THE MAGIC SHOES: 9) PEGASUS

Meltdown Monday Madness

I sit on plain wooden chair and close my eyes to ease the dizziness; elbows on my knees, head leaning forward, hands covering my face.

I feel a strange rumbling beneath the floor.

A tremendous roar of engines fills my ears and vibrates my bones.

When I open my eyes… I am utterly astonished to find myself in the cockpit of a rattly old plane, soaring through a night sky illuminated by a half-moon and searchlights shooting up to the heavens from the ground below.

I turn to see a slight man at the controls vigorously working mechanical instruments around him. He is too focused on whatever is happening outside the aircraft to notice my presence.

He is the spitting image of photographs I have seen of my uncle.

I am shocked. And awed. Literally.

By where I am, by who I’m with—and by what’s going on.

And I’m cold. Very cold.

Next to me is the uncle I never met. He is wearing a beat-up sheepskin leather bomber jacket. His slender arms fight various rods and levers. Almost 80 years ago, the RAF high command declared my uncle missing in action. He was never seen again. He was only twenty-one years of age.

Flight Lieutenant Edward Douglas Stanley turns his head for a fleeting look at me, He immediately reverts his intense focus on the action beyond the plane’s windshield.

I expect him to be shocked. I must seem some type of phantom presence. I expect him to holler Who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing here?!!

But those are not the words I hear.

Above the roar of the engines, he hollers in a clipped English accent, “I know who you are!”

This stumps me. “Really?”

“You are Susie Brown Eyes’ middle son!”

“But… but… how…?”

“Strange things happen in enemy combat. I had a premonition of your appearance—I dreamt it the night before!”

I absorb this. And I realize that magic is everywhere. It’s just that most people never attune themselves to it.

“Bloody marvelous timing!” he adds, grinning sardonically. His eyes search the murky sky, high and low. “The nips are everywhere tonight!”

My uncle has probably been awake for hours, flying from his home base in India. But the adrenaline in his veins prevents him from feeling exhausted. Instead, he is energized and totally immersed in the moment.

Now I am somewhat confused. “But to have a premonition of me being here, how could you have known about my being born in the first place?”

“I don’t know!” He throws a quick glance at me. “But here you are!” He pauses. “I sorted it through from the other side!”

“Sorted? The other side?! Sorted what?!!”

“You were the only one who cared! Aside, of course, from my parents and little sister!”

I absorb this quietly.

“You used to sit in a closet and read letters I wrote to my sister, your mother.”

My eyes moisten but I pull myself together. “What can I do to help?”

“Pray!”

Just then a long rat-a-tat-tat of enemy fire riddles our aircraft.

“Bloody hell—we’re hit!” He turns around. “How bad is it!?” he hollers through the cockpit doorway.

“Bad!” The voice is anguished. “We’re on fire!”

“Prepare to bail!” my uncle hollers. “All out!”

“Can’t!” he hears back. “I’m hit, can’t move!”

My Uncle Edward checks his control panel before turning again toward the cabin. “Everyone able to bail, do so now!” he hollers.

“What about you?” a voice shouts back.

“Can’t bail with wounded aboard! I’ll try to land this heap!”

“Don’t…”

“Out! Now!”

My hands, which at first were over my ears to fight the noise I now place over my eyes. I have never been in combat and can’t handle it.

There is a rumbling behind me as several crew members ready themselves to jump—parachuting to an uncertain fate. I already know they will end up in a Prisoner of War camp. All but one will die due to vile mistreatment at the hands of their Japanese guards.

My uncle turns to me. “I wish I had more time to speak with you!”

“Me too!”

The B-24 Liberator, nicknamed Pegasus, takes another round of fire, as if Japanese fighter pilots are taking shots at those who bailed from the aircraft.

“I’m hit!” Edward groans. “Are you okay?”

As I check myself, the plane tilts into a dive. My uncle rises above the pain of his wounds to control his instruments. Striving to slow the rapid descent, he desperately tries to level out as the aircraft angles deeper.

Now I can see the ground below, dark green hills, closer and closer.

My uncle shakes his head in dismay. “It’s no use. Nothing works.” He turns to me. “Chin up!”

And then only darkness.

When I open my eyes, I’m sitting on a chair inside the London Medal Company.

The proprietor is ramrod stiff with lips to match. He regards me wide-eyed.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he finally says, studying me for any kind of hint about what I experienced while in a trance.

“I did,” I say, choking up.

“You were there?” he asks, intuitively.

I nod, unable to speak. My heart races from the drama of a near-death experience—and wrenches from meeting Flight Lieutenant Edward Stanley before witnessing his demise.

Composing myself, I rise and thank the proprietor before my Magic Shoes stroll me out onto Cecil Court.

What now?

Where now?

I already have too much to process, not sure I can handle more.