2,044 Miles, 70° East

by John Humphreys

Thunder rumbled, far off in the distance, as I prowled about the abandoned stocks, my lantern lifted high. The barn smelled of sea salt and ground elder, a strikingly potent combination. In this moment, her visage floated through my mind to haunt me.

Sidney O’Conners, watching a sunset in Dubai, or maybe the aurora borealis in Greenland. I pictured her short blonde hair and the freckle in the iris of her right eye and greasy hands and immense disposition. She acted like she was eight feet tall, held back by her five foot three inch body. Quiet, usually, and only fools underestimate the quiet ones who don’t have anything to prove.

 Sid is thousands upon thousands of miles away, only God knows where, and while her independence was admirable, it came with consequences. She’d often felt lonely, but I was there for her. Sid would complain about being forgotten, but I never forgot her. She would tell me how she’d never find consistency in anything, anyone, or any place. That she was a stranger in her own home, and how she was wasting her gifts in this condemned town. She practically screamed that into my shoulder as she wept. At the time it rubbed me the wrong way, but per usual, I wouldn’t dare bring that up. It would only make her mad at me, and I can’t risk that.

The thunder clapped, followed by lightning, and a crow, hidden in the hay, batted her wings. Nearly gave me a heart attack. In the sudden flash of lightning, there was a glint of polished chrome, and Sidney O'Conners’ airplane, the Daughter of Thunder, perched like a hawk on a wire, waiting for her true captain. The machine terrified me, but I was willing to risk everything and prove myself to my friend, to my love.