The Amazing Flight of Aaron William Hawk

Aaron crouched on the hilltop. His open shirt flapped in the wind. Gray clouds pinwheeled over the valley behind him, so low he felt like he could reach up and grab them. Aaron secured the last bolt into the bamboo framework on his massive kite with his trusty wrench. Now fully assembled, his craft was ready to take flight. He took a step back to admire his artistry as the morning sun raced across the kite’s sleek arrowhead-shaped form. Its bamboo poles held strong against the weight of the wind pushing down on the sail. Aaron stood for a moment with his arms crossed against his chest. A wave of pride washed over him. Aaron’s kite was a masterpiece, made with care, love, and precision.

“You took a whole two months, but you were worth it,” Aaron said.

He hadn’t thought of it till just now, but Aaron felt like something this cool should have a name.

“Hmmm… I think I’ll call you…” He closed one eye and tilted his head to the side. “The Fearless Flyer.” He beamed.

“Pop would be proud,” he said. Aaron could almost see his dad standing there next to him, smiling and patting him on the back. A dry lump formed in his throat as the memory of his father echoed in his head.

Aaron had built his craft from the pictures he found in a Popular Mechanics magazine. But the kite itself wasn’t just any kite. This craft had a massive delta-shaped sail. He scavenged through piles of materials at home and all over his neighborhood, eventually gathering everything he needed for his project. These materials included bamboo, plastic sheeting, wire, nuts and bolts, and lots and lots of duct tape. But Aaron also added extra padding to some of the poles and extra lengths of tape where the sail would come in contact with the bamboo. These were not in the plans. They were things he had learned while building kites and other aircraft with his father.

Aaron ran his fingers along the tightly strung wires that interwove like a cat’s cradle throughout the bamboo framework. He closed one eye and leaned his cheek against the edge of the frame to ensure its poles were straight and true.

He wanted his creation to be perfect and knew that it couldn’t be done by simply following instructions. It required a craftsman’s touch. And though this wasn’t his first kite, it was by far, the largest.

Aaron built model airplanes and pretty much anything that could fly since he had been able to sit upright. He liked building things. Like his father before him, flying was in his blood. There was no greater thrill than watching airplanes take off and land. But what Aaron loved most about flying was something he has never truly experienced—the sensation of gliding through the open sky.

He wanted to feel the wind in his hair. He wanted to feel the wind on his arms. He wanted to feel the wind on his face. But most of all, he wanted to feel the wind in his heart.

Aaron licked his finger and held it in the air.

This spot is perfect.

The outcropping of rocks near the hill’s crest were a mossy green. Their vast, craggy surfaces were covered with lichen and topped with stunted trees of the same color. Verdant grasses and sparse patches of alpine wildflowers carpeted its slopes. The air was clear, and the cool breeze wafted a gentle moistness across his cheeks. Aaron often climbed this hill. It provided breathtaking views of the distant ocean. This hill was located at the foot of Mount Zephyr. It was several miles away from Aaron’s new hometown, Port Reedley, a dreary little fishing village that seemed to be always lost in a fog as thick and cold as its inhabitants.

Staring out at the ocean, he could see the gulls drifting in slow spirals on columns of rising air, their wings spread, sun beating upon their backs. Behind them, the mountains rose steeply, the peaks hidden, the valleys hidden. To the south, another mountain range was visible. To the north, he saw the beginning of the landmass that leads to his home.

Aaron knew this grassy hill well. Its steep slope, combined with the prevailing winds this time of year, made for an ideal launch for his kite. He was confident in his craft’s ability to soar and its ability to lift his dreams across the valley to the sandy shore beyond. Or so he believed. Because upon this high perch, on this windy day, Aaron William Hawk would fly.

* * *

A bracing cross wind blew through Aaron’s hair, lifting strands of it and whipping it around like a crown of wind-whipped auburn.

At that moment, the wind opened its mouth and opened wide to bring its full force against the craft. The kite bucked against the gust, as if it didn’t want to be confined by an unseen hand. Like a shot the kite rose. Aaron lunged to grab hold of its framework with both hands. It was all his wiry, fourteen-year-old physique could do. But he held it down until its sail stopped snapping and the winds settled. Aaron shook his head. He should have expected something like this from a kite that measured wider than twice his height and was three times his arm span.

“Whew, that was close,” he said.

Aaron turned his attention to the valley beyond. The earth looked like an endless quilted canvas. The fields and hills were a palette of greens and blues that lay some five hundred feet below. But to Aaron, it seemed like a gazillion miles away.

He watched the long blades of grass ripple in the wind, like waves on the ocean. A little windier than I hoped but not too bad. The breeze continued to toss his long hair.

Aaron scanned the distant patchwork of farmland. The pale morning haze kissed the distant valley, obscuring the horizon and making the view seem vast, and unreal. With his game plan playing out in his head, the lofty hilltop now seemed intimidating. His heart revved and his pulse quickened.

