The Man Who Wanted to Fly
I met Dan five years earlier at a climbing gym, where I trained after shifts at an alterations shop.
“Do you ever take the easy route?” he asked.
“Only when the difficult one’s boring.”
“Then dinner with me should be interesting.”
“Can you climb?”
“Absolutely not.”
“At least you’re honest.”
Dan came from a wealthy family. His father, Richard, owned several car dealerships and expected him to inherit the business.
But Dan wanted to fly.
After military flight training, he’d become a civilian flight instructor.
“My father says I either join the dealerships or lose his financial support,” Dan explained.
“What did you say?”
“I asked whether the dealerships came with wings.”
“Dan!”
“He didn’t appreciate it either.”
I understood him. People constantly told me climbing was too dangerous.
“You should do what makes you happy,” I said.
“Even if we’re never rich?”
“Can we afford pizza?”
“Probably.”
“Then we’ll survive.”
His mother, Patricia, disliked me immediately.
“So you repair clothing?” she asked at our first dinner.
“Yes.”
“And climb rocks?”
“Competitively.”
“How unusual. Dan always did enjoy temporary hobbies.”
“Climbing isn’t a hobby for me,” I replied.
Patricia smiled coldly. “Well, I hope you won’t encourage him to throw away his career for adventures too.”
Dan interrupted. “Emma’s won more competitions than I’ve won arguments with you.”
After our wedding, his parents practically stopped speaking to us.
We rented a small house, bought secondhand furniture, and saved whatever we could.
Dan dreamed of owning a house with a backyard where our children could play.
When I became pregnant, he started working extra shifts.
“You’re working too much,” I complained.
“I’m building our future.”
“We already have one.”
“I just want to make it easier.”
I assumed he meant our modest savings. I couldn’t have imagined what else he’d arranged.
The morning Dan died, he was almost outside when I noticed his cap beside the door.
“Dan! Your hat!”
He returned, smiling.
I straightened the crooked braid and placed it on his head.
“Perfect,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Now go get some rest.”
Those were his last words to me.
That afternoon, Dan volunteered to test an aircraft after repairs because a younger instructor was nervous.
Minutes after takeoff, the engine failed.
Dan steered away from nearby houses but died during the emergency landing.
His belongings arrived several days later. The cap wasn’t among them.
“Are you sure?” I asked his colleague.
“We searched everywhere, Emma. I’m sorry.”
At his funeral, Patricia barely acknowledged me.
“He knew flying was dangerous. He made his choice.”
Months later, when I asked whether his parents could help with expenses before Jack’s birth, she answered coldly.
May you like
“Dan made his choice. Now you have to live with it.”
She never visited her grandson. Not once.
