A Chick in the Cockpit (8 page)

I'd always heard you should pay attention to how a son treats his mother because it is indicative of how he'll treat you. His mom was the primary topic of conversation and she was simultaneously a source of anger, frustration, pride, and humor. With hesitation, he admitted that their relationship was more of a love/hate pendulum. I'd never hated my parents, or anyone for that matter—keeping an unemotional attachment was my way of avoiding a bumpy ride along my flight.

Wanting to control every decision in his life, his mom offered unsolicited opinions on his life choices and denied all of his flaws. She was a strong woman with strong opinions, and her main blind side was that she believed Brad could do no wrong. It embarrassed him, but it also created an internal opinion of himself that was based on the view perceived by his mother.

Being the beneficiary of a parental college scholarship, Brad put himself on the seven-year Bachelor's degree plan. He finally found his stride at the University of North Dakota in their aviation business program, and decided he wanted to be an aircraft mechanic. However, the curriculum required that he get his private pilot's license, even though he wanted to be a mechanic. I remember being shocked as Brad laughingly recalled showing up to his lessons so hung over that he was probably still drunk. It was so different from the passionate focus I had given to my studying aviation.

The fact that he was in a band probably hindered the ability to blend musician's hours with the strict routine of aviation. Predictably, he failed his private pilot check ride and had to do a retest to get his license. At least he had a private pilot license to show for the effort.

I was shocked at his cavalier attitude towards aviation. I'd spent years giving it the upmost respect, while he laughed at those who did. He was the veritable yin to his classmates' yang. They wore military haircuts and went to bed early, so Brad wore his hair in a ponytail and stayed up late. As a conformist and having obeyed all the rules all my life, this bad-boy, mock-the-establishment attitude was intriguing to me. It was so unlike me—I was fascinated and enthralled with this new perspective.

The chord that struck deepest during our conversation was Brad's acceptance of his childhood pains. He said he was thankful that he had watched his parents go through their divorces so that he would be a better husband and father. He talked about spending years trying to understand why they got divorced so he wouldn't have to repeat their mistakes. I was touched by his sentiment. While he'd spent years trying to analyze his parents' divorce so he could be a better partner, I'd just readily accepted life's events at face value.

By the end of the evening, he felt more real to me than I did to myself. I was focused on being some
thing
, an airline pilot, whereas he simply wanted to be someone to somebody. All I knew for sure is that I wanted to get to know this someone better.

11
Find the Best Altitude

1.
At high altitudes, super cooled water vapor leaves contrails (not chemtrails)

2.
Polar jet stream winds are usually found at 25-30,000 feet

3.
Winds in the jet stream average 100 mph, which is great or horrible

4.
The winter gradients can produce 200+ mph winds, which is phenomenal or can make you run out of fuel

The winds aloft are important factors in flight planning high altitude jets. Commercial airliners generally operate between 30-40,000 feet. Corporate jets fly a little higher, 35-50,000 feet, since money always takes you a little higher than the rest of the world. Depending on the time of year and hemisphere, the jet stream can be calm or rage with winds in excess of 200 mph. With headwinds like that, it's sometimes necessary to include a fuel stop.

I once made it from Las Vegas to Denver in a Boeing 727-200 in an hour and five minutes, block to block. We knew the forecasted winds were high, but when we settled in at the perfect altitude, the jet stream was pushing with more might than predicted. I'd never seen the ground speed so high, and I had to actually call back to the flight attendants and tell them to hurry beverage service because we wouldn't have time to get it done.

While you're sitting in the passenger seat, those wind speeds are imperceptible. Since you don't have anything to reference your movement to, an extra hundred miles per hour can't be perceived from inside the aircraft. But to the observer on the outside, it's easy to see that the aircraft is zooming faster than normal. It's kind of like being in a new relationship. The speed feels normal on the inside, but to the others around you, they're wondering why the hell you're going so fast.

My first official date with Brad was a Neil Young concert at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Morrison, CO. Brad loved to remind me, and anyone who would listen, that I was the one who asked him out. It was a modern fairytale romance with a twist. This time it was the rich airline captain, who happened to be a woman, hitting on a mechanic.

When I was handed my September schedule, it included a string of six days in a row off. I had so much fun with Brad at his barbeque that I decided to see what he was like on his own. I knew Brad played guitar and had been in a band, so I figured music should be on the checklist. I had always heard about Red Rocks, and it was definitely on my bucket list. I couldn't believe my luck; Neil Young was playing the weekend I had off and there were still tickets available. I didn't even bother to ask Brad first, because I was going to go even if he couldn't go with me. I would just sell his ticket when I got to the concert.

