"Knock, knock," I sing along to the rap of my knuckles against the slightly ajar bathroom door. A bemused, "Who's there?" sets a smile on my face. "Someone who's name starts with an S and rhymes with—...nothing apparently."
From the other side, Ghost gasps aloud, "Snothing? My favorite person ever? Is that really you?"
Snorting, I flick the door open. Focused on her reflection, Ghost hardly reacts as I enter the bathroom, recovering from my belly-flop of a joke. Without having to ask, my RIO scoots to the left, letting me in on the mirror so I can see what a horrible job I'm about to do in an attempts to look presentable for graduation. I glance at my wrist, hoping for a hair-tie, but I must've lost it in the sheets somehow. Despite the rollercoaster yesterday turned out to be, it finished on a high note. True to her word, Ghost took us out for burgers. Maverick joined us. No one had to hear it from him, it was obvious he hadn't eaten all day. Starving or not, I wouldn't have let him skip out anyhow. I missed him...I miss him...every second he spends, down in the dumps, is a second lost. It's a constant see-saw, bouncing between two Mavericks. The one I prefer seems more shy than ever, always darting behind his darker, carbon-copy, so excuse me if I cling to my boyfriend when he's back to his silly old self, blowing bubbles in his milkshake and giving me piggy-back rides across the diner parking lot. Yesterday was a breath of fresh air. And salty sea water, I chuckle, still not over the look on Maverick's face when the wave hit us. I completely embarrassed him with the story at the diner.
"Good," Charlie laughed, "Be glad the ocean got to you before I could."
She meant it for me too.
It isn't hard to see how relieved she is that we'll both be graduating.
Not as relieved as me.
I scrap the pathetic excuse for a bun that I've fabricated whilst lost in thought, and start again, gritting my teeth against the painful tug of my curls looped in a moderately sized knob at the back of my head. Ghost seems to be having a harder time of it, but the fly away hairs and what I'd consider infuriating layers hardly phase her. She takes her time, humming softly. Her tongue darts between her teeth for every strand she had to push back into place. Sucks that she can't just leave it as is. The messy, barely awake artist look she's got going is sure to fry Iceman's heart. Wouldn't that be a sight? Iceman, flustered at his own graduation.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Ghost mutters, tucking the last of the rogue hairs into place, along the shell of her ear. She trails the finger down the side of her face, eyeing a small blemish in the mirror. "I've tried to guess what could possibly cause you to smile and frown so consistently, but no dice."
"Well that's because there's more than one thing on my mind."
"The main being?"
"Graduation, obviously."
Ghost suppresses a smile, "And Maverick?"
"Yeah, and Maverick."
"And...?"
We lock eyes with one another's reflections. I raise a brow, challenging her insinuation. She's a tough cookie; never once succumbs to my intimidation tactics. Sighing, I tie off my hair, and offhandedly throw Iceman's name into the mix, immediately regretting my decision to comply to her noncompliance. The glint in her eyes warns of a lecture so I run my fingers under the sink water and busy myself smoothing the frizzy wavelengths jutting from my scalp.
"Stirrups, I know you're still angry with him —"
Understatement of the century....
"But today is a good day. Neither of you should allow any room for a storm, it would be unfair to the rest of the class and their families who came for sunshine and celebration. Besides, I spoke with him on the phone last night and he promised that he won't poke the beast. He's willing to let it lie, so please don't rain us out, okay?"
"Okay."
Downstairs, the phone rings, and Charlie shouts, "I'll get it!"
"I think our work here is done," Ghost muses, checking all of her angles.
Each of them flawless.
I glare at my reflection and tug at my dog tags. "I hate buns."
"It's part of the uniform."
"The uniform I like. The bun can go to Hell."
"Stirrups! It's for you!"
All my Iceman and dress code induced aggravation shrivels as I implode, instantly ten times cuter when a giddy smile cracks open my face.
"Is it your family?"
I nod.
"Well get on then. Don't keep your folks waiting."
She doesn't have to tell me twice. I switch the bathroom lights off and laugh at her startled cry. The hallway disappears in three bounds, but the steps I take in sets of two — a very godly way to get down the stairs, I'd say. Charlie winks as she hands over the phone. I don't wait for her to reenter the kitchen. The second I've got my hands around the bakelite, I shove it against the curve of my face, and laugh breathless through the line, "Good morning, Alabama."
"Hey, there, sweetheart," It's dad's voice on the other end. His southern grind bends the static. The sound is so raw, you would've thought I was a little girl, sitting in my daddy's arms, head to his chest, listening to the rumble of his voice somewhere between his lungs. I can't help the premature tear that clings to the inner corner of my eye.
"Hey, Daddy."
"You and your buddies gettin' all gussied up, I suspect?"
"Yessir," I giggle, "Ghost and I just finished pulling our hair back. We've gotta wear our white uniforms so we can look all fancy and professional, caps and all."
Somewhere in the farm house, somebody whistles. There's a bit of shuffling and David's voice comes through, harsher than dad's. "Cross dressing again, you sinner."
"David, hush!"
That'd be Mama.
I laugh, "It's alright, Mama, he's just jealous he doesn't get to wear a cap."
"I'd look better in it."
"Join the Navy and we'll see."
"Done."
"Mama, Davey's hoggin' up the phone!"
"Daddy," Mama's voice is closer now. If I close my eyes, I can almost see them all crowded around Dad's favorite chair. She's got her favorite apron on, powder on her cheeks from rolling out biscuits for breakfast. Daddy looks up, all fond when she sets her gentlest of hands on his shoulder and asks him to rotate the phone so everybody gets a chance to talk to their big sister. "Pat, baby, you getta go first."
The other's whine 'bout special treatment, nearly drowning out Patrick's small voice as it enters the scene. "Hi, Remi."
"Hey, Patty-cakes," I picture his blush at the dreaded-nickname.
"So, you're done with school now? Forever?"
"That's right."
"Lucky."
Laughing, I steady myself on the wall, "Well, it took a while to get here, bud, but don't worry, you'll be free eventually."
"In eight whole years," he groans.
"Enjoy them while they last. Besides, once David leaves we'll need a Weaver boy to help Daddy. You're gonna be a man before you know it. Then Mama's gonna cry and all the girls'll come running for those dimples."
