By Jessica Cherry
This week’s weather seemed innocent and warm, but I saw a wispy cirrus rib cage that foreshadowed days of regret, in my interactions with man. Adam still thinks we came from his rib. He’s always trying to get it back from Eve, but the truth is, we all came from fish. A tall Adam leans over me, explaining why I am wrong, why he is in control, why I will do what he wants, why he doesn’t need to wear a mask. But I am middle aged now and I’ve met dozens of Adams. Dozens and dozens. I play the long game, shake my head, oh yes, I did come here for extortion, see it’s right here on my shopping list. My airplane is in many dozen pieces on his hangar floor. I mentally calculate how quickly it could go back together, how to get it out from behind three other airplanes, which parts are absent for making it fly again. Such a strange thing that it came here on a wing, without a problem, and now it’s nothing but grease prints on polished white paint and a three page bill. I’m sorry old girl; I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can. After I take a good look inside, to make sure you’re all right, we’ll fly far away together and won’t be back. Now we women are birds.
Jessica Cherry, PhD is a scientist, writer, and commercial airplane pilot living in Anchorage and Fairbanks.