Machine Dreams

the ground itself slanting, as the nose of the plane honed in.
    Then it was airborne.
    He’d never seen a plane in flight so close. Streaks of rust were on the underside, and the small wheels of the landing gear still turned. Billy rose up; the plane was perhaps thirty feet above them as it passed over, lifting off, roaring. He stood into the roar, Danner grabbing his arm hard. Then she was on top of him, yelling into his neck as the sound of the plane was everywhere, rumbling through the tall grass. As the plane banked left, Billy saw the pilot look down at them, a shock of surprise on his face. Billy looked back elated as he sank to his knees in the spongy dirt.He knelt and the field was eye level, glossed with the yellow tassels of the blooming weeds. He could see Cosgrove at the other end of the runway, standing blocklike in overalls and work hat, his back to them.
    “Get down,” Danner said urgently.
    “No, he isn’t facing this way.” Billy craned his neck to keep the plane in sight as it gained altitude, then grabbed Danner’s wrist. “Come on. We’ll run. He won’t see us now.”
    “No, wait!” She stayed crouched, trying to pull Billy into the cover of the grass.
    Billy tightened his grip on her arm and stood; then he let go and ran. He knew she’d follow him. He ran, hearing the swish of grass against his legs. He ran flat out and saw her beside him, a peripheral moving image. He smiled, running. The plane had gone up just above him, so loud and so close. The pilot had seen him: it was like a pact.

AMAZING GRACE
Danner

1965
    M itch took her to work in the big white Chevrolet. She had a job that summer as a banquet waitress at the local Methodist college, carrying eight heaped plates to conference tables of ministers. The girls piled the plates on oval trays in the kitchen, squatted, balanced the weight on one shoulder, and held it with both hands as they stood. The manager kept the swinging door open as the waitresses, all fifteen and sixteen years old, walked to their assigned places and squatted again, straight-backed, sliding the trays onto stands. Amazed at their own feats of strength, they smoothed their dark skirts and delivered roast beef. Danner hated their uniforms: white blouses, black straight skirts, nylons, and dark shoes. August was so hot that if Jean took her to work, the black ’59 Ford having baked in the sun until the seats smelled of hot rubber, Danner’s legs were clammy with sweat by the time they arrived. Mitch’s car had an air conditioner, and if he was in a good mood he’d turn the engine on and cool the car before Danner got in. She sat in the encapsulatedcoolness and watched the landscape while they drove to town; the fields by the Brush Fork road seemed to steam with heat, and the edge of the sign that marked the city limits shone sharp and brilliant.
    Mitch smoked a cigarette, leaving his window open a sliver to take the smoke. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
    “You don’t have to pick me up, it’s Friday.” Riley always picked her up on Fridays after he got off work at the A&P. Without looking at Mitch, Danner knew her father was shaking his head and frowning. “I won’t be late tonight. Eleven was just too early—the drive-in doesn’t even start until eight or nine. Mom said I could come in at midnight until school starts.”
    “I’ve told Jean what I think of that, but she doesn’t give a damn what I say.” He glanced over at Danner, then scowled at the road. “I know Riley’s father and I like Riley, but he’s eighteen and he’s a little too old for you.”
    “I’m almost sixteen,” Danner said, and fell silent. After work she and Riley would go to Nedelson’s Parkette to eat, then to the drive-in, where Danner would fall asleep exhausted midway through the first feature. The sound of the movie close to her face filled her mind with pictures. Usually she woke in an hour or so, happy, with Riley drinking a beer beside her.
    “I know how old you are,” Mitch said. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
    Danner knew, but what difference did the time of night make? Riley had taken her parking since last winter, when her curfew was earlier. Now their rituals were established. What moved her most was the moment when he said her name involuntarily; then she was sliding down on the seat under him, and it was like the soundtrack at the drive-in—a surface closed over her. What was near and solid drifted far off