the sky where Soda still flew in between the clouds, "What about him?"
Stebbins sighed, "He's not taking my orders anymore."
Steve was just about to ask what the hell that meant, when he noticed Soda climbing in a deliberate spiral. Steve breathed hard in a sense of wonderment, awe, and fear. "He's gonna do it."
"Do what?" asked Curly.
Steve only whispered the last word
"It. Aw, shit. Aw shit shit shit..."
Soda's plane had just reached two thousand feet, just a speck above them, and seemed to pause in the air.
Steve swore.
"I shouldn't'a done an inside loop. I shouldn't'a done an inside loop."
Tim looked up. "Why?"
Steve's eyes were bulging. "Cause now he's gonna do an outside loop."
Major Stebbins looked as though his dog was dying. "Aw shit. Aw shit shit shit......"
Steve and Tim joined in, like an involuntary chant: "Aw shit shit shit......"
Soda, in the cockpit, became tightly controlled, yet serene. He nosed the plane into a power dive. The P-40 screamed toward the ground, picking up speed, going so fast it began to shudder. The other pilots were transfixed. Curly was so nervous he couldn't get the words out, and all that could be heard was "Aw sh- sh- sh- sh-"
Tin helped his brother out, "Shit."
"Yeah." He replied breathlessly.
Steve rung his hands through his hair nervously, "You can do it, Soda. You can do it."
The P-40, hurtled toward the ground at nauseating speed, snapped into a half roll, streaked upside down over the runway. Soda hung inverted in his flight harness, the asphalt of the runway shooting past, ten feet beyond his head. He pushed the plane into a climb, his cockpit on the outside of the circle. The plane reached the top of its arc, and almost stalled; but Soda nosed it over again, toward the earth, only this time he had very little altitude.
The plane hurtled down, still with its belly on the inside of the curve... it made it full circle. Soda's head was now barely a foot off the asphalt as the plane shot past, still inverted. It seemed as though the whole ground below him burst into cheers, as Soda himself permitted himself a smile. He landed, and the guys ran out to meet him...all except for the Stebbins, who stood there shaking his head.
Steve jumped on the wing, as Soda stopped and slid back his canopy. Steve grabbed him by the harness and shook him fiercely.
"You stupid bastard, you could've killed yourself!"
But a second later he was hugging his best friend of nearly two decades, and grinning like a madman, muttered, "That was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. And by looks of the nurses 'round here that saying a lot."
Soda returned the smile, his whole face shinning brilliantly in the morning light.
"Land of the free..."
"...Home of the brave."
* "Zero to jackass in 3.2 seconds."-That's from Gilmore Girls. Dude, that was so friggin' long! Oh well, I'm pretty happy with it, even though I probably put down too much technical stuff. Too bad for you! Hahahhahahahah!!! K, I have a question, should Soda and Steve lust after the same girl, or should we get Steve his own girl? You decide.
(In the Planes)
Soda ran a hand through his light brown hair and wiped the sweat off his brow. He'd never felt anything quite uplifting like the sensation of flying through the air-except for maybe kissing Amber. All right, so he'd have to remember to separate the land from the sky, and he'd be fine. A slow smile flickered across his face and he voiced the wonderful thoughts aloud:
"Then again I could always bring her up here and make out---two sensations for the price of one."
Steve's voice broke through the intercom the two shared: "How, may I ask, do you plan on steering and swapping spit at the same time?"
Soda coughed, clearly embarrassed but his friend went on, "Don't get me wrong buddy, I'd be happy to fly you guys so long as you pay me---maybe it get it on and let me watch too. After all I---"
"*SHUT UP* Steve!"
"Well aren't we a little protective of our girl?"
"MY girl," Soda mumbled. "And you'd be pissed too, if you even had a relationship that lasted as long as three days."
Silenced pierced the cockpit and Soda immediately felt his stomach do summersaults.
"Jesus man, I.....I didn't mean that, really."
"No that's alright..." he murmured quickly.
"No it isn't. I just went from zero to jackass in 3.2 seconds. I didn't mean anything by it."*
"Yeah I know---it's not like I don't want a relationship or anything..."
Soda's stomach was still tumbling on the inside. How could he be so insensitive? Growing up Steve had a hard life with no support or love from his biological family-it wasn't until the Curtis's took him in that he'd felt comfortable with emotions. Soda knew it didn't matter what Steve said about relationships; he needed one. A real one: honest, open, and trusting.
"Just forget 'bout it man."
"....Mkay."
"Hey how about a game of chicken?"
Soda smiled, wryly. "We don't have enough time."
"And you're gonna let that stop you?"
"You calling me a coward?"
"Bok bok bok!"(Lol, I know that must sound horrible, but imagine a chicken making that noise!)
"Bring it on Randal!"
"Roger that."
And so they went off each in a different direction, soaring high above the clouds and the other planes that there going down for the landing. Sure, they'd probably get into trouble (chicken wasn't allowed and they were supposed to be heading back down already). Of course sometimes you just gotta ignore the rules---they are meant for breaking after all.
The intercom blasted out loud and clear as the harsh voice of Major Stebbins made its way into the cockpit.
"Lt. Randal, Lt. Curtis get yer sorry asses down here this instant."
The snickering of the rest of the band of pilots that had now landed grew increasingly louder. Steve smiled and switched off the sound with a flick of his wrist, although he turned it on a second later when he realized he didn't know what direction hid buddy was flying in.
"Sodypop?"
