A Flight Gone Wrong

Kayla's eyes were entranced by the stark white, fluffy clouds. If you told her they are all one, she would have believed you.

"We are going so fast, Papa," the 6-year old exclaimed.

"How fast do you think we are going?" I asked, bemused by the wonder and excitement of my child.

"Like, as fast as, as," she stumbled as she tried to remember what the fastest object she knew was. Her head tilted, her eyes looked up, and her mouth twisted for a moment. The physical representation of the struggle that was occurring in her mind. She continued, "as, a cheetah. No, a rocket ship!"

"Wow, a rocket-powered airplane? This may be the fastest flight in the history of the world." She nodded at me in excited agreement.

"The history of the world. Fastest ever," she repeated in a way that implied that she didn't hear me say those words, but she came up with them on her own. I couldn't help but chuckle.

The plane continued its flight around the clouds, Kayla now loudly creating rocket ship noises with her lips as the plane did a loop-de-loop.

"Woah," I said as I extended my arms out, "that's not normal."

"It's O-K, Papa," she assured me, "this is a rocket plane. They don't just fly, they do tricks." Stunned to silence by her immediate confidence, I stood still for a moment as she took off running away from me. I took the moment to look around at the field of clouds, take a deep breath, and pause. I wanted to remember this moment. Take in every detail.

"AHHHHHH!!" Kayla suddenly shrieked at the top of her lungs. The flock of sheep that stood around us quickly scattered away from us as I took off in a sprint towards her.

"Kayla!" I frantically said, with a sharp projection in my voice, trying my best not to scream and scare her further. I quickly dropped down onto one knee next to her, felt a small snap of pain as my knee hit something in the grass, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her into my chest to keep her safe.

I began checking all her appendages for injuries while twisting my neck in every direction to look for what might have scared or hurt her. Her face mirrored the confusion of my face as I began to realize that there was nothing wrong. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Why did you scream? Are you alright? What scared you?" I asked, my fear and confusion inched more towards annoyance with each question. I released her from my chest, but kept a hand on each of her shoulders, in case there was still danger.

She pointed over my shoulder. I turned to see a small, fat bumblebee gently flying around, occasionally dropping down to one of the wild flowers in the field. "Bebe," she playfully murmured.

"I, I don't understand. You aren't scared of bees. Why did you scream?" My annoyance now had a distinct hinge of anger as I said scream.

"I was just playing," she began to cry. A bubble of snot instantly appeared on her nose as she tried to blubber through her words. "He was gonna hurt the plane. Sorry Papa." She fell onto my chest and I wrapped my arms around her, kissing the top of her hair.

"It's okay, sweetie. I'm sorry I scared you. I'm not mad, it's okay. I was just scared. I though you were hurt. It's okay," I kissed her again and held her tight as she cried into my shirt. "It's okay. I love you. I'm sorry I got mad."

She let out a few more sniffles before pulling away and wiping her snot on her sleeve. "I love you, too." Her head still down, she began looking around on the ground.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"The rocket plane," she sniffed again and wiped her eyes. It was at this moment that I realized what that sharp pain in my knee was.

Reluctantly, I stood up. The toy arrow she had been holding while running through the flock of sheep while making rocket noises was now broken into two pieces, and the feathers on its tail were crumpled. "Oh no, I'm sorry, love."

With more maturity than I gave her credit for, she gave one last sniff, wiped her nose on her other sleeve and with her head facing down, sadly proclaimed, "a rocket hit it. We have to pear-shoot, now."

A tear welled up in my eye as I hugged her again. Partly out of love for her; partly out of joy over her quick wit; mostly out of relief that she wasn't going to hate me forever, my constant fear.

"Alright, let's parachute." I quickly picked her up and lifted her as high as I could. The instant tightness in my lower back a cruel reminder of how much bigger she had gotten since she was a toddler and how long it had been since I had exercised. I just as quickly lowered her to the ground.

She fell to one knee, threw one arm back, and punched the ground with the other. A perfect super-hero landing. She jumped to her feet and took off running towards the tent I had set up along the back fence of the farm.

"Our plane may have crashed, but we made it safely," I remarked as I took a seat in one of the fabric, foldable chairs and opened the ice chest to get a bottle of water. "How lucky was it that our plane blew up right above our backyard?"

She ran around the tent, her hand dragging along the vinyl as she circled. "We aren't in the yard, it's the, the," she stumbled as she tried to remember the name of a place. Her head tilted, her eyes looked up, and her mouth twisted for a moment. The physical representation of the struggle that was occurring in her mind.

"Mountains?" I suggested.

"No," she shushed me. "It's the, the," she touched the tips of her hands together to form a point. "Thy pyramid! Egypt!" she proclaimed, finally remembering.

"Ooh, Egypt. You know, I've always wanted to come here. Here, come get a bottle of water," I said, holding out the first bottle and grabbing another for myself. "Your mother is going to be very jealous she didn't come on this trip with us."

Kayla grabbed the bottle and took a big swig. "Mama can come later, with food," she suggested as she slumped into her chair across from me. "I like camping."

"Me too." I studied her face as she stared at the clouds above her, took a deep breath, and paused. I wanted to remember this moment. Take in every detail.