"Yuck."
"Yeah, yeah, you say that now. Just wait though."
The phone goes to Carraway next, youngest to oldest, I realize. Oldest trick in the book. I fiddle with the phone cord and settle criss-cross applesauce on the floor, taking my time talking to each sibling, answering their questions about graduation, when I'll visit them next, and what's in store for me beyond Top Gun. Finally, Mama get's a hold of the phone, and I steel myself for the graduate's mother's lament. Through the quiet rush of her breath, the shuffling of feet and stifled protests can be heard as Dad ushers the kids out back, so Mama can have some well deserved privacy. The phone feels humid, corrupted by the heat of my hand, and the sweat that's built up between my palm and the plastic. It's uncomfortable to hold, much less press against my face, but I'm on pins and needles, straining to hear, afraid the line will cut off before I've heard from my mother. Charlie's humming in the kitchen. Ghost is coming down the stairs. I chew my lip; correct my grip on the phone.
"I'm so proud of you, baby...I...I don't know how else to say it."
The phone slips from my ear as every ounce of strength drains from my muscles. Unable to hold my bowling-ball of a head, my neck snaps back. The resulting impact is light, hardly enough to do any significant damage. It's my heart that hurts. It's the wingspan of my collarbones, tucked beneath two metal slips I wear around my neck, that hurts, not the back of my head. I stare at the wall opposite to me, watching Ghost's pink socks descend the stairs, already anticipating the tenderness with which she'll receive my teary eyes. The final step creaks. I glance up, making fleeting contact with a pair of sympathetic sapphires. We share a smile, and I carefully reposition the phone. It's nearly impossible to filter the emotion out of my voice as I thank her.
"Mama...I wouldn't be here without you and daddy, you know that right?"
"We did our best with what we got, even when it wasn't always so grand, and you, Remi, you've done better, even with all the hurt you've seen...I never would've wished this pain on my little girl, but you're made of somethin' damn near indestructible," I bite back a gasp, but nothing get's past her. She merely laughs, hoping it'll cover her sniffles I reckon. Mama never swears. Never unless she's making Christmas dinner for the in-laws, or catching David with the neighbor's daughter like she did once. "We're so proud of our girl. Our pilot, out there with those soldiers and generals, doing right by her country."
"It's a good country," I grin, "Deserves the best of the best."
She chuckles, "Your Daddy and I could never quite teach you humility, could we?"
"You did your best, like you said," I giggle.
Ghost nudges me with her shoe.
I slip a hand over the mouthpiece as I meet her eye, "What's up?"
"Breakfast."
"Right —" I hurry to wrap up the call, "Hey, Mama? I've gotta eat so we aren't late to pick up Maverick. I'm so glad I got to talk to y'all, I miss the whole family. You especially, don't tell the other's."
"I won't."
"I love you, Mama."
"I love you more."
Smiling, I start to stand —
"Remington?"
"Uh, yeah, Mama?"
"You tell Maverick we're proud of him too."
A tear falls through the gaps of my lashes, seconds short of my whispered oath, "I will, Mama. I will."
>>>>>
As agreed, Ghost waits in the Jeep, keeping the engine warm while I nervously approach the front porch. Yesterday, the ocean coerced Maverick into attending graduation. Yesterday, the water-shocked exclamation he gave served as covenant, and once our stomachs were swimming with fast-food grease and froth, I slept easy. A new day dawns, and I'm back to square one, doubting Maverick's word. It's one thing to surrender to an irritating girlfriend when you've been unexpectedly slammed by a wave. It's another to put on the uniform you feel unworthy of and accept a mark of achievement you wish you could share with your best friend. That's overlooking the vulnerability of marching through a class of graduates, who've watched you break into a million pieces, and run with your tail between your legs. Nauseating. That's what it is. Beyond embarrassing, to accept an slip of victory, in front of those who've witnessed your numerous failures firsthand. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, with the exception of yours truly, the one who single-handedly suspended her boyfriend and best friend in one go. Well, justice will be served. 'Cause Maverick might feel undeserving of a certificate, but I'm the antagonist, and the whole class knows it.
They'll stare, thinking, I knew that girl would be trouble.
And they're right.
I'm trouble, always have been.
But I tried my best, I add; a reflection on the conversation I had with my mother.
That's exactly what I plan to tell Maverick in my ramshackle speech I've scotch-taped together on the brief car ride. If I open that door and he's still in those ridiculously attractive sweatpants, shirtless and bleary-eyed, I'm going to torture him with a lecture and dress him myself, if that's what it takes to wheel his sorry ass to his own damn graduation. Despite what he says — what he feels — he deserves to graduate. And Goose deserves it, so Maverick better show up for the both of them, just like I'm doing for Vixen. The mention of her name unscrews an emotional reserve. I hastily plug the flow before I spoil my persuasive abilities with tears.
An angel stands between me and the door.
Well, sits.
"Maverick?" I miss a step and stagger forwards, taking in the sight of him, sharp as a tack in his fitted uniform, the cap tucked beneath his arm. He smirks, raising the arm hooked over the outside of his bent knee for a tiny wave. Excitement trickles through my veins, though the source remains anonymous. Is it Maverick's effortless ability to model the Navy Uniform, or that he made right on his promise? Maybe there's a pinch of relief that I don't have to give a speech. Thank God. It's far too early for speeches anyhow. Not too early to fawn over my boyfriend, which I can't stop myself from doing as he hops to his feet, drawing far too much attention to himself as every crease in his white slacks and button up flattens out. I roll my eyes. Of course he gets to outdo me today. David will laugh when he gets the polaroid in the mail. "Look at you," I tease, "All bright and shiny again."
Maverick wrinkles his nose, "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
The twitch of his lip calls a bluff.
His little saunter maintains an unbearable distance.
