The Pilot's dream

complete story

Levi plane construction. A job for the brilliant in mind with aspirations that soared higher than planes, that was the motto at least.

“we build the planes that make you and your dreams soar!,” was another one of the various arrogant motto’s.

They did there job well, building as if their life depended on it and constructing masterpieces that soared higher than the companys profit.

There was the none stop noises of construction, masculine workers and planes built for the extreme and then there was Cooper Levi.

The son of the father of the business with a mind that was to the others, dense and lacking of any ability to be successful. He was eighteen and had studied the planes for years with his father but no one had hope for him, in all honesty he really wasn’t the brightest brute.

“cheer up chap! Next year maybe you can do something as easy as change a planes tire!”

The workers would taunt him and shuffle his curly brown hair and laugh at the purple satin bags under his eyes, and how he was as bright as the mentally challenged boy from; “what’s eating Gilbert Grape.”

“wheres Arnie?” They Teased.

They would flick him and throw punches but Cooper stood still with his books in his lap sliding his fingers over the pages sounding out the words and picturing them as he went, his mind was brilliant I suppose, just not in ways society would ever classify brilliant as.

They said he would amount to nothing that he would wither away like fire embers and be just another lost boy who failed to succeed in life.

Among all the despair and determination tearing words there was a plane.

The plane would sit in the back room where Cooper did his studying, for years its wheels had sunken into the floor and its wings had collected enough dust to weigh it down. It was the company's failure a hopeless memoir of their idiotic mistake.

The plane however symbolized hope.

this scrap of chipped silver and poorly crafted engine was a sign that it was something in need of fixing and maybe one day Cooper could do just that. So he tried, he would go back into that room from the dreary hours of seven a.m to the quaint night of eleven pm. Thirty eight days he had spent on his masterpiece and the only thing he had accomplished was the speaker.

And it was good enough.

It was only a small accomplishment but it started something, when that last red cord connected and that speaker began to work something happened, something marvelous. He heard a spark and the brilliant sound of the strum of white noise and then...a voice. A deep tone and the everlasting crackle of the speaker.

“Sergeant Moore, of the bored out of my mind satellite station how may i assist your needs?”

The thing about the man named Moore on the other line was, that unlike Cooper he was no dreamer he lacked confidence, hope and everything a man in the army should have. All he had was an overwhelming supply of patience. for five months he had sat in a tent with thousands of men waiting for the enemy to arrive and he still continued to wait, so when a small hopeful voice spoke on the other end it was an endowment he took willingly.

“hows that plane of yours doing this fine day?” Moore had asked one day.

Cooper would reply as usual,

“fine i suppose i am getting pretty far, almost got it running”

and it would then travel onto a conversation that needed no plot and no morals just words, words that never fully made sense but they were words none the less.