Notes - pronouns / ch.1.sc.continues

       Late morning. You put the tree up earlier, did your exercises and are waiting for the hot water to build back up after Carol’s shower. You reminded yourself that your first muse’s birthday is tomorrow. And, just like with your second muse, you wish them both well. – Amorella

       1135 hours. I need to be less anxious in terms of Soki’s Choice. This is another of many experiments in writing over the years. Long ago in college days I wanted ‘to be a poet; very romantic of me to want that – a teacher of English and a poet. Then one day in the late seventies (1978) I wanted to be a teacher and a novelist.

       You did teach and write your novels. – Amorella

       1149 hours. I did. Looking back on my life, I don’t have any major regrets. I don’t think I even have many minor ones. A big person, when I was little, told me you have to try to do the best with what you have. I have tried to do that. I never thought I had much and schooling verified this. I didn’t struggle, and I was easily satisfied with C grades. . . .

       You stopped writing because you were suddenly aware of too many ‘personal pronouns’. Post. – Amorella

       You had a late lunch at Cracker Barrel and are stopped at Kroger’s on the way home. Paul’s home and Kim is heading home from Kenyon. Tomorrow about noon you are meeting them at the Lebanon Train Depot for a ride. You would like to work on chapter one and perhaps finish it before midday tomorrow. Carol wants to have the tree done before tomorrow also. – Amorella

       1517 hours. When is Kroger’s on Mason-Montgomery Road not packed with cars. People watching is one of the most enjoyable ways of passing time. I suppose Jadah and Spooky would say the same thing about bird watching.

       Nighttime. You just completed most of chapter one; Soki has to add a conclusion. I want you to drop it in this post. Everything is above board here. – Amorella

       2146 hours. I just started adding Soki’s comments along the way, instinctive-like. This is a total surprise and I am not sure how this is going to be, but I now understand why I was to drop the Soki’s Address draft and move on. Time is not linear to Soki; it is two-dimensional just like he is. It is just a few sentences to fly from Detroit to Cleveland, not a couple hours. Here’s the draft so far.

** **

Chapter One

Untitled - ©2016,orndorff

         This is the bolded Soki. Three reasonable human beings are sitting in their older red striped white Cessna 421 Golden Eagle awaiting departure instructions from the Warren Detroit airport with a flight plan to Burke Lakefront in Cleveland after viewing this new year’s Detroit automobile show. Pyl Burroughs plunks down to the right of her brother, the pilot, Blake Williams, while Pyl’s husband, Justin, rather tensely adjusted into the seat immediately behind Blake. Pyl turns excitedly, "Justine, what'd you think of this year’s automobile show?"

         "I liked it. I liked the new plug-in hybrids the best."

         "I liked them too,” she replies. “Which ones did you like best, Blakey."

         "I like the weather sunny and mild — not bad for a third of the way through January.” Blake pauses and remarks, "We are a go on 33."

         Justin leans forward pushing himself back to sit up straight and adjusting himself to better observe the instrument needles fluttering as the worn asphalt runway began to swiftly disappear beneath the fuselage.

         Justin is not an experienced passenger in a small plane so he avoids his circumstance by instinctively watching the movements in the instrument panel like an interested cat might watch a bird in a bush.

An hour into their flight Blake and Justin were enjoying the meticulous drone of the Rolls-Royce engine in line with the darker blue above and the gray blue waters of Lake Erie ten-thousand feet below. Dusk will be around five, broods Blake as the tip of the Cessna Eagle’s left wing appeared to lightly tap onto an unseen object. He mumbles, “What the hell?”

A good pilot does not like distraction.

         "Was it a bird?" asks Pyl cautiously.

         Justin comments, “It sounded like a car tire kicking up a stone."

         Blake picks up the small binoculars for a quick inspection, "There's a crack near the wing tip light." Blake’s puffed lower lip and grouching demeanor lead to another round nervous of cabin silence into a satisfactory landing at Cleveland’s Burke Lakefront Airport.

         You notice how quickly we arrived to the airport.  

         While Pyl and Blake visually inspect the landing light held fiberglass wingtip of the parked Cessna more closely Blake observes a minute gray spongy substance within the slight crack. This is secondary to the reassuring fact that the crack appears easily repairable.

         "What is that gray stuff?" asks Pyl.

         Blake replies,” Probably bled out bird gut."

         "Scrape me some," says Pyl. "I'll have it analyzed. I want to see what kind of bird was flying that high."

         Justin moans, "What for? Jeez Louise, Pyl, it’s damaged bird guts.”

         Pyl replies, “Justin, get me something to put this in. We were pretty high for it to be a bird."

         The stranger is Friendly she is an alien marsupial humanoid from Ship the transportation machinery that brought Friendly and her cohorts from across the galaxy. Ship machinery is on blackenot which means it is invisible to earth instruments and visuals. Friendly is concerned because Ship acted on his own by tapping the family’s Cessna.

         At this point a stranger walks up and begins inspecting the damaged wingtip.

         Pyl politely asks, "May I help you?"

         Friendly is hesitant, worrying she may be speaking too fast.

         "I saw you coming in. I am interested in buying an old Cessna P210N like this one."

         Humans  are just plain suspicious

This woman has such an odd dialect, thinks Justin as he picks up a small plastic envelope for Pyl. Noting the stranger’s dark Mediterranean-like eyes, he first gives Pyl the envelope and then extends his hand, "I'm Justin. This is my wife, Pyl and that's her brother, Blake, on the stool.” Justin continues, “I’m surprised you just didn’t call the plane, the Eagle or Silver Eagle, that’s what people who know her usually say.”

         Friendly adjusts a warming smile, "I’m Fran.”

         "Fran who?"       

         "My given name is Francis Parker, and you are Pyl?"

         Pyl grins lightly, "As a kid Blake couldn't pronounce my real name so I have been stuck with Pyl ever since."

         And your last name is? Friendly turns slightly to shake Justin's hand and states, "You are the husband?"

         He responds with a dumbstruck nod.

         Friendly wants you to know that she thinks in italics sometimes, particularly in a situation where her heart overcomes her mind. She likes to be in command of her life just like earthlings do.

         Blake quibbles business-like, "We think a bird hit the wingtip light. A slight crack, but it appears repairable."

         "I have a trace of the remains," says Pyl, "I'm going to have it analyzed to see what kind of bird it was."

Friendly wonders on why Ship clothed in blackenot would, on his own, tap the wingtip. She comments, "Well, good luck making the repair,” And quickly adds, "Blake, how much would you give for her?”

         Pyl moans, "Daddy would never want us to sell this plane, Blake. She's family."

         The alien lookalike concludes with an in-your-face business-like smile saying, "Upon a decent inspection and fly about, I’ll give you up three hundred thousand for this Cessna and not a dime more."

         Heartened by the price, Blake responds, "Give me your card. You can contact me tomorrow, but not before noon."

         Soki adds . . .