I lurch forwards, seizing his leather jacket and jerking him through the unnecessary barrier. Our mouths collide. His hands flounder in the air beside my elbows; I've stunned him. I staunch the urge to smile, instead channeling the elation into the movement of my lips, until he's gotten the memo, and curled an arm around my lower back, bringing forwards and up a step. My foot perches atop his dress shoe, but we're undisturbed. The Jeep hums pleasantly in the background, a reminder that my RIO has a lovely view of the front porch. Nothing she hasn't seen before, I think of the secret polaroid clipped to her sunvisor. Undisturbed. An oddly accurate word, I guess, for the two of us, as we wrap ourselves around one another, shamelessly making out. The back of my uniform mouths a sound under Maverick's firm touch, accompanied by laughter simmering at the back of his throat. Our kisses lose momentum. They break in waves, a kiss, a breath in between, until our smiles throw a wrench in it and Maverick turns the tables on me. The tip of his nose roves the expanse of my cheek, leaving a trail of color in it's wake as he attempts to reach my neck. If I weren't stuck with this damned hairdo, I could've subdued him with my curly frill.
Now I've gotta push him off.
That requires self control.
Something I'm running low on.
These past two years have really worn me down.
"Pete—"
He stops immediately, recognizing the tone.
"Just so you know," He rasps, "You started this."
"Yeah, so I'm finishing it," I retort, and plant a chaste kiss to his nose.
Maverick squints.
He could be a cartoon, with an expression as animated as that.
"C'mon," I pick his hand off my waist and tether it to mine. "We've got a graduation to crash."
A wild exaggeration of the facts, of course, but it does the trick. What's the harm a little hyperbole? Maverick bends to collect his cap and jogs to stay in step as I hurry us to the driveway. Ghost cranks down the passenger window, chipper as can be. Maverick throws a wink and salute mid-spin towards the back seat.
"Morning, Ghost."
"Morning, Maverick. Sun's out. The tide's changing, can you feel it?"
He hugs the back of the passenger seat and takes a breath. "Yeah, feels like school's out, like freedom."
"Finally," I groan.
"Life is it's own school, one you'll never escape."
"Unless you die."
Ghost eyes me through the rear view mirror. "Hey, no morbid thoughts before twelve."
"Oopsie."
Laughing, Maverick slings an arm over my shoulder. We act like the adults we are and ignore the seat belts on either side of the car. Ghost must not have noticed, otherwise she would've pulled the Jeep over and demanded we strap in. I would've cared more, if I weren't totally whipped for the guy beside me. I can't keep my eyes off him the whole ride. The mid-morning sun flickers across the windows, poking honey spots in his skin. Each sunbeam picks the photo gradated strands from Maverick's thick hair, causing the illusion of artificial highlights. I finger each odd, blonde wisp, desperately giddy and in search of a fidget. I tell myself I'm excited, but I'm three-quarters nervous. And overjoyed to see Maverick so happy. I know he misses Goose, more than words can express, and the gut wrenching pain of experiencing this day without his RIO is always riding the tail of any positive emotion. That much is made clear by the pensive droop of his eyes, even when he's smiling like the idiot who serenaded me at a bar when I was blue. There's pieces of the old Maverick in his face, just as there's pieces of the old me. We're products of catastrophe, he and I. Like the wildlife after a volcanic eruption, the flame and ash may burn us to the ground, but the rain will come, and the sun will shine, like Ghost said, and we will grow back, richer and more beautiful than before. The scars will show, but they won't diminish.
At least, that's the hope.
We'll know for sure in time.
For now, I admire Maverick, content to look at the handsome pilot I scored on my road to recovery; and listen to the girl singing to Harry Nilsson at the wheel, an unexpected but needed friend.
The passenger seat feels empty.
I can think of someone who might've filled it.
Although I'd give everything for Goose to turn over the center counsel and smile at me from behind a pair of aviators, I can feel him all around us, filling the invisible.
My eyes fall towards Maverick's collar and chew the inside of my cheek, wondering if maybe soon, the time will come for him to relinquish Goose to the sea, where a true member of the Navy belongs.
>>>>>
This is no typical graduation. There's no gowns and caps. Thankfully, Charlie beat us here, and had the brains to save us each a seat. We cram in the final three chairs of the second row. None of us are hiding our nerves. Ghost's foot bounces off the concrete throughout Viper's entire speech; Maverick stares dead ahead, empty-eyed as his hands run circles around the lip of his cap. I tuck both hands under my thighs so I won't snap and hold Ghost's leg in place and take the cap out of Maverick's grasp. They're just fidgeting, I tell myself, we're all nervous, it's fine. Yeah, well, they're making me ten times more nervous with all their fidgeting. I know it's stupid to be this uneasy, I've worked my ass off all year, and yesterday's incident aside, I was a good student. It's not like they're gonna skip my name or anything. They wouldn't — would they? Viper told me he wouldn't withhold my graduation, he told me.
I believe him.
The butterflies keep coming.
Just when I'm ready to carve them out, Viper's parting words change course.
"And as you graduate and go off to do great things for your country and your loved ones, remember Goose."
The butterflies drop dead.
Ghost's leg is still.
Maverick's cap slips.
The microphone hums, covering Viper's hesitancy. All three of us watch as he grimaces and slides off his own cap, pressing it over his heart. Something pinches me hard. I jump, searching for a bug on my chair. Maverick and I lock eyes. There's tears in his, but confusion also. I glance at the metal for the culprit. Turns out it was no bug. Both are hands are awkwardly knitted, like they grabbed each other in a mindless panic. Along the pink and blue branches that splay beneath our skin, a periwinkle blossoms, faded to a pastel, like a an old bruise. Warmth swells. The tingling sirens of numbed nerve-endings blare along my hand but I forsake oxygen and cling to Maverick. Viper recounts the tragedy. He brings Goose to life before our very eyes, sharing more than we thought our instructor knew. Viper doesn't miss a beat. Goose's humor, compassion, confidence, and amiability boast through each and every story. And once the whole well's been drawn to our eyes, Viper drains it right out.
"Lieutenant Nickolas Bradshaw was a good friend to all of you. He was a good husband, and father. And his death, while tragic, is going to be one of many you'll experience throughout your Naval career. I don't wish the heartache on any of you, and I know all of us would bring Goose back if we could. Don't let his death be in vain. Remember Goose, when you struggle, remember Goose when you succeed, remember Goose when you lose comrades. Goose went into that cockpit because he loved to fly, and he loved America. He died for something great, so remember him as you go out and do something great."
The silence that follows is deafening.
