A Race to Remember

A Shaky Start

If there was one thing I loved about flying more than anything else, it was the feeling that you could touch the sky. The gorgeous hues of blue and sunset painting the canvas of the sky. Colors of caramel yellow, and sunburnt orange taking up the bottom half of the skyline, as sweet undertones of pasty purple and midnight blue fought for dominance above. However, on this day, no sky was more colorful than the language I used when I found out I left my satchel.

I've always had what my grade school teacher called, a potty mouth. A trait that earned me many raps upon my hands and cheeks throughout my childhood, but otherwise has served me well. And in my time of need, it did not disappoint.

As per usual, I played 'how many curse words can I string together in a coherent sentence'. The words didn't stop coming until the sun went down.

After cussing out each and every cloud that dared look at me funny, I decided to evaluate the damage done. I discovered that I had; no food, no map, no extra lighter fluid, no nylon patches, and none of the other things considered vital to the average pilot. All I had was the rope that was currently sitting on a pile on the floor of the basket, a knife that I stuck in my boot, and the compass I used to check the wind. In other words, I was completely and utterly screwed. It was getting very dark, which meant it would be almost impossible to follow the other balloons like I had been doing.

There it was again, the suffocating sense of dread creeping up on me. Who was I kidding, I couldn't fly a hot air balloon without all my equipment. In order to do that, you'd have to be borderline insane.

I looked out again, watching silently as the stars began to appear. I couldn't deny how right it felt to be up here in the sky. Where it felt like the nearest person was miles below. No family legacy to uphold. No creepy ancestor portraits. No equipment either. I decided that my only hope was the cluster of glimmering yellow lights off in the distance. I could restock on the things that I'd been so careless as to leave behind. A low grumbling noise filled the balloon, like food, I thought ruefully. I was more than hungry enough to start gnawing on the rope I had brought on board. I used the approaching citadel as a distraction for my stomach digesting itself. The closer I got to the miniature town, the more anxious I became, my hands tinkering absentmindedly with my knife and the rope as I struggled to take deep breaths. My ancestors would have thought me a pansy, after all, it was just a town. Nonetheless, I couldn't help to get that feeling again, the same one that I got before takeoff. I knew I needed to turn around, but I couldn't. Both my head and my stomach told me that I had to get those supplies. I already felt like a failure, I didn't want to actually become one too. I'd never step foot near those portraits again. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, pushing my stupid aversion aside. I was going to get those supplies, and finish this race, everything else be damned.

And so, with a renewed will, I began to dampen the fire burning above me. Slowly but surely, the stars seemed to draw farther away. I could now pick out the faint, looping line over a riverbed from above, and see a small central cluster of lights, which I assumed to be the small town. However, the closer I got, the farther the lights got. I constantly was re-adjusting the height, trying to catch the town in my line of flight.

By the time, I landed, the cluster of lights were gone. I couldn't see them from my position on the ground. The bare hill-top the balloon had come to rest on was dark and I couldn't see anything from where I was standing. Another failure to add to the list, I thought, using my knife to etch another tally mark into the side of the basket. It was barely day one, and I had already managed to accumulate two more than I had wanted. Looking at a particularly tall tree on the edge of the clearing, I decided it wouldn't be long until they had company.

'Climb a tree' she said. 'it's a good idea' she said. Now I was stuck, holding on to the tree for dear life. I can't believe I talked myself into doing this. I may have been a hot air balloon pilot, but for what it was worth, I hated heights. It was different when you were up in the air, but here, I felt like I was going to trip and fall. I'd be a pancake that had been flattened too much with the spatula, a squished pancake. Whether I'd end up flatter than a piece of paper, simply depended on how careful I was.

I looked from side to side trying to catch a glimpse of the town. Once again, I saw nothing. Not such a good vantage point after all. I guess it was just wishful thinking, after all, I was just going out on a limb here.

And so, despite everything screaming at me not to, I climbed higher. Hoisting myself onto ever-thinning branches, baiting death with each inch. Flirting with failure, with the bounty set as my health and possibly my life.