Forced Landing

 

    It wasn’t a crash as much as it was a forced landing.  The pilot suddenly died, and we simply dropped the last few feet to the ground and rolled to a stop.  I reached over and shut the engine off.  As I was the only passenger, I didn’t have to check on anyone else, it was just me and I was fine.  Except, of course, for now being stuck in the desert.

    I clicked the microphone a few times and asked if anybody could hear me.  There was no answer.  The moment I opened the door to climb out I could feel the intense heat.  I closed it right away and thought maybe I should stay put.  There wouldn’t be much I could do outside anyway.  Then again, I couldn’t just sit and hope someone came by.  Also, the thought of sitting next to a dead guy didn’t seem like the thing to do either.  I climbed out.

        I wasn’t exactly dressed for the desert.  The heat of the desert floor had no problems coming right through my tennis shoes.  I could see the mountains straight ahead, but walking to them was doubtful.  I don’t think I’d last more than a couple hours.  Anything I could see in the distance looked wavy.   I knew it looked that way because of the heat rising from the sand.  This wasn’t at all how my day was supposed to go.  I took one last look in the cockpit to see if there might be a hat I could use.  There wasn’t.

    I just started off walking towards the mountains.  Either I’d make it, or I wouldn’t, but I had to do something.  I tried hard to think of something other than the heat, but no matter what I came up with, somehow my burning feet kept grabbing my attention. 

        My best guess was that I had been hoofing it for at least an hour and a half, and it wasn’t until I was quite a distance from the plane that I thought I should have left the ignition key on when I was trying the radio.  What a moron I am.   That’s probably why it didn’t work.

        I’m not sure why, but I started to think about our mail lady back home.  She drives around in her minivan delivering to everyone’s mailbox, but because the mailboxes are on the passenger side of the vehicle, she has to sit in the middle of the front seat to be able to reach out of the window to open the boxes, and yet still hold the steering wheel with her left hand and reach the gas and brake peddles with her foot.  I couldn’t imagine doing that all day long, stopping every few feet to do it again.

        That’s interesting.  Not sure if that is a rattlesnake, but I bet he can bite through a tennis shoe.  I think I’ll go way around.  Whenever she had packages or a box that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox, she would pull into the driveway and walk it up to the front door.  I bet she didn’t have to deal with snakes.   Good.  He’s still going the other way.

        She must get up before the chickens, in order to organize the inside of her van with all the mail, putting everything according to addresses, with packages in the back, but notes in with the letters, reminding her that this particular address has a package in the back.  I have seen her make U-turns before, but it is rare.  OK, I just looked back again and now I can barely see the plane.  The thing is, the mountains still look just as far away as they did before.  Have I mentioned how hot it is?

        If I were still back at the plane and looking at me here, I bet I would look wavy.  I’m currently standing in those waves of heat rising from this sand.  Every now and then I see tiny sparkles.  There must be little diamonds mixed in with the sand.  I haven’t come across any, but I see them.  I don’t feel wavy.   I like those potato chips.  They are called Wavy, or something like that.  They’re good for scooping up dip.  They don’t break as easily as regular chips.  Now I’m just making myself hungry and thirsty.  (er).

    If I were delivering the mail, most likely I'd be on foot.  I bet they wouldn't even give me a minivan.  Not only would my feet be feeling like this, but I'd be carrying a heavy mailbag.  Mostly full of junk mail, I expect.  I can't even imagine how it was when they had to deliver those monster phone books.  I don't even know if it was the postal people delivering them, or if it was the phone company.  Who still sends letters anymore?  No one I know.  Letter writing has fallen away like listening to the radio.  That has kind of died out.  I wouldn't mind seeing a large radio tower up ahead, although I'm not sure what I'd do when I reached it.  Maybe it would be attached to a small building, with some lonely disk jockey sitting in there.  He might even have a small refrigerator, full of cold water, cold beer and wavy chips.  I don't see a tower.

    I think I'll just sit down here for a while.  I know I'm starting to stumble, and I would rather sit down than fall down.  I seem to have gotten use to how hot this sand is.  I'll just lean against this rock and rest for a bit.