I search my lungs for air, completely reeling through my own head like I've been plucked out of my body and shrunk. It's like Alice in Wonderland meets cinema as I tumble through film-tape after tape of memories saturated with Goose. All sensation has left my right hand. I'm closing my eyes, caught between the urge to fall apart and the desperate need to keep together when a familiar voice commandeers the microphone, promptly sucking me back up the rabbit hole.
"Now for the certificates of graduation. Lieutenant Tom "Iceman" Kazansky."
Applause bursts.
I wince.
The noise, my hand.
It's all...ouch.
Charlie reads off the names. Beside me, Ghost cheers passively. Kudos to her.
I don't even try.
Instead I tilt my body towards Maverick and pry our hands apart, allowing blood-flow back to our swollen fingertips. As our circulation corrects itself, Maverick relieves a sigh, and his face collapses in on itself. I shift closer, resting a hand on his back, not bothering to check who's behind us and whether they've noticed. Who gives a damn? Certainly not me. I gently lace my left hand with his right, massaging the no doubt numb digits that lay carelessly unfurled across his lap. With my other hand, I rub his back, and force myself to breath long and deep. It won't do either of us any good to panic. You've gotta put on your own oxygen mask before you put on anyone else's. So I steady myself. I drag a sleeve across the swamp that's become of my face, and in his own time, Maverick does the same.
Public pictures don't usually bother me, but I've never been so grateful for them in all my life. The picky families stall just long enough for me to adjust Maverick's collar, straighten the gold clip at the joint of his clavicle. He lifts his chin, taking in a pathetic puff of air through congested nostrils. I smile sympathetically and tweek his chin, causing Maverick to crack a small grin.
"You've got this." I tell him.
Maverick gulps and nods.
"Lieutenant Ron "Slider" Kerner."
Mav's next.
I peel my eyes away from the podium and smooth the creases in Maverick's sleeves anxiously. "Don't think about him," I blurt. "Don't...don't think about him if it's going to make this more difficult."
"I can't stop thinking about him."
Maverick's eyes dart over my head.
They're swimming.
Staunching the wound with a grim smile, I reach for Maverick's face, gently cupping his cheek and refocusing his gaze on me.
"Then think of him, sitting right here cheering you on, 'cause he is. He is."
Maverick turns his lips to the center of my palm. My eyes flutter shut for a halting second, but that's more than I can spare. As I reopen them, Maverick lends me a glance of soul-unzipping tenderness.
"They both are."
"Lieutenant Pete "Maverick" Mitchell."
Maverick scoops his cap off the ground, dusts it off, and slips it under his arm as he climbs over Ghost and I to make his way to the podium. The whole party cheers, none of them aware of Maverick's ties to the sob story of Viper's speech; none of them knowing what a champion they're clapping for. But I know. And I clap so hard, and so loud, my hands burn red-hot by the time he's made his way back down the aisle. Ghost doesn't cheer. Instead, she rises from her chair and pulls her trusty polariod camera from out of thin air, snapping a picture of Maverick holding his certificate beside a smidge less composed Charlie than the Charlie who gave the previous two graduates their certificates. Charlie claps intermittently, pausing to drag a well-manicured finger under her eye. Maverick finds me in the crowd. For the first time since stepping up front, he smiles. And his eyes drift to the gap between me and our personal cameraman, and a jolt passes through me. Maverick's smile wavers. I bite my lip, scanning the Goose-less space. He's still not ready.
Will he ever be?
That's not fair, I muse.
No one can be ready so soon...that would take a miracle.
Or an incredibly strong, adaptable person.
Funny.
That description only brings one name to mind...
Maverick stops on his way back to shake Viper's hand.
Ghost gets her second polaroid.
"Liuetenant Megan "Ghost" O'Rourke."
I take the polaroid camera and shove her down the aisle, screaming and hollering up a storm. Goose wishes he was half as loud as me. Maverick and I fumble with the camera, each wanting to take a photo. In the end we get three, one is a blurry mess. Rather artistic. Very Monet. Ghost is beet red when she rejoins us. I coil an arm around her waist and hug the daylights out of her. Words can't express how proud I am of my best friend.
We sit in a casual embrace until it's my name that Charlie calls out.
It's been forever since I've heard my full name used by someone other than my Mama. I almost feel in trouble, going up to accept the certificate from my guardian angel. Well, there might be trouble if she keeps looking at me like I've grown my own pair of wings. Charlie's lower lip trembles as she fights for a smile. Our hands brush as I take the certificate. Maverick is cheering, Ghost is holding her breath for the perfect polaroid, and all my classmates and their families and their plus ones are swarming the air with the clash of hands like a storm of fireworks setting off in a thunderous roar. The microphone may still be on, but it couldn't hope to catch our voices over the mayhem. So I take the bait, unashamed.
"Thank you, Charlie, for believing in me, for doing what you felt was right for me. No one's looked after me like you have. And no one will ever mean as much to me as you do. You really are an angel, you know."
Charlie bows her head, laughing tears.
"I don't know about that," She remarks with a shake of her head, "But I know you're amazing, Stirrups. You're stronger than you think, and I'm so proud of you."
I nod once, and make my exit.
Viper throws me a wink as I pass. Grinning, I wink back.
That sure makes him laugh, and Cougar scowl. Ha.
Ghost hands me the photos she took once I sit down. We pour over them while Merlin, Sundown, and Wolfman are called; the last three names on Charlie's list. I show Ghost the blurry polaroid Maverick and I got and she laughs, vowing to keep it forever. Maverick stretches an arm over the back of my chair, a throwback to the early days of Top Gun. Before the confession; before the kiss. Before us. I remember how bad I had it for him, now that hindsight has allotted me some clarity. Gosh, I was so blind. So wrapped up in my hurt, I couldn't even read the shivers he sent down my spine with every whisper, every touch. Don't even get me started on the smirks and witty banter.
How could I have been so dumb?
As if he's read my mind, Maverick leans in and whispers lowly in my ear.
"We made it."
"Yeah we did."
His short laugh tickles my cheek. "You know what that means right?"
I grin.
Yeah, I know what that means.