Fearful of appearing too bold to just call him up for a date, I used the excuse that a friend and I were going to go to the concert, but she backed out, which left me with an extra ticket. The story took the pressure off of both of us and didn't necessarily make it appear to be a date, but more of a backup plan. He was officially broken up with his flight attendant girlfriend by then, so I tried to keep it light. I kept getting his answering machine so I finally just left a message, explaining about the extra ticket. He called me two days later and said he'd love to go. He even offered to let me stay at his house, and made sure I knew that I was sleeping on a futon. I was flattered by both the offer and the gentlemanly act of keeping my honor.

I always traveled as light as possible, and when I left Minneapolis, it was muggy and hot. Never doubting that it would be the same or even warmer in Denver, I packed light clothes and the only shoes I had were the white Keds on my feet.

It snowed at the concert, and it was only September. Not just a light dusting of snow, but an occasional white out and blowing horizontally. It started out as a hard, cold rain, and I had lost all feeling in my toes by the time I got the first whiff of ganja in the air. I shivered and froze my way through the entire concert and when it was over, there was a mad rush of the crowd to get out. Brad and I kept getting separated, so he reached back and grabbed my hand and held on. It was warm and strong and as subtle as a gut punch; I realized I wanted it there.

I slept on the futon as promised. His dog, Phlap, who was not much more than a year old, wasn't allowed to sleep on his bed, so she was in the family room with me. Correction, she was in the family room
staring
at me. I kept shivering because Brad didn't have the heat on in the house and I was still cold soaked and frozen from the concert. Brad was warm and comfy in his heated waterbed, so he never gave it another thought that the one thin blanket he'd given me wasn't going to keep me warm. Since I'd been around men as their workmate or roommate, I was used to not having a man worry about my comfort.

Since the dog and I were both shivering, I whispered for her to come onto the futon with me. We both knew she wasn't supposed to be on the furniture, but we both needed each other's warmth. The dog spooned with me and I was finally able to relax my muscles long enough to get a couple hours of sleep.

Our second date, the next morning, was going to the dump. There was a once-a-year recycling event that took used motor oil for free. Brad had saved up all the oil from his oil changes all year, and this was the only place that took it for free, so he asked if I wouldn't mind coming with him. We sat in the car and waited in line for two hours, but the minutes were filled with flying stories and gossip about flight attendants, pilots, and how great we were.

A young relationship and first dates hold so much promise. We're perfect in that moment, and we see ourselves as our new partner sees us; new, unblemished, and infallible. I'd had two serious relationships up to this point and a few in between, but there had always been some insurmountable impasse that allowed for gentle breakups with low drama. My relationships went out with a whimper instead of a bang. When I met Brad again in Denver, I was light and free, and ready to find my perfect fit, but I never thought I would be anything else to Brad other than a fun weekend or two. He was so different from me, that I was intrigued. I had spent so many years rigidly following my goals that I forgot that it was okay to just relax once in a while. I wanted to experience being with someone who disobeyed the rules. It was the perfect cliché for the bad boy to good girl ratio. Brad knew how to relax and have fun, and I wanted him to teach me how.

I had to catch my flight back home the afternoon after the concert, so before getting into my rental car, I decided to give Brad a hug and thank him for a great concert and for letting me stay on his futon. He gave me a big bear hug back and held it there just a questionable moment longer than a friend would. I know we both thought about it, but we couldn't make that transition to a kiss without embarrassing ourselves in case it wasn't what the other wanted.

In the ensuing weeks, the majority of my trips departed out of Denver International. With each layover came a new invitation to a restaurant, or to hear a local band, or hike an unexplored park. The official base in Denver had yet to open, so the company covered my expenses at the crew hotel. Brad would pick me up, we'd go have fun, and he'd drop me off. We spent hours exploring the underground music cafes—the more mysterious the better. I wanted to see it all.

My favorite outings were long hikes in the mountains with his dog. We'd try exotic food restaurants on the way back from hiking, and we always kept an eye on who was scheduled to play at Red Rocks. I gladly paid for our dates. I paid for everything and never thought twice about it. I earned it, so I could spend it however I wanted. It was a powerful feeling, and it made me feel good to spend it on someone. For the first time, I had someone and something to look forward to that was different and exciting, and nothing like me.

Several dates and make out sessions later, Brad invited me out to dinner and to stay at his house again. “...and you're not sleeping on the futon. You're sleeping with me...”

My sexual relationships had always been Midwestern: fun, awkward, and brief—the relationships were long, but the sexual encounters were forgettable. I didn't hold that much value on a good sexual relationship because I really hadn't had one. I appreciated having a buddy or a friend more than what went on behind closed doors. I put my passion and intensity into flying, so I wanted sex to be casual and without drama. Just like a man. I didn't complain about it, and it wasn't something that I longed for. Rather, I put friendship and love as priority, and whatever else that came with the relationship was a bonus. If I had an orgasm or two, then woo hoo.

