I'd like to thank Professor Mark Dudick and my writing class at UAA for their honest and useful advice.
A
noisy engine passed overhead as a pontoon plane slowly gained altitude. Merrill Field was one of the busiest small
plane airports in the world, and traffic came and went all day long, even when
the summer days were 14 hours long.
Small planes were anchored to the ground on spots lined in white and
yellow like a huge parking lot.
Uncle
Andy had his own Cessna, and would charge a small fee for rides when he was
heading in or out of Anchorage to help cover the costs of gas and maintenance. It was small, but according to Ami’s Dad that
was the only kind of plane that landed in Aurora Bay. The coastal town was accessible by small
plane or water. Uncle Andy stood on the
tarmac wearing an old aviator’s jacket and a huge grin. His short red hair was slicked back and dark
sunglasses were perched on his head. He
waved and called out a loud “hello.”
Andy’s
plane could hold a maximum of eight including the pilot, and by the look of the
others meeting the plane it was going to be a full load. A couple of grandmotherly native women were
showing off some fabric and jewelry they’d bought. A teen boy in a biker jacket and jeans was
nodding and making approving noises as they displayed their finds. He had blond hair pulled back in a rouge’s
knot and his eyes were crystal blue.
A
young man with greasy hair was walking around the plane with a clip board. He stopped here and there and checked
something off a list: fuel quantity… check… fuel cap… check… windshield… check…
A
mother and daughter fussed over bags with pricy brand name labels like Hot
Topic. They were both brunettes with
streaks of blonde and vibrant red that were probably added today at a ritzy
salon. The high school girl strutted around
in a hot pink sun dress with black lace edging the bodice and bottom hem. “I dare them to call me a boy now!” she said
triumphantly, spinning around.
Ami
marveled at her perfectly feminine hourglass shape and glowing makeup,
wondering how anyone could mistake her for a boy. She could be a pop star. Then Ami caught her own reflection in one of
the windows. Her hair was pulled back
tight, she didn’t even own makeup, and she wore a boring old forest green t-shirt
and denim jeans worn down to white strings at the knees. She looked more like the biker boy than the
pretty girl. She grabbed her big duffle,
her Penney’s sack and two small bags out of the back of the camper. “Dad, I
need to find a restroom… like now.”
After
a couple quick words with Andy, her Dad led her past a long row of small planes
in bright colors to the bathroom. He
stood outside, examining a brick red 5-seater float plane that was tied down
nearby.
Ami
changed into the sparkly goddess shirt with tapered sleeves she’d found at the
hip New Age import store, then pulled down her brunette hair and brushed it
out. Hints of auburn sparkled through
it. She tied back the front third at the
top of her head and let the rest fall loose.
She traded the worn out jeans for new sea-green jeans with silver
stitching. She smiled into the mirror
and the difference was striking. She
looked like her mother did on screen fifteen years ago. She’d just have to remember to smile…
“Wow! Is that my little girl?” her Dad called as
she walked out. She grinned and punched
him in the arm. “Yup, it must be.” He gave her a hug for so long she had to
remind him it was time to go. “I’ll be
down for Yule,” he promised as they walked back to the waiting plane. “You better!” she teased.
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