>>>>>
Wow. The reception is huge. Let's just say, if this were a wedding, finding the bride wold be harder than finding a needle in a haystack. Every way you turn, there's a white tide there to greet you. The size of our graduating class alone couldn't possibly cause such a disorienting colorless sea. Fellow Top Gun students, friends within the staff, and of course the array of instructors, fill in the gaps until only the 'plus ones' in their summer dresses bleed color into the gathering. Someone's brought a cassette deck. A shuffle of radio hits scores the mingling as an orchestra might a play. I catch wind of familiar lyrics, suddenly recognizing the leader of Heart's voice and smile softly. Well, well, Vixen found her way here after all. I resist the urge to stand on tippy-toes and scan the crowd for the tape player. I don't need to see it to imagine my RIO kicking her heels beside the speakers, rocking blissfully to the music as she runs a perfectly manicured hand through her bushy red locks. Damn her, I huff with a grin, she'd put us all to shame in that white uniform.
Perhaps it's best she isn't here then.
Bullshit, a small voice inside of me hisses. You'd give anything to have her here.
Yeah...I would, if anything I could give would bring her back.
But it wouldn't.
Same goes for Goose.
So I shake off nostalgia and yearning and turn towards the two, living, breathing friends I do have.
"I think we might be the only girls wearing white."
Ghost hums, "I think it might stay that way."
Maverick throws her a look. "Meaning?"
"Well," She blushes. I follow her gaze to a particular set of girls hanging off Slider's arms. Both of their dresses are rather short...and...a bit uh, purposefully cut near the neck. Don't get me wrong, the girls wear the dresses well. The lime print and red polka-dots suit each owner, but I'd wager ten bucks they didn't chose their outfits for the prints. Slider catches my eye and smirks. Maverick curls an arm around around my waist. Neither girl notices the tense exchange. They blabber on, all sighs and giggles, further proving Ghost's timid explanation, "They haunt the bars the aviators frequent, waiting for a day to hang off an arm so when the night comes, their pretty little dresses have served their purpose. Those typically aren't the sort of girls to chart a course and persevere it. With their luck, they'll be the line of colorful dresses at the white's side."
Maverick drags the back of his hand across his mouth, like that can hide the laugh that bounces off his shoulders.
"Or," I add, "They'll realize guys like Slider aren't worth their time and they'll find themselves a Maverick and get their white dress."
"Here, here," Ghost smiles.
The three of us loiter in the center of the party, laughing at the girls and the guys, judging people together, as all good friends do, until Ghost sees her 'maverick' somewhere down the line and hurries off. She invited us to tag along, but one look at Maverick's face says that's a terrible idea so I suggest a drink first. He slithers his hand from my side to my wrist, and I awkwardly check if the coast is clear before accepting the gesture. The knot tightens as Maverick propels himself forward, hovering his lips by my ear.
"We're good now, you know that right? They can't expel us now that we've graduated."
"Yeah, but we're still in the Navy, Mav. They can report us to wherever we get deployed."
Maverick rolls his eyes, "Maybe you're the one who needs a drink."
"Maybe a drink isn't such a good idea after all, considering what happened last time —"
"Hey."
We pause in a wad of people. None of whom I recognize. Family members, dates, and servicemen, unaware Maverick's hand on my neck; his thumb grazing the muscle spasm along my jaw. I swallow hard, overwhelmed by the sensations he stirs up. The sting of heartache that I find in the veins of his irises and the knee-buckling affection that his undivided attention and straying touches induce. Despite the fearful twinge in my gut at the thought of being discovered by someone less merciful than Viper, I raise a trembling hand to meet Maverick's. The calloused pads of my fingers grate against the cracks in his knuckles.
Laughter swells around us, but neither of us are laughing.
"It was one time, Remi. One. You apologized. I forgave you for it. You're allowed to forgive yourself."
"Yeah," I mumble, "Gosh, you've been spending too much time with Ghost."
"What?" He cracks a grin, "A man can't be eloquent?"
I spin out of his grasp with a scoff. We run into Merlin at the bar. A part of me expects the worst. Won't everyone hate us for drinking ourselves out of the final dog-fight? Maverick was already ragging on everyone's nerves, and let's be honest, I've been the black sheep since I arrived. Against all odds, Merlin is polite. He introduces us to his brother and sister-in-law while we wait for the caterer to uncork another bottle of champagne. I can feel Maverick nervously reaching for my hand behind his back, but I blatantly refuse him, half-teasing. The frustration practically billows off of him. I stifle a grin, answering Merlin's sister-in-law's questions about being a female pilot and so on. She's nice in concentrate. It's almost potent. I'm afraid to stop smiling, so I stretch my face thin, eternally grateful for the glasses of champagne set along the bar. Maverick finally grabs a hold of me, linking our arms after we've grabbed our drinks. I take an extra for Ghost.
The couple waves goodbye as we drift through the crowd.
"Let's find Ghost," I sigh.
"That for her?"
"Yeah, unless I drink it first."
"She's a smiler, huh?" Maverick teases.
"Don't get me started."
A narrow passage through the throng leads to the refreshments table where our class has just about taken over. I notice Sundown and Wolfman at the end of the table. Wolf picks at a dangerously low supply of chips and Sundown immediately smacks it out of his hand. They snap at each other for a second before they see me, watching, and smile shyly. I burst out laughing. Well, so much for appearances. We're all still absolute apes, devouring chips and knocking back bubbly.
"Leave me some Doritos will you?"
"First come, first serve, Stirrups!" Wolfman shouts.
I stick out my tongue. "Enjoy you're stomach ache, Wolf!"
"Go screw yourself!"
"Hey!" Maverick snaps.
They pipe down suddenly.
There's no way in Hell Wolfman would cower away from Maverick, especially when he's filling the shoes of protective-boyfriend.
