Brown Eyed Girl
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“Escorted by the smiling Suzy, the passengers started from Gate 37C, following her like ducks across the tarmac. An everyday event.
Not worthy of a second glance. Except that every eye, from sixteen to sixty, and then some, followed the blonde haired women at the tail of the flock. Her hair was piled on top of her head, except for the occasional strand that fell across her face, asking to be gently brushed away from soft, brown eyes that dared you to try to kiss her, hoping that you would. Her trim body, dressed in a two-layer mesh top and tennis skirt, moved with a dancer’s grace and her lithe limbs were long, smooth as silk, muscular and already tan. She looked to be around thirty. An incredible thirty. She was going to turn forty-five, in two months.” Tom and Casey. They know that there is more than enough drama in life. He knows, or hopes, that there is someone else who knows that love can last. She knows, and hopes, that there is a man she can trust. Neither knows, or cares, that an Air Force bomber disappeared in plain sight beneath the muddy waters of the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh more than fifty years ago.
All they wanted to know was whether they cared for each other.
But now they have to care. Because only they know where the plane that had become an urban legend is. And that powerful people want what it was carrying. And ruthless people still don’t want anyone to know that it exists. And that when it comes down to it, they only have each other.
My mother always told me that in this country, I could grow up to be whatever I wanted to be. Well, here I am. She also told me that change was possible. And I really like to write. Although my office has given me the opportunity to speak to the public, and write for posterity, there is a part of me that longs for a tall drink and that cool blonde. Or was it the other way around? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that in my heart I’m a writer. And that, one day, when I’m back to flying civilian, when I can relax and walk where the water meets the sand, I’m looking forward to seeing you at the airport, or on a beachside lounge chair, having a cool drink, turning the pages of this story, and to hell with posterity.