Flyboy

✈︎ Dakota

✈︎ 11 years later ✈︎

"Mom, have you seen a grey sweatshirt? Bradley's gonna be here in like ten minutes and I can't find it!" I yell out my bedroom door and down the stairs. The bedroom floor was a wreck, almost every item of clothing I owned was either on the floor or the bed in my attempt to find my favorite comfy sweatshirt. I had been searching since 6:00 this morning. It was now nearing 7:30.

"Have you checked the laundry room?"

Pushing myself up off of the floor, I make my way down the hall to the laundry room and rifle through what little clothing had been discarded there. No grey sweatshirt.

"Are you sure it's not in your closet?" I ask, poking my head into her bedroom.

She gives me a pointed look, "I don't think it's there, but you can check."

With her permission, I walk through her room and toward her closet to continue my search.

My mother was a modest woman. She never wore too much makeup, never wore clothes that were less than classy (in her eyes at least), and she sure as shit never took any slack from anyone. Especially not my dad.

"It's not here," I declare with a sigh, turning to face her.

She stops in the middle of touching up her lipstick, "Why can't you just wear a different sweatshirt?"

"Because we're going to the air show and it's the thickest one that still fits under my jacket."

Something shifts and my mom sighs. She doesn't like that Bradley and I are both seriously thinking about the Navy. Dad isn't too stoked about it either.

Bradley's mom? Oh boy, the first time either one of us even mentioned joining the Navy. You would've thought someone lit a fire under her ass and drug her around in the street. She was so mad! I think she was more upset with the thought of Bradley enlisting than me, but I got caught in the crossfire all the same.

Carole did a really good job of keeping her husband's spirit alive well after he had passed. Neither of them likes to talk about it much. Dad doesn't either. I think they're all just scared that we'll end up in a similar situation.

A car honking outside draws both of our attention. Pulling the curtains open, I peer outside to see Bradley with a goofy grin on his face waving like a madman from his brand-new Ford Bronco. The corners of my mouth turn upward in a similar goofy grin, happy to see my best friend.

Mom follows me throughout the house as I dash around to retrieve my bag, phone, keys, wallet, and bomber jacket that Dad had given me for my birthday last year; forgetting all about the sweatshirt I had previously spent hours searching for. All but tripping over the welcome mat, I yank the front door open and jog down the driveway.

"Be careful!" Mom calls after me, standing on the porch with her arms crossed. "Drive safe, Bradley!"

He nods, pulling his sunglasses down ever so slightly, "Yes, ma'am."

Tossing my stuff onto the floor of the passenger's side, I hop in, "Move it or lose it, Bradshaw!"

"I'm coming, Mitchell. Get that stick outta your ass."

"If you don't start driving I'm gonna kick yours."

Dropping himself in the driver's seat, the Bronco roars to life, and soon enough we're on the road. Fishing my sunglasses out of my bag, I pop them on my face before turning to toss the bag in the backseat. A familiar grey peeked out from underneath Bradley's seat as if it had been discarded and shoved under by accident.

Reaching to the floorboard, I yank the grey fabric up and into view. "Did I leave this or did you take it?"

He shrugs, turning the knob for the radio volume up, "I think you stole it from me anyways."

"Did not!"

Did I?

"Have you heard back from the academy yet?" Bradley glances over at me briefly and I toss the sweatshirt in the backseat, pulling on my bomber jacket.

Sighing, I answer dejectedly, "No. But I did get a letter from UVA. I haven't opened it yet."

"Could be an acceptance letter!"

"Could be a rejection too."

He flips down the sun visor with a sigh, "Okay, I got my letter from UVA too and I haven't opened it either. How bout when we get home later we open 'em together?"

Quirking a brow, I turn slightly in my seat, "Deal."