I turn around in time to see Viper push his way towards us, a glass in hand, and twinkle in his eye. He certainly cleans up nice, although the Sunday-best doesn't quite cover his staple of subtle intimidation. Well that explains it then, I chuckle. Last thing Viper needs are two of his suspended students wreaking havoc because of a secret romance and a deplenished bowl of chips. Only we would get involved in such a stupid exchange. It appears I'm not the only one who knows. Viper halts a foot or so away and sips champagne through a crumpled smirk. I glance at Maverick, who hasn't once looked Viper directly in the eye. It's odd that Maverick would go cold on Viper so suddenly. I mean he shook his hand not ten minutes ago. Could he be holding a grudge? Understandable. He did suspend us. But Maverick wasn't present for the screaming match. Well, let's be honest, the one sided screaming match that was more of a 'I was screaming and Viper was calmly rebuking' match. Whatever grudge Maverick's holding, it can't be half as deserved as mine. He was quitting anyhow...I wasn't. And I'm the one who had to walk out of Top Gun like a kid with a dunce-cap. Yet somehow, I manage to look Viper in the eye with ease.
The champagne helps a little.
So does Maverick's hand on my back.
"Glad you could make it," Viper remarks, "I was hoping to find you two, then I heard the raucous and thought, 'that must be Maverick and Stirrups.' I'll be honest," He combs two fingers over his mustache, smoothing the salt and pepper hair to his upper-lip. The sun flickers, positioning itself in a conveniently torturous spot above our heads, causing Viper's nose to crinkle and brows knit. I pout and shade my eyes under my hand. Maverick stares beyond Viper's shoulder, unbothered. "I thought you wouldn't make it...but I suppose something — or someone — made you see reason. For my part, I'd like to think that was me."
Viper bends his gaze on Maverick before swallowing the last of his drink.
A nibbling puzzlement leaves me wondering if I've missed something. It's probable. I mean, I'm not exactly the most astute. Then again, I shouldn't have to be when it comes to Maverick. He should tell me. Tell me what? I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I'd like to know. Viper speaks again. Guess I'll have to take a rain check.
"I assume you've heard already...the points have been tallied and reviewed. Iceman's been named Top Gun Graduate of the Year, 1st in your class. He and Slider will have their names added to the plaque."
Damn.
He really did it.
The son of a bitch really came out on top...
After all the struggle...the paralyzing fear of crashing again; Dash's bullying; the agonizing recovery period, constantly double-checking my reactions and coping mechanisms with trauma and panic. The relentless uphill battle to stabilize myself, adjust to the new dynamic with Ghost, and the ever present challenge of simply competing with experienced partners who've been at Top Gun since the beginning of the school-year, all of it, for nothing? Not nothing, I tell myself. Surviving, coming out on the other end...all in one piece, healthy, happy...that's a win on it's own. True as it may be, it's a poor comfort. Maybe it's in my competitive nature to be a sore loser, or maybe I really thought I could win this for her.
I'm sorry, Vix...
By now I should know better than to expect a response. Months have passed since I tossed her tags into the sea. I haven't heard her voice once. Still, sometimes I find myself listening, in hopes that I'll catch wind of her laugh, or the muffled rise and fall of her breath, reminding me that she's here with me, one way or another, watching as I travel the path we wanted to take together. I wonder what she thinks of Ghost. If she felt betrayed. No, she couldn't have felt betrayed. At least, that's the conclusion I typically come to after minutes of silent debating. Vixen wanted me to move on from her. She wasn't there to set me straight, I was holding her down to run from acceptance. Grief is a bitch like that. Totally screws with your logic.
Toys with your feelings.
Makes you pissed you didn't win a stupid trophy and your name on some bronze as if that will fill the hole in your heart.
Two holes, I amend, sparing a sympathetic eye for Maverick, who looks about ready to bust a third in Iceman's skull.
Viper summons a grimace, "Top Gun, despite it's name, isn't everything. It takes more than coming top of your class to become a great pilot."
"It sure wouldn't hurt though."
"No," Viper laughs quietly, "No, it wouldn't...but great pilots are those who overcome adversity, who think outside the box, and are willing to take risks for the greater good. Three virtues I've seen in both of you, all year long."
Maverick looks up finally, squinting from the sun.
Viper sticks out a hand.
Maverick switches out his glass of champagne and accepts the gesture. I bite back a grin as they share a firm shake of masculine-appreciation.
"You're old man stayed with it to the end, son. You've got a lot more guts than even he had. Don't let it go to waste. Don't quit."
A 'yes sir,' would be polite, but who am I kidding? This is Maverick. He doesn't offer much more than a grim nod. Viper shakes his head. We lock eyes, clearly unimpressed with the third party.
"You've come a long way, Stirrups," He smiles. "I'm proud of you."
My heart swells.
"Thank you, sir."
"If you two have any kids, and they get accepted to Top Gun...let me know will you?" Viper winks, "I'll make sure to retire."
We laugh as he disappears in the crowd.
"Looks like we've worn him out, huh, Mav?"
"Yeah," Maverick chuckles, sipping his champagne, "We sure are hard to handle."
I bite back a laugh and start scanning for Ghost, only to realize she's found us first. Iceman trails behind like a banner, marking her path as she blazes it. He's got at least five inches on her — not that it's a great feat. Maverick and I are a taller than her. Goose of course was practically Goliath. A lanky, ivory-tickling Goliath. What you might call I gentle giant, I suppose. The majority of the class ranges somewhere between Maverick and Goose height wise, so Ghost goes unseen, until she slips through a break in the crowd, tugging Iceman along by their intertwined hands. I knock back a gulp of bubbly. It's too sweet to do much good, but I'll take what I can get. Forgive him, Ghost told me. He did what he thought was right, she said. Yeah, well, right or wrong, he's a dirty snitch, and I'm not in the mood to deal with him. By the looks of it, Maverick's even more uncomfortable. Why? I can't begin to imagine.
"There you are! We were going to find you but we kept getting stopped by everyone's family. I haven't shook so many hands since graduating Highschool."
Ghost laughs in an out of breath manner.
Iceman nods mutely.
Good, we're not the only uncomfortable ones.
I hand Ghost a glass.
"Oh, thanks, Stirrups."
"Don't mention it. We're all going to need one before this is over."
"Or more than one," Ghost mumbles into her drink.
Chuckling, we clink glasses.
"I guess congratulations are in order."