Soda groaned at the old nickname he'd grown to hate over the years.
"Yes Stevie?" His voice was sickeningly sweet, like sugar had been coated throughout his tongue.
"We going right or left?"
"Left."
The planes got closer and closer, for the game of chicken consisted of these rules: Two planes would fly straight at each other, and then each pilot would pull away and fly in the same direction as the other, narrowly missing each plane but flying with glory.
"Can't hear you--we'll go left right?"
"Uh...left right as in we're going left or going right?"
"Soda?"
"Uh...go right."
The planes broke threw the clouds and were now in sight of each other.
"You sure?"
"No."
"Soda!"
Closer and closer....
"We go right! Righty tighty!"
The pilots watched in awe, as the P-40's got so close they couldn't possibly get out of each other's way. At the last instant, both planes snapped a quarter turn so that their wings were vertical, and they shot past each other belly to belly.
Zoooooooooooom!
They looped passed each other with slight hesitation but mostly excitement. The pilots on the ground below whistle and whooped in the air, congratulating each other and earning stern glances from their commanding officers. Major Stebbins glared up at the air,
"You know what they say... You can take the crop duster out of the country - but don't put him in a P-40."
A huge grin broke onto Soda's boyish face, knowing his superior was probably right, but there was nothing he could about it.
"Wooooooooo! Now THAT is flying!"
Soda banked to land as Steve tucked in behind him, having Soda's plane in his sights. Steve beamed, and muttered into the intercom,
"If I had guns I'd be chewing up your..."
Suddenly Soda feinted left and banked right, appearing just behind Steve.
"No, if you had guns you'd be pissin' on 'em."
The two boys were almost to the landing strip, Soda behind Steve. But as Steve's wheels were about to touch, he gunned his engine and snapped the nose of his plane straight up. The other pilots stopped laughing.
Tim Shepard, a tall greaser with black curly hair and dark blue eyes (also from relatively the same neighborhood as the boys) spoke up, bubbling with excitement, "He's doing an inside loop!"
Major Stebbins groaned, "Aw, shit......"
Steve pulled it off, just barely making a full circle to come in behind Soda and bounced to a stop on the runway.
"Yee-hawww!!!" cried Steve, as though nothing in the world could stop him now---and nothing was gonna.
Steve taxied his plane over to join the others. He grinned as he slid back his cockpit cover; then asked, "Where's Soda?"
Curly Shepard, who looked just like a younger version of his brother, tipped his chin toward the air. Seeing Soda's plane still in the air, Steve started to refasten his harness.
The major glared at him, "You're down, Randal! That's an order!"
Steve frowned and motioned towards the sky where Soda still flew in between the clouds, "What about him?"
Stebbins sighed, "He's not taking my orders anymore."
Steve was just about to ask what the hell that meant, when he noticed Soda climbing in a deliberate spiral. Steve breathed hard in a sense of wonderment, awe, and fear. "He's gonna do it."
"Do what?" asked Curly.
Steve only whispered the last word
"It. Aw, shit. Aw shit shit shit..."
Soda's plane had just reached two thousand feet, just a speck above them, and seemed to pause in the air.
Steve swore.
"I shouldn't'a done an inside loop. I shouldn't'a done an inside loop."
Tim looked up. "Why?"
Steve's eyes were bulging. "Cause now he's gonna do an outside loop."
Major Stebbins looked as though his dog was dying. "Aw shit. Aw shit shit shit......"
Steve and Tim joined in, like an involuntary chant: "Aw shit shit shit......"
Soda, in the cockpit, became tightly controlled, yet serene. He nosed the plane into a power dive. The P-40 screamed toward the ground, picking up speed, going so fast it began to shudder. The other pilots were transfixed. Curly was so nervous he couldn't get the words out, and all that could be heard was "Aw sh- sh- sh- sh-"
Tin helped his brother out, "Shit."
"Yeah." He replied breathlessly.
Steve rung his hands through his hair nervously, "You can do it, Soda. You can do it."
The P-40, hurtled toward the ground at nauseating speed, snapped into a half roll, streaked upside down over the runway. Soda hung inverted in his flight harness, the asphalt of the runway shooting past, ten feet beyond his head. He pushed the plane into a climb, his cockpit on the outside of the circle. The plane reached the top of its arc, and almost stalled; but Soda nosed it over again, toward the earth, only this time he had very little altitude.
The plane hurtled down, still with its belly on the inside of the curve... it made it full circle. Soda's head was now barely a foot off the asphalt as the plane shot past, still inverted. It seemed as though the whole ground below him burst into cheers, as Soda himself permitted himself a smile. He landed, and the guys ran out to meet him...all except for the Stebbins, who stood there shaking his head.
Steve jumped on the wing, as Soda stopped and slid back his canopy. Steve grabbed him by the harness and shook him fiercely.
"You stupid bastard, you could've killed yourself!"
But a second later he was hugging his best friend of nearly two decades, and grinning like a madman, muttered, "That was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. And by looks of the nurses 'round here that saying a lot."
Soda returned the smile, his whole face shinning brilliantly in the morning light.
"Land of the free..."
"...Home of the brave."
* "Zero to jackass in 3.2 seconds."-That's from Gilmore Girls. Dude, that was so friggin' long! Oh well, I'm pretty happy with it, even though I probably put down too much technical stuff. Too bad for you! Hahahhahahahah!!! K, I have a question, should Soda and Steve lust after the same girl, or should we get Steve his own girl? You decide.