Flygirl (31 page)

We nod and wave as more classmates arrive. One of them is Nancy Howard, from Sweetwater, the troublemaker from my barracks that Patsy was so very good at staring down. I haven't seen Nancy since graduation, but she still looks like she's trying to be Bette Davis. She smiles wide and bats her eyes at Instructor Jenkins before sitting on the other side of him. I feel a little territorial twinge in spite of myself. Nancy Howard strikes me as something of a man-eater.

“Well, Walter Jenkins. I heard you'd be around here.”

“You ladies can't have all the fun,” he says.

Nancy laughs loudly. “Fun, right. The WASP bill is gonna get killed in Congress next week. I'd rather spend my last days as a WASP in the air.”

I lean forward to look at her. “So what if the bill doesn't pass? I mean, we won't be officers, but we'll still be WASP. They need us.” Or, more likely, I need them. Without the WASP, this life, my life, is over. It's back to Slidell and Jim Crow for me.

Nancy smiles, and it reminds me of the sand sharks Grandy used to pull from the Gulf of Mexico. I don't smile back.

Walt shrugs. “This is war, ladies. Anything can happen.”

 

Anything can happen, he says. I make it through my first week of officers' training easily enough, but I wish it felt as good as I thought it would.

“Why so thoughtful?” Walt asks me one day after class.

I shrug. It's another beautiful Florida day, and all I can think about is how the fields must look back home, stripped of their early summer berries. I wrote a couple of letters to Mama and finally some to Jolene, but all I got back from her was silence. Too much was said for a few letters to wash away. Inside my pocket I absently finger the knots in my handkerchief, one for Patsy, one for Jolene. I'd miss the WASP if they were gone, but right now, I miss my family.

“Just feeling worn down, I guess.”

“What? War's not much fun anymore?” he asks with an impish grin. I can't help but laugh. It turns out Walt Jenkins is very easy to be with when he's not an instructor.

“Yes, you could say that.”

Walt gets a serious look on his face. “Well, what happens after this is all over for you? Do you have someone overseas you're waiting for?”

“No, nothing like that. My brother was fighting, but he's home now, injured but alive.”

“That's good.” We keep walking, and I realize we're not really going anywhere. After so many charted courses and timed flights, it's pleasant to be aimless for a little while. Walt smells like sunshine and Ivory soap. It reminds me of laundry drying on the line at home.

“What about you? You must've left a family behind when you started teaching in Sweetwater.”

Walt shrugs. “That would be Mrs. Jenkins, my mother. We were already living in Texas. I took her in when my dad passed away. She's the reason I didn't enlist in the first place. Teaching at Avenger was just as patriotic, and safer, too.”

“Will you go back to Texas, then?” We sit down under a eucalyptus tree, its fat green leaves filtering the light into a dappled blanket overhead, scenting the air with their sharp menthol smell. Walt sits close to me; our arms brush against each other as we lean back in the shade.

“Not likely. Life down south starts to chafe after a while. I flew charter planes out west before the war. There's a chance I might get to start my own business there.”

“That's swell, Walt.” I smile at him. “Imagine, flying for a living. What a dream.”

It's Walt's turn to smile. “I'll need a few pilots, you know.”

I laugh. “And here I thought we had more pilots than we could use.”

Walt shakes his head. “I'm serious, Ida. You're a damn good pilot. Why not come fly for me?”

I blink, surprised and pleased, but mostly surprised. “Well, for one thing, I'm a woman. You might be fine with that, but will your customers be? And then, of course, there's . . .” I fall silent. There's the fact that I'm colored, and I never quite planned beyond the day I got into the WASP. Not once did I really think this charade of mine would outlast the war, let alone last a lifetime.

Walt Jenkins is looking at me, and his eyes are the same blue as the sky above. He's a handsome man; I've said it before. But now I'm really seeing it. I remember our one awkward dance at the Avengerette last year and the whispering it caused. And I remember the rough warmth of his hand in mine, pulling me out of the Link that first day, making me feel safe. He's leaning toward me, so close I can smell the warm, sharp scent of his aftershave. Close enough to kiss me . . . A part of me wakes up a little and says, Mrs. Walter Jenkins, co-owner of Jenkins Air.

I blush furiously, and Walt notices it.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I . . . I have to go. But thanks for the walk . . .” I stand up and brush off my slacks. “And the talk . . . and . . . bye.”

I walk back to my dorm as fast as I can, but not so fast that I don't hear him call after me, “Think about what I said.”

 

The next two weeks are a dizzying time. Officer training fills my days, and I find my fingers itching to climb into a plane every night. I remember what Nancy Howard said. If these are our last weeks as WASP, she'd rather spend them flying. And so would I. But instead, I sit behind a little desk and look more and more the way Deatie Deaton did the first time I saw her at Avenger Field. Like a woman who got chained to the ground when she should be in the sky. At first, I try to avoid Walt. There's no future for me in his world, no matter how much I'd like there to be. But it's impossible in a class our size. I get butterflies every time I see him, worse than any preflight jitters. The name Mrs. Walt Jenkins continues to float through my mind, but not seriously. No, it could never be thought of seriously.

On June 21, the WASP bill gets put to the vote. We lose. With one week left in officer training, I'm being sent back to Delaware to continue my ferrying duties. I show up at my last day of class to say goodbye to Walt. I'm not the only WASP being sent home.

“Call me, Ida Mae.” Walt pushes a slip of paper into my hand. “Or write. Just promise me you'll get in touch after the war.”

I smile at him a little weakly. Maybe all he's interested in is my flying after all.

“Sure, Walt. Just stay in one piece, okay?”

