Revenge of the Phoenix

5:30 am

It's almost time, but I am not sure if I am ready. With a strange mix of nervousness and confidence, I pull my sleek aviator goggles down over my eyes. They are newly polished and the scanning lenses activate, taking in the world around me. On either side of the runway are dry bushes of dead grass that have been scorched by the summer sun. I disregard the view since it is the same as always, never changing. 

Yet as I turn my head forward, I notice a small white flower in the corner of my eye and the screens of my goggles, having picked up on my interest, zoom in. It is a daisy. I haven't seen one in so long that I can't help but think of it as an omen. My mother used to love daisies. Maybe this signifies her presence here with me on this important day.

I take a deep breath. It is now or never. As I maneuver the controls my craft rolls forward, steadily picking up speed until the front tips up off of the hard packed dirt. If it weren't for the bullet proof see through windows around me I would be able to feel the air whipping my hair across my face. Even so, I am purely invigorated by the act of flight. After all of these years each takeoff still feels like my first.

It had been a summer day much like this one. The sky was clear and the birds were chirping and everything was perfect. The wind wasn't too strong and the world was bright and alive. My mother was next to me as always, but for the first time she was in the passenger seat and I in the pilot's. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a long curly tail and her cheekbones were red with rouge. She was the woman I aspired to be and still do to this very day. We had both climbed into the plane and were sitting in silence. I was lost in my own world, breathing deeply in and out for what could easily have been an eternity. Her softly stern voice suddenly shattered the never ending and utterly random thoughts that tend to spiral through my mind on a daily basis.

"Are you ready, dear?"

"Wait what?" She chuckled lightly, perhaps remembering her own days of naive daydreaming.

"I asked if you were ready. You know, to fly?"

"Oh, well of course. Erm, of course that's what you meant. My answer however is no. No Mother, I am not ready, I am most certainly not ready." 

I always took on a proper tone with her, trying to show off the marvelous young lady I claimed to be. I didn't want to disappoint her, but I was simply telling the truth. My nerves were filled to the brim with anxiety. She then looked deep into my eyes, and I thought she would call the whole thing off. I thought we would leave the plane then and there and I would never be allowed to step foot in a plane again because of my unforgivable cowardice. Instead, she leaned close to me and asked,

"My dear, are you afraid?"

"Yes." I would not lie.

"Good, you very well should be and it won't help you in the slightest to ignore your feelings. Now having acknowledged that, disregard all common sense and fly."

Her response was unexpected but I immediately complied. It was a short flight; taking all of ten minutes. Despite this, the joy I felt from her unquestionable pride in me could last a lifetime. That is, if the unforgiving scissors of fate had not cut her own life jaggedly short.