In contrast, everything about Brad was sexual. He constantly turned a benign conversation into a raunchy analogy. He talked about sex openly and wanted to experience everything about it. He was bold and would look me in the eye without shame when he talked about what he wanted to do. It was sexy and erotic, and we had long conversations where Brad explained how the physical connection between two bodies is more important that the superficial reflexes of feelings, which could change in an instant. It put me on edge and made me question everything I'd thought about love and sex. It was jolting to think of what I had been missing. It was also freeing to think that a higher level of pleasure could be achieved solely and simply from physical contact. The irony (or probably the reason) is that at twenty-seven years old, he'd only had two other sexual relationships, but that didn't matter to me.

For all these reason, I turned myself over to Brad. I had spent my whole life being in charge of everything that happened to me, and I was tired of it. I was broken down from trying to be perfect and single-mindedly reaching for the brass ring. I wanted to let someone else be in charge of me. I gave in, and the relief was so enormous, I knew for certain that I had found the yin to my yang.

A new relationship can go months before ever questioning it. Every bump in the road is smoothed away with excuses because you want to keep enjoying the scenery. You don't want the edges of doubt to creep in and spoil the fun, so you close the shades and look straight ahead. If asked, every woman in a long term relationship can remember the first fight or flash of anger that entered the relationship. For the most part, I always blew them off, but looking back on my life and relationship, there were always huge red flags flying at full mast. I chose to ignore them, and it cost me everything. Individually, these little moments were nothing, but combined, it should have been so easy for me to see Brad's pattern of narcissism that turned to his justification of abuse. Not being able to have empathy or see a situation as the other person might see it happens innocently all the time, but I remember the first time I looked at Brad and thought
what the hell?

We were in a car accident. He had a pimped out Honda Civic that he drove when he couldn't drive the old Ford Fairlane. His Honda was lowered to the ground with an upgraded engine and big tires. I didn't think it was much to look at, but he said it got great gas mileage.

We were at a stoplight on our way to a ski equipment sale in downtown Denver when a big blue airport transport van slammed into the back of the car at around forty miles per hour. It bent the frame and totaled the car. Brad saw it coming in his rearview mirror but couldn't get the words out to warn me—he just moaned “nnnnNNNNOOOOOO!!!” as we got clobbered. The moment the car stopped moving from the impact, Brad unbuckled his seatbelt and sobbed, “Oh
NO
, my car!” He never even looked over to see if I was okay. I felt sick.

The impact had snapped my neck back hard into the headrest. Luckily, the headrest did its job and it was just a sore neck, but I was quietly crying because of the shock of the moment and that my boyfriend hadn't even looked over to make sure I was okay.

Brad traded insurance information with the driver and walked around his car several times before deciding he could probably drive it home. During this whole time, he never stuck his head in the car to see if I was okay. When he was finally done, he jumped back in the car and said, “Whoa, can you believe what just happened? I can't believe my car got smashed. I love this car. I've been working on it for years, and I finally got it how I want it, and just like that, it's ruined.” I was heartbroken by his behavior, but I never said a word. It stewed in the back of my brain, along with my sore neck, but I wanted to appear strong and nonchalant
. I'm an airline captain, so this is no big deal.

That very same weekend, we went skiing. How many relationships have fallen apart at the top of the chairlifts or by the time the skiers had ended their ski run?

I hadn't been skiing for years, but I used to go every weekend in Minnesota and enjoyed it. Colorado skiing is nothing like Minnesota skiing. I was excited to go, but the anticipation was blended with apprehension because it had been so long and I had only skied once before in the mountains. On the drive up to Loveland, I told Brad I was nervous and thought I would be fine as long as he'd just stick with me for a few runs and remind me how to do it. What I was lacking was confidence, but I knew with a seasoned pro by my side, I'd be fine.

The view from the chairlift was incredible and surreal. The mountains, which I usually only saw from the air, towered over me. Their majesty took my breath away. I got off the chairlift without falling, which was a great start, so we headed down an intermediate slope that was long, but didn't look too technical. About fifty yards down the very first slope, Brad saw a black diamond run off to the right. Without stopping, he yelled to me, “I'm going to head down here—meet you at the bottom!” And with that, he was gone. I stopped dead in my tracks because I couldn't believe he'd just ditched me. We hadn't been skiing for five minutes and he was gone already.

As it turned out, the slope he went down lead to a completely different chair lift and it rounded the backside of another mountain, not the one I was on. I looked all over for him at the bottom of the run, but he was nowhere to be found. Neither of us had a cell phone with us, so I skied by myself all day. I saw him once riding up on a chairlift, but it was impossible for an ant to get someone's attention. Not knowing how long he was planning on skiing, and figuring he'd at least meet me at the car at lunchtime, I lugged my equipment back to the car and waited two hours for lunch—from 11 to 1 pm. He had the keys to the car, and I had given him all my cash and credit cards to put in his zipper pocket, so I had no money to even buy a hot chocolate. I couldn't warm up in the car because he had the keys. The lunch I'd packed for us was locked in the car, and I could see it sitting on the front seat.