Easy-peasy. The three blades in front of me start turning. I watch the exhaust temperature. Ignition! The temperature climbs into the green, the RPM is where it should be, three prop blades are a blur.“Hold the brakes,” Wally says, then he signals Dan to pull the chocks, freeing us to taxi. He really has to holler to be heard now. “Release the brakes. Easy. End of the runway and back.”I gingerly allow us to ease forward from the apron onto the runway, push the right pedal hard and toe in a little brake. The nose swings, just like all the other airplanes I’ve flown. Once straight on the runway, I let off the brakes and let the idling engine pull us along at a fast walk. When I reach the end of the runway, we have a wide are for planes to turn around. I use it, this time pivoting to the left, then back up the runway.“Put ‘er on the apron,” Wally hollers.I obey. I carry some momentum onto the apron so I can do a 180-degree turn to near the original position, then I brake us to a. He was suddenly tense against her shoulder, but his hand came to rest atop hers. His breathing had become utterly silent, he held himself carefully, as though it were the barrel of a gun pressed against his knee instead of her fingernails. She found it endearing and a smile passed over her features again, hidden behind the fall of her hair and she glanced toward the glass doors, at the beginning twinkle of lights as the day grew darker and threatened to disappear. Her fingertips memorized the texture of the black denim beneath them, traced the alphabet over his knee with the slightest of tremors, the warmth of his hand shifting over hers as she did. She trailed her nails lightly up his thigh and did not dare a glance at him as she did. He felt the muscles in his back tense in reaction to the attention. When she covered his hand with hers he looked at her. Her head was leaned back against the seat, her darkly shadowed eyes closed. When she drew his hand to her leg he let her, barely.
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