Ya Never Know...do Ya?
Chapter 9

Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen

"Well, why did you learn?" I asked.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Frank said.

I snorted.

"Well, it did," he said. "I wasn't Chief then. I wasn't married. The reservation was going to hell in a hand basket. All the young men were drinking and doing drugs. The girls were "Squaws" in the worst European connotation of the word. Guys ... warriors ... were fighting each other in CARS and dying in droves.

"Along came Vietnam and some wise asshole thought the Sioux would really enjoy fighting the yellow commies and drafted us! 'We'll learn 'em to jump out of airplanes ... they're not afraid of heights, ' thinking that the steel walkers were indians and all indians are alike

"Jumping out of an airplane ... shit, man. I'm afraid of falling. Why do you think I let you pot holes in the sky while I watch from down here?

"I learned to fly in college ... I was going to BE somebody. Well ... I was somebody! Lieutenant Franklin Smith, 19th Tactical Air Support Squadron. It's an awful thing to be smart in a world of shit.

"Vietnam was an eyeopener. That little Cessna ... not only was I afraid of falling ... not I could do it with an airplane wrapped around me! I put in my time, got transferred to flight training, did that until I couldn't and got out. Then I found out all I COULD do was fly." He shook his head. "I had so many hours in it seemed like civilian flight instructor was a good idea ... but you white eyes are crazy."

He got a wild look, "Buy me a drink!"

We went to the VFW in Nashua ... just across the street from the Rez.

It was a dusty parking lot with beat up pickups and abandoned cars ... well, I thought they were abandoned ... they SHOULD have been abandoned ... but just as we were pulling in a bunch tumbled out the door and drove away with one of the most abandoned.

"Chief," said the bartender but looking at me. It wasn't the friendliest look I ever got from a bartender.

"Student pilot," Frank said. "He's buying."

"Flying got to you again?"

"Talking about it."

She set up a couple of standard water tumblers and filled them to the brim with a clear liquid...

I was thirsty.

It wasn't water.

It wasn't vodka either.

What ever it was was right up there in the octane rating and I don't remember much about it.

I don't wanna talk about the morning after.

Did you ever want to chew your arm off because somebody was sleeping on it? Somebody with three clean spots?

 
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