Flying Too Close to the Sun by George Jehn (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

give it a whirl. When the man agreed, his heart pounded, not from first-timer fright but rather from the mere thought of being able to soar when and where he wanted. There’s a school of thought that says great pilots are born not made and that fit Erik. He and the plane seemingly became one as the way he handled the plane the very first day was as smooth as glass, no jerky movements, no over-controlling. His touch was so velvety his buddy’s Dad commented on how good he was. Those were the only words needed to head for the sky. A slight smile crossed his lips recalling the pent-up current of life released, making it easy for the huge transition from not knowing where he was headed to aviation highflyer. The feeling rushing throughout his body made him wonder if there really was such a thing as destiny because like a freedom flight, aviation became his personal morphine, dulling the home life pain. He wanted to become an airline pilot and every second thereafter was devoted to achieving that singular goal. It was a risky endeavor to live small yet dream so large, but without risk there could be no reward. So he stepped outside into an entirely new world, living nothing but aviation and had finally arrived at the desired destination, but now wondered if it would last.

Ursula Preis pulled into the driveway as Erik was closing the front door. He walked over to her squeaky clean Volkswagen, sparkling so much in the sunshine he had to put his shades on. “Hi, Mom. Let me guess. You went to the beauty parlor and then got your car washed?” he offered with a toothy smile and green eyes comfortably hidden behind his sunglasses. Like the landscaping, her golden mane was perfectly coiffed; not a blade of grass or single hair out of place. The hairstyle’s soft waves accentuated her pleasant-looking, still wrinkle-free face and fair complexion, while the soft summer weight indigo cotton dress highlighted her deep sapphire-blue eyes, just like the dark red roses underscored the deep green color of the lawn.

“Why, yes,” she replied without looking directly at him and gently patting the right side of her head. “But why are you home so early?” she asked in a very soft voice with only a faint hint of an accent. “No students today?”

The car’s air conditioner was running full blast and Erik could feel the undulating waves of cool air mixing with the breeze carrying a whiff of her roses with it.

“I do have students today, but I came home to shower and change.” Pointing to his armpits, he added, “sehr ubelriechend, very smelly.”

Ignoring his German comment out of innate fear he could understand the language, a frowning Ursula inquired in English, “Will you be home for dinner?”

There was no hesitation. “No. I have a new student at four. The first-timers normally take a while. I won’t be finished ‘til later.” He purposely lied, as introductory lessons never lasted long because the beginner was usually jittery and also ubelriechend. “Don’t wait for me.”

“You are always rushing off lately. We hardly talk much, if at all. Even your father says—”

“What does he say?” Erik interrupted, raising his voice. “Since when does he want to speak with me?”

“Erik!” his mother shouted, with what he dubbed the pissed-off Kraut expression contorting her lovely face, “He really does care.”

“Really? Since when? Why do you always take his side?”

“If only you would try—” she began in a tortured voice suddenly as angst-ridden as if someone had stuck pins under her long, polished fingernails.

“We’ve driven down this road a hundred times. I gotta go or I’ll be late.” He turned away ending any further discussion. Yet in his car he slammed both hands hard on the steering wheel. It wasn’t her fault his father was like Attila the Hun. Or was it? What kind of person was she; really? That was scary stuff he still didn’t even want to contemplate. Nonetheless he felt a pang of sorrow for her, which was easy to do if he blanked out everything prior to the last five minutes. Taking a shot at making amends, he waved goodbye while pulling away. But it went unnoticed as Ursula Preis walked up the driveway with her back to the rest of the world and into the unsullied silence of the perfect house.

CHAPTER NINE

Upon entering the seemingly deserted flight school office a short time later, Erik thought his first-timer had decided not to show. But Andrea whispered. “Your new student’s here,” adding with a nod that jiggled the huge knot of hair, “the skinny one.”

“Wow,” Erik exclaimed with a smile. “Who is she? Definitely not Sal Rodriguez.” He immediately took special note of the slender and perhaps somewhat tomboyish appearing raven-haired girl sitting off in a corner near the water fountain dressed in a light blue pullover, contrasting dark, tight-fitting jeans and tiny white sneakers. Even only thumbing through a magazine a certain aura surrounded her. The diffused light from the summer sun streaming through the window made her appear as though she was on stage instead of seated on a couch.

“She claims she’s Carol Rodriguez.”

“When I saw the name in the flight schedule I pictured some pain-in-the-ass, over-eager 18-year-old kid. I never expected—”

Turning away from Andrea when he felt his cheeks aflame, Erik quickly strode to the young student pilot and eagerly extended his hand. “Miss Rodriguez? I’m Erik, Erik Preis,” he offered in a low, hopefully very masculine voice. “I’ll be your flight instructor.” Erik felt dumbstruck as she had small breasts above a flat stomach, skin as flawless and smooth as the ivories on a piano keyboard and delicate features to boot. She was so sexy Erik didn’t want to shake hands but take her in his arms.

Carol Rodriguez jumped up on slender legs like a girls’ coach would instruct students to do with their nubile bodies, so quickly that as her hand extended