Maverick brushes passed me, his champagne once again changing hands as he approaches Iceman. A pin drops. I shoot Ghost a worried look. It soars over her head. She's entirely too calm, and it persuades me to watch and wait against my will. Nobody breathes, nobody moves. The rest of the event circles around us. The hurricane, we're the eye. Maverick takes us completely by surprise. Wordlessly, he sticks out a hand. Iceman lifts his chin, a cold, haughty glint in his eye. I grit my teeth, anticipating the smirk — oh, there it is. Smug as all get out, like he's won some sort of prize. Sure, he's got his name on the plaque, but that's not what he's proud of. No, he's enjoying Maverick's acceptance like it's an act of submission. As if graduating first of the class means Maverick's lost and Iceman's won, and the competition is over.
Like Hell it is.
If anybody knows Maverick, it's me, and he'd rather die than roll over for Iceman of all people.
"You put up a good fight, Maverick," Iceman muses.
Bastard.
"We can't all be the best."
I watch Maverick's hand twitch away, seconds before Iceman finally takes it, and they shake stiffly. The champagne gurgles in my stomach. I glance at Ghost again. This time, we stare mournfully at each other. And even though there's no hiding the bitterness in my soul, it doesn't disturb the shared heartache of wanting our boyfriends to get along. I know it's biased of me, to want peace on the terms of Iceman having a change of heart and attitude; all the while despising and wanting nothing to do with him. It's no secret that everyone has flaws. I've done nothing but wrestle with mine all year long. And Maverick isn't perfect either. He's hurt me a couple of times. I think back to the fight after the funeral. How he raised his voice, turned me away. Let me run miles and miles just to get home — to get away from him.
And I still forgave him.
Is it so hard to believe Ghost and Iceman can do the same?
Screw up and forgive each other?
Maybe not so hard to believe, but pretty damn difficult to accept.
Especially with Iceman's shit eating smile.
Maverick steps back and stuffs his Iceman-sullied hand in his pocket.
The champagne takes the reins.
"You're lucky Top Gun doesn't deduct points for sportsmanship, Ice."
"Stirrups—"
Iceman scoffs, "I'm not responsible for other people's feelings. I won because I'm a good pilot. I don't let my emotions get in the way, like some."
"Tom—"
Ghost wedges herself between us.
"That should've called you Machine," I seeth, "Cause that's all you are, Iceman. A heartless machine. Did you ever stop to think emotions can be an asset? That if you actually care about things, you might have passion, and determination? Not everything good is calculated. That's half a pilot's job. The other half is instinct — feeling. You might wanna remember that before your textbook maneuvers betray you out there in the real world."
"Stirrups," Ghost murmurs. "That's enough. You've made your point."
"I know, I'm just waiting for it to drill into through his concrete skull. Or will it ever? Huh, Ice? 'Cause I'm so sick and tired of trying to forgive you and then having it blow up in my face."
"Forgive me?" Iceman sneers. "For what? Not letting one tragedy get me down? I'm not touchy feely, Stirrups, but I'm not a psychopath, I am sorry about Goose, but coddling Maverick isn't the answer. Maybe you can't see that because you're biased."
"And you aren't?"
Maverick grabs my arm, "I'm right here. I can defend myself."
"I know—"
"So defend yourself, Mav," Iceman scoffs. "If you feel so offended. What was it you said about bad sportsmanship, Stirrups?"
Ghost hides her face in her hands.
"Piss off, Ice," Maverick's tone is level and uncharacteristically cool. "You gave us a run for our money, but you always had the leg up. We may have got the short end of the stick, but we did what we could with it, and if you have a problem with that, you can screw yourself." I blink — and Maverick leads me away, pausing a breath away from Iceman to add, "Enjoy your trophy."
Everything's moving all at once. I'm craning my neck for a glimpse of my distraught RIO, distracted by the pleading grip Maverick's got on my wrist, and constantly redirected towards Ice's lofty stare. His confident exoskeleton sets my teeth on edge. No way in Hell is he unaffected by Maverick's reproach. No way. I contemplate digging my heels in for a final jab but fate intervenes. Before hands are thrown and a perfectly fine graduation blown to smithereens, Viper calls us towards the refreshments. Maverick freezes mid-step. The lock and drop of his shoulders bleeds his hand. I close my eyes, beyond pissed. It's not just Ice. Gosh, I'm angry at seemingly everyone. Viper for interrupting, Iceman for being a stuck-up douchebag, and worst of all, I'm mad at God for putting Maverick through the ringer. I should know better than that. I should, but I can't stamp out the violent flames wreathing the clammy touch of disappointment that gnaws at my heart on Maverick's behalf. The odds aren't even slightly in his favor. He's fighting an uphill battle, mostly tripping and crawling his way to the crest, and days like this are just another log in his path.
If only punching Iceman would make it all go away.
That's all I want.
To take it from him.
The grief, the depression.
There's only one person who can do that...and raging at Him isn't gonna help.
"Stirrups."
Ghost taps my shoulder. The sudden twisting action necessary to meet her eye slips my wrist through Maverick's fingertips. Regret overtakes me the moment Ghost's hollow face comes into view. Can eyes deflate? Can faces? Ghost's eyes have always been striking. A bold, bordering on electric blue. The sort of saturated hue you'd see in artificial objects, plastic and chemical and rubber. Take balloons for example. It's almost backhanded, I think, to equate eyes so gorgeous to a plastic helium cocoon. At the end of the day, both can deflate. And at the prick of a pin, what was once stunning and full of life, droops empty. It's unsettling. My Ghost? Unhappy?
Soul-sucked is more like.
Fire catches.
I glare at Iceman's retreating figure.
When I glance back at Ghost, the deflation has spread.
It weighs her head down.
She can't even look at me.
Wait.
Did I do this?
"Ghost—"
"It's ok," She mutters, "Come on."
Without waiting for Maverick and I, Ghost inches her way forwards. I'd swallow if my tongue hadn't swelled over twice it's size, plugging my throat. I feel sick.
Maverick gently prods me towards the rest of the class.
I grab at the back of my neck, resisting the urge to rip out my bun and relieve the awful tension in my skull.
"I'm an idiot."
"No you're not," Maverick replies. "I wouldn't be dating you if you were."
"Oh well that's reassuring."
We reach Viper before Maverick has a chance at a comeback. I eye him smugly, though my heart's only half in it. Ghost stands beside Hollywood, avoiding eye contact with me and Iceman. I can't tell if she's mad at Maverick too, or if she feels too sorry for him to be upset when he retaliates. So that's all it takes to get off scott-free? Trauma? Wish that'd worked when I got backseated.
