Losing Sight of Love (standard:romance, 1610 words)
Author: KShaw	Added: Aug 17 2005	Views/Reads: 3711/2386	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
There's no telling when love will come, maybe just at the point where love is let go.

Sitting on the airport apron I run down a list of last checks before
contacting the tower. The weather is perfect for the hour flight to 
Petaluma. I hit the radio switch and call the tower. 

“Monterey, clearance Cessna Golf-Oscar-Lima IFR to 069, ready to copy.” 

“Golf-Oscar-Lima is cleared 069 airport as filed. Fly runway heading,
climb and maintain 6000. Departure frequency is 127.15, squawk 0445” 

I repeat the message and set my radio frequency. The tower responds: 

“Cessna G-O-L read back is correct. Contact ground on 121.9 when ready
to taxi. Good day.” 

“Contact ground on 121.9 when ready to taxi. Good day, sir.” I switch
the dial a couple of clicks to contact ground control. “Monterey 
ground, Cessna G-O-L with hotel, ready to taxi, IFR.” 

The response is crisp and female. “Cessna G-O-L taxi to and hold short
of runway 10 right. Contact tower on 118.4 when ready.” 

“Taxiing, 10 right, contact tower when ready.” 

I guide her down the taxiway wondering if I'll be in time, it's not that
I'll die if I don't make it to see her, but maybe she won't come by 
again soon. If ever. I check my rudder and flap controls, check fuel, 
check dial pressures. I'm in good shape. “Monterey Tower, Cessna G-O-L 
ready to go, runway 10 right. IFR to 069” 

“Cessna G-O-L you're cleared for take-off.” 

“Cleared take-off.” 

I push gently forward on the throttles, then further, then maximum. The
airplane bumps along the runway gleefully, gathering speed, sixty, 
seventy, eighty, ninety, both her engines humming at full throttle, 
‘rotate', her nose lifts, everything smoothes out. Five hundred feet 
and climbing, one thousand feet...my headphones receive the towers 
instructions: 

“Cessna G-O-L contact Monterey Departure on 127.15. Good day.” 

“127.15 Good Day, ma'am.” 

I click another notch on the radio. 

“Monterey Departure, Cessna G-O-L is at one thousand two hundred,
climbing six thousand.” 

“Monterey Departure, roger. Altimetre two-niner-niner-two.” 

The airplane continues to climb smoothly and steadily. All I have to do
now is listen out for instructions and enjoy the flight. I'll be 
crossing over San Francisco International airspace so mustn't let my 
mind wander. I check my watch, 10.30, I'll land in Petaluma at 11.35 
and from there it's an hour's drive. Just my luck to get such a call 
when I'm not there to see her. I'm nervous, excited, filled with 
anticipation, hoping with all my heart that I arrive before she's gone, 
maybe forever. 

‘What if it's her', I keep thinking, ‘what if she just happens to be
passing, or if there's some reason, some need in her to meet with me, 
renew an old acquaintance. Maybe she wants me to see how her family is 
doing.' I'm being stupid, I know, but what if? 

“Cessna G-O-L did you copy?” 

Holy crap, what am I doing. 

“Monterey Tower, Cessna G-O-L repeat message.” 

“Cessna G-O-L please expedite climb to six thousand feet.” 

“Roger. Cessna G-O-L climbing six thousand.” 



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