We're in front of the administration building where our classes are held. All around us, the other girls are saying goodbye to each other. It's like a scene from a train station. I reach out and shake Walt's hand. It's as warm as I remember from our dance.

“Ida,” he says, his voice so low I almost don't hear him. “Promise me.”

When he kisses me, it's so quick, so brief I don't know how to react. Just a brush of his lips against my cheek. Then he lets go of my hand and walks away. I stare after him until the crowd is all I see. I can still feel his hand in mine. This is what Jolene was talking about. What Lily felt about Harry. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm flying with both of my feet firmly on the ground.

 

My transport doesn't leave until nightfall, so I have the afternoon to myself. I borrow a car and make the drive to visit Patsy's grave. The entire way, I think of Walt and of Grandmère Boudreaux, and I finally understand why she never came down our driveway. In New Orleans, maybe in the rest of the world, too, white women don't have brown-skinned grandchildren any more than colored women get to have white husbands in Texas. Life isn't black and white. It's black
or
white. Anything else is just a mess.

I reach the orange orchards that lie south of Patsy's cemetery. The trees are sweet with fruit that hangs like bright little suns beneath the shining leaves. I breathe in through the open window. It tastes surprisingly sweet and bitter at the same time. It's a familiar feeling.

I park at the base of the small knoll that marks the beginning of the graveyard and walk the rest of the way through the thick St. Augustine grass. It feels like a spongy carpet beneath my feet.

A simple headstone marks the grave of my friend. Seeing it makes my eyes sting.
PATSY “CAKEWALK” KAKE. THE SKY IS HER HOME.
I sit down next to her grave and rest my forehead on the cool, cool stone.

“Hiya, Patsy. It's me, Ida Mae. I mean, Jonesy. Gee, no one calls me that anymore. I'm just plain old Ida or Jones. Lily's left us. She and Harry got married on the fly, and she's gonna have a baby. If it's a girl, I'm guessing she'll name her after you. Don't tell Harry, though. He wants it to be Hannah, after his grandmother.” I smile, remembering how worried Lily was over this prospect.

“Oh, you'd be jealous, though. Lily and I got to fly the B-29. Boy, was that a devil to lift off. And it lost two engines on the way down, but we flew her all right just the same.”

I fold my arms beneath my head to make a pillow against the stone. “More news about the WASP, too. They won't make us military. There's a good chance they won't make us anything at all soon, from what everybody's saying. And I don't know what I'm going to do, Patsy. Lily has Harry, but my best friend from back home isn't even speaking to me. And then there's Walt Jenkins. Don't laugh, but I think he likes me. Maybe even more than a little. But I don't think it will work . . .”

I can feel the tears streaming down my face, blurring the sunny sky above me. “The thing is, Patsy, I'm not who I've said I am. Not what I said I was. I mean . . .” I can't say it. I don't want to say it.

Because I don't feel Negro any more than I feel white. I'm just me. Ida Mae Jones, and I'm blue. Santiago blue. Take away the uniform and I really am nothing at all. Take away the wings and I'm someone else's. Someone's maid, someone's daughter, someone's sister, and maybe even someone's wife one day. But I can't have one life without giving up the other. I can fly and be with Walt or be with my family and never fly again. It's not fair. Mama and Jolene tried to warn me. Lies breed lies. If I go with Walt, I'll have to keep on lying. But I can't imagine going home again, cleaning the Wilsons' house for the rest of my days. That feels like a lie, too.

I cry for a long time over Patsy's grave, but she is not the only one I'm mourning. I miss the three of us, Patsy, Lily, and me, and I miss Jolene and Mama. I cry for Thomas and his shattered leg, for Abel, who's still got to grow up in this kind of world. I cry for my daddy and for Walt, for lying to my new friends and leaving my old ones behind. I cry for everything I've ever known and loved.

And then, somewhere at the end of all that crying, I fall asleep. And I dream of a deep blue sky. And when I wake up, I remember what Audrey said to me at the officers' club three weeks ago. When this is all over, remember why you signed on in the first place. And I do remember, exactly what I told Patsy when she asked me why I was there. I came to fly.

I take my handkerchief out of my pocket and gently pull apart all of the knots. It's a wrinkled mess now, like a topographical map of sorrowful mountains, not even clear enough to navigate by. I smooth it out, trace my fingers along the blue threads that spell out my name. I wipe my eyes, stand up, dust myself off, and walk back down through the spongy grass to the car.

I've promised Walt a letter, and he'll get one when this war is over. I'll tell him the truth. He'll have to decide what to make of it for himself, what to make of me. Lily was right—I was born to be a WASP, and that is part of who I am. But I was also born to be Ida Mae Jones, that skinny little colored girl who learned to fly her father's airplane over the fields of her hometown. That old Jenny is still waiting for me, under a sheet in a dusty barn. And Mama, and Grandy, and my brothers are waiting, too. Maybe even Jolene. I just have to find the right words to say to everyone. But there will be time enough for reckonings when this day's work is done. For now, I'm traveling light.

The drive doesn't take as long on the way back, which is good. Because no matter how much of it seems like it's over, I've got my duty, and this is still a war. Whatever the future may bring, for the time being, I still get to fly.

In August 1945, a crew of American flyboys piloted the B-29 Superfortress over Hiroshima, Japan. A plane that, until Lily and I flew it, they were too scared to fly. The payload was something new, something called an atom bomb. Thomas heard from a friend that it blew down half the city like paper, men, women, children and all. Hitler dead in his bunker, and Japan brought to its knees like that . . . How something so awful can bring about peace, I'll never know. Any more than I'll ever figure out how the army disbanded the WASP. But here we are.