And here I was, thinking I'd gotten over that.
"Gentlemen. Ladies," Viper glances between his two female students, no doubt perceiving the unrest at play. He's far too observant not to have noticed. I shuffle my feet, sticky and uncomfortable with his keen eyes on me. I feel Maverick's sympathetic gaze pass over me, a much welcome breeze. "I hate to break up the party, but some of you must depart immediately. We have a crisis situation on our hands."
Immediately?
I peek at Maverick but he's beaten me to it, already pegging me with the unspoken question of immediately immediately?
Cougar leafs through a stack of papers, reading off call signs and handing off slips at record time. The first two names off the list come as no surprise.
"Ice, Slider."
"Yo."
Whoever gave Iceman a piece of gum should be ashamed of themselves. I roll my eyes, desperately trying to ignore his obnoxious smacking so near to my ear while he reaches for his assignment. Slider crowds in, both boys glancing over the paper.
"Hollywood, Wolfman."
"Excuse me."
I side step out of Hollywood's way. He smiles gratefully.
At least one of us has a decency to show some manners.
"Stirrups, Ghost."
I can hear the Windows theme as I commence shutdown. Two seconds is all it takes for Maverick to shove a hand between my shoulder blades, nudging me towards Cougar, who hardly acknowledges me as he holds up the slip. Oh gosh that's embarrassing. Shaky hands accept the assignment, in full view of the rest of the class. Great. So now I looks like a rogue and a coward. Rogue Pilot I can live with. Coward? I'll show them. When the smoke's in the air and tensions are high, we won't back down.
We.
Ghost approaches meekly.
I hold the envelope in between us, about to rip into it when the final name is called.
"Maverick."
Ghost lets out an audible gasp. I just freeze, every inch of me jammed like gears lacking grease, excluding my head, which jerks upwards, immediately centering my gaze on Maverick. Emotional turmoil and self-doubt aside, he's rather assertive all of a sudden — addressing Cougar, who neither of us much like, as 'sir.' Must have been exactly what our heartless instructor wanted to hear. Whatever stick is up his ass comes lose and he smirks, the closest thing to a genuine smile I've ever seen him show. The slip exchanges hands, and Maverick stays where he is, tearing the envelope open. Ghost clears her throat lightly. I startle. Oh right — the two of us share a look. An awkward, are you ready? that shouldn't sting half as bad as it does. I swallow the distaste of our tension and offer her the assignment. My cheesy excuse for an olive branch.
"You do the honors," I murmur, directly staring into her eyes.
She hesitates.
For a heart stopping second I fear she'll reject the peace offering.
But she's Ghost. She's my loyal, compassionate friend and partner. She wouldn't leave me stranded like that...especially not before the biggest adventure yet. Unlike the boys, who've practically mauled their envelopes to get to the guts, Ghost takes her sweet time, minding the seal and with perfectly trimmed nails peels back the fold. Despite the tremor of her hands, she manages to open the assignment without more than a couple minor tears. I bite back a laugh. Good call. Had I opened it, we might've lost a chunk of the assignment. Wouldn't that've been fun...
As we read over the details of our first real mission, I hear Viper speak up. Hearing Maverick's name piques my interest. Viper mentions a RIO —
Right. The print scrambles before my very eyes, muddled by an onslaught of anxious thoughts. This will be Maverick's first real flight and with a stranger no less.
I gnaw my bottom lip, already anticipating what that'll mean for him.
Frustration.
Disappointment.
Uncertainty.
The top half of the assignment assures me that this mission is the simplest operation anyone could hope for. Although we're the best of the best, we're still green. Everything we think we know is strictly in hypotheticals and competitions. All year, we've been fighting each other and our instructors with a video-game mentality. You die? You reset. But this? This piece of paper changes that. Tomorrow, when we suit up and climb into the cockpit, we're making the decision to put our actual lives on the line. Tomorrow goes beyond ego; beyond points. Whatever shit we have going on when our feet are on the ground, can't afford to piggy-back us to the skies. There's gonna be pissed off enemy pilots, trying to blow holes in our jets and take us out of each other's lives, out of our families lives, out of our relationships. A pit sags against the outer edge of my stomach, disrupting my breathing, my digestion, my train of thought. Blood like wing beats thrum in my ear as I think of Carol and Bradley and the pain they'll feel for the rest of their lives because of a technical error. The emptiness that'll haunt them forever, that's what we risk, accepting these assignments.
It's a risk we're all willing to take...
But —
Can we all handle it?
I peek at each pilot: Iceman, Hollywood, Maverick...
Can he handle it?
A seed of doubt slathers me in guilt. It's sticky and sour and smells atrocious. I resent myself for letting it in so easily, but I'm scared. I'm scared for him — for Maverick. Scared that his skewed judgement will betray him, and God forbid...take him away from me.
Take one more person I love away from me.
"Hey, breathe, Stirrups, breathe."
Ghost's hand, on my arm, rubbing. Up and down, up and down.
I shake my head and draw a small breath, "I'm fine."
She nods, but she doesn't believe my bullshit.
Good.
One of us needs their lie detector in shape.
"You'll get your RIO when you get to the ship —" Viper explains, still talking to Maverick. "but if you don't..."
If you don't?
I spot Viper, standing beside Cougar, an affectionate light behind his omnipotent eyes.
"Give me a call, I'll fly with you."
Maverick swallows thickly, the beginnings of a smile teasing either corner of his mouth. His hands tremble — that makes three of us, I snort — and he lowers the paper, standing at attention. "Sir."
Viper nods and stalks off.
Slowly, Maverick turns to meet my eye.
I grin.
He blushes.
Gosh, this boy...Will he ever know just how many people are cheering him on? How many of us would break our backs to help him along? Does he know how afraid I am of losing him? He can't know, I decide. He can't have anymore distractions. Besides, what kind of wingman would I be to let my boyfriend...I choke on the thought of him...you know...not coming back.
So make him come back.
I glance at the paper I've strangled between my hands and swear on Goose's grave that I'll bring Maverick home in one piece if it's the last thing I do.