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

liability. All the head of Human Resources would say was they knew, but still offered you the job. You’re probably also aware if you’re fired it will be impossible to get another flying job, anywhere.”

Erik felt the blood rushing to his head and knew his cheeks were aflame. O’Brien’s eyes seemingly indicated he was enjoying this.

“The only way to hold on to your job is to pay off your entire debt by the deadline. You know the consequences if you don’t.”

“That’s not possible,” Erik stammered, a large lump forming in his throat.

“That’s not my problem.”

“It’s not like I used the money for drugs or gambling. I borrowed it for flying lessons.”

“I don’t give a shit. And don’t think what Shepard said will protect you. You’re running on empty, mister and better come up with something, fast.”

The furrows in O’Brien’s face seemed even more pronounced, highlighting his importance in Erik’s life at the moment. His career might still be salvaged if he could somehow get the needed cash, somewhere. “What if I repay the loan in full by the deadline?”

“That’s your only option.” O’Brien waited a long moment and added, “Or, I’ll allow you to resign, now. At least this way you might be able to find another flying job.” He slid an official, typed document across the desk. “Of course, you’ll still have to reimburse us for the training costs.”

Erik couldn’t believe O’Brien had a typed resignation letter ready for his signature.

“No! I, I worked too long, too hard for this job. Plus, I’d owe even more.”

“You have two weeks.”

An icy dread immediately formed in Erik’s brain. Everything seemed so remote, so surreal it was as though he was seeing O’Brien through a telescope with an out of focus lens. His brain pounded and his mind flew faster than a jet. Searing hot tears involuntarily sprang from his eyes, ran down his cheeks and onto his neck, staining his collar, while his throat burned from refluxed stomach acid. “But, but this job is everything to me.”

“Oh, please! You think I’m running a day care center here? You should’ve considered that beforehand. Your failure to repay definitely fits the definition of being fiscally irresponsible.” O’Brien got up from his chair and turned away. “You know your choices. Pull the door closed as you leave.”

O’Brien disliked Preis even more. No doubt he had everything handed to him on a silver platter because of his good looks. The personnel pencil pushers probably gave him the job because he fit their handsome airline pilot image. Hell, they probably fawned over him. O’Brien couldn’t wait ‘til two weeks passed to fire him. After Erik departed he picked up the phone and reported to upper management what had transpired. This way when it came time for his pink slip there would be no overriding him.

.     .     .

Erik just sat in his parked car for several moments with blurred vision, silently watching the fuzzy-looking jets taking off and landing through the sun drenched windshield. A sense of isolation came over him. Would it be fight or flight? He recalled the words of a friend who had stated that life was really hell. It wasn’t fire and brimstone but the here and now. Erik had thought it asinine, but he now agreed. He finally drove off with the punishing knowledge he had two weeks to come up with forty grand. Unlike the Rolling Stones, time wasn’t on his side. He’d fight, but would need help.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

He had no other choice, so only with great reluctance Erik would ask his father for a loan, hoping he would help even though his heart knew better. If there was the slightest chance of success, this had to be accomplished before the old man embarked upon his nightly booze ritual and subsequent descent into the womb of an alcoholic haze.

“Dad, there’s an important matter I need to speak about with you.”

“What is it?” looking like he was poured into his chair, his voice thick. The bottle was almost empty. Was he already hammered? His mother also sat down as Erik explained what happened, the deadline he was up against and what the consequences would be. A loan meant he could avoid all these problems and would repay the full amount, with interest, starting the following year. When Erik finished an ugly silence engulfed the room as an unshaven Joe lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and in a raspy smoker’s voice asked, “What type of a person are you, really?”

“I borrowed the money to pursue a career, to be a success. And I’m almost to the finish line.” Erik continued. “When 9/11 came along everything changed. People became frightened of flying and the tailwind was taken out of the pilot job market.”

A seemingly-reflective Joe replied in alcohol-soured breath Erik could smell from across the room. “I don’t have that amount.”

“Could you borrow it? A home equity loan might—”

Joe lifted the glass and interrupted. “I’m not going to do that. Like the bank, you’ll probably stiff me.” More silence. “What would then happen to my credit rating?” he shot back with a sweeping arm gesture, his arms almost knocking the bottle off the antique end table. He collared it before it fell. “I could lose this house.”

“But my entire life is on the line,” Erik begged, his fear turning to panic.

“I don’t owe you a thing. You should have thought about that before. It’s the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs for you and you just struck out. I want you to leave, right now and for good,” Joe sputtered with animosity coming through loud and clear.

“I ask for help and instead you’re throwing me out?” Erik said in disbelief, breathing in and out through his mouth, trying to keep the twenty-plus year reservoir of rage from breaking his personal dam.

A livid Joe lifted his right palm up to his face. “This says, out.” Then he lifted the left. “Oh, too bad, this one says the same