I’m not afraid, not afraid.

“I can do this,” he whispered. And though his voice quivered, Aaron believed with all his heart that his perch upon this hill was close enough to heaven, where his dreams just might come true.

* * *

Aaron took a few deep breaths and crouched beneath the kite sail. He took the tattered blue and gold baseball cap his father handed down to him and firmly placed it on his head with its brim to the back. He positioned himself into the cockpit of the framework, a cockpit in the loosest of terms. It was merely two parallel bamboo poles wrapped with foam rubber and electrician’s tape. This allowed Aaron to hang precariously by his armpits while his legs dangled in the open air. By swinging his legs and shifting his weight, he could control the great wing. At least that was the plan. Aaron ducked beneath the wing and grabbed the two bamboo poles.

“Hmph,” he grunted as he lifted the kite’s forty-some-odd pound framework off the ground. He tucked the padded poles tight beneath his armpits. The craft was heavy and awkward atop this blustery hilltop, and he had to take care not to lose his balance. The kite’s sail snapped and whipped wildly as if protesting the winds’ constant taunting. Aaron lowered his gaze to the ground while he carefully sidestepped along the uneven terrain. He fought to turn the craft and to walk it forward. A powerful gust hit the kite sideways. It tipped him back on one leg and threatened to knock him down. Clinging to his kite, the boy gasped and shouted.

“Whoa baby, hang on!” He tightened his grip on the bamboo poles and leaned forward. As if the wing heard Aaron’s plea, it lowered its nose into the wind. But thoughts of a terrible disaster crept into his head. He gnawed on his lower lip. Beads of sweat slid down his chest and back, spotting his shirt like morning dew on a flower petal. Visions of crashing into the bone-crunching rocks below intertwined with the horrific memory of his father’s plunge to earth.

Calm down, he told himself, taking in short quick breaths of air. You have done your research on the kite and the weather patterns here. You know how to control this thing. It’s all good.

And though Aaron had planned every detail of his flight, at this moment, he felt utterly unprepared.

Aaron closed his eyes to shut out the world. He drew a deep breath and exhaled long and slow, as he imagined himself as a young child. When he was filled with doubt and fear, his father would hold him in his arms and tell him to just breathe. His thoughts reeled back to a poem his dad had written for him on his tenth birthday. The words were etched into the back of his mind like a mantra.

“Take a deep breath in the face of your fear. Spread your broad wings and embrace the winds of your dreams. For they will guide your spirit and fill your soul. Don’t look down but always out and ever beyond and just fly.”

He opened his eyes, raised his head high, and centered his attention on the wind that rolled through the golden fields of wheat far beyond. His mind was now focused on calculating the speed and timing of the prevailing winds. Hoping to find the perfect opportunity to take flight.

Without warning, a breeze swept through his hair, billowing open his shirt. The cool air brushed against his skin, and another gust swirled around him to dance with the medallion dangling from his neck chain. It caught the light and sparkled like a solar eclipse. He turned his head down to see the familiar silver pendant, embossed with the image of the winged Icarus.

It had been a gift from his father. Perched above his heart, it reassured him that his father was always with him. Aaron found remarkable comfort in the simple words inscribed on the back.Just fly.

But as much as Aaron loved and cherished the necklace, he prayed it would now bring him luck. He pulled the medallion to his lips and kissed it.

Aaron looked to the horizon. The time was nearing when he would have to commit to flight. His mind was racing. His thoughts were scattered. He was confused and uncertain.

His stomach churned as he thought of the schoolmates he had left behind and the friends he longed for. He knew the class of 1975 would not be the same in his new school, in this strange town where all seemed distant and unfriendly. But most of all, he missed his father.

The wind had picked up, and heavy gusts whirled around him in all directions. He refocused on a small length of orange ribbon he had tied to the kite’s nose. It danced in the breeze.

Aaron tightened his lips and leveled his gaze. “This one’s for you, Pop.” His voice quivered.

Aaron’s mouth turned to cotton and sweat poured down his temple as his eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched as his blood barreled through his veins like some wild flume ride. Suddenly, everything he knew, everything he studied about flying had realigned in front of him replacing all his thoughts. Aaron drew a ragged breath and swallowed hard just as a voice inside his head breathed…

Go.

“Now, NOW!” he shouted.

In that moment, desire overcame all. Aaron lunged forward. Before he knew it, he was sprinting, full tilt into the wind and down the grassy slope and holding onto his kite for dear life.

“Wooo haaaa!” A primordial yell emanated from somewhere deep in his soul. The kite’s plastic sail flapped furiously in its headlong charge. Its long bamboo poles jounced and quaked with each stride. Aaron’s heart went into overdrive as a million thoughts rocketed through his mind in a jumbled blur.

Suddenly, the kite’s spirit awoke.

Kapop!

In one burst, the kite’s sail billowed, capturing the full force of the wind. Its framework bent like an archer’s bow and Aaron took one last step… into the vast nothing.