Spinning Like a Button on the Outhouse Door

It's a Family Addiction
by Robert Baucom

Jack Mawhinney

First Boy
by Denise Brown
Third Place Winner, Fiction

Today I have plans to take aerial photos of a small resort In the mountains beyond Cajon Pass. It’s a pleasure for me to get up in the air again. I’ve shot film close to peaks and deep crevices in the Sierras, but never from a helicopter The view from a winged air craft is far more reduced than a copter, so they say.

I rolled into the Riverside Airport at dawn, made out the helicopter in the mist, and pulled over near the terminal. A young man standing at the copter waved me over. Coming up, I was greeted by a red-haired, freckle-faced kid, dressed in khaki pants, and a white shirt under his leather flight jacket. He topped it off with a crushed cap of World War II vintage carefully cocked to one side.

“I’m Earl Gordon, the photographer here to take aerial shots of the Summit Valley Resort.”

“I’m your pilot. Friends call me Red. “

“Good, Red. Do you think the fog will clear soon enough this morning to take pictures?”

“Oh sure. We should be above it at no more than 2,000 feet. The sun will have burned it off.” My stomach was uneasy.

I sighed in resignation and walked around to the passengers side of the two-seater Bell helicopter and gasped. I found myself looking at the inside of a copter. “Jesus Christ, Red. There is no door on my side!.”

He took his seat and waved me in, “Door’s off so you can get clear pictures. The side windows are too scratched to get a good shot.” He strapped in and put on his head phones, “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.”

I took a deep breath, and fastened a worn seat belt that was as shredded as the fringe on a hula dancer’s skirt. I put on a pair of head-phones identical to Red’s, and we took off and lifted into a bitterly cold mist. Like a damn fool I forgot to bring a heavy coat

We broke through a heavy haze into blinding sunlight. I winced and closed my eyes until I could get my dark glasses on. For the first time I saw the details of the mountains that grew up from the lower territory. We made for the San Bernardino Mountains in the vicinity of Cajon Pass. Miniature blue lakes and green carpets disappeared behind us.

The purr of the rotors gave only a whisper above the Cajon Pass. The cars and trucks below had become soundless beetles crawling along ribbons of asphalt. The scene made me forget the cold air and the dread of being pitched out through the gaping hole at my right side.

Suddenly the chopper took a vicious dive to the left! I felt the terror of gravity’s demand. Without warning the helicopter had dropped as if it was into a hole. Red swore, muttering into his head piece, “Slow down, you bastard.” His feet were constantly moving to stabilize the air-craft. He twisted the throttle back and forth to keep the engine from dying. The rotors sped faster than safe operation would allow. Red was losing control. I called through my head phone,

“Can’t we fly out of this damned hurricane?”

“What in hell do you think I’m trying to do!”

“Are we in trouble, Red?”

“Hell no.”

“For Christ’s sake Red, you’re sweating over the instruments and your arms and legs are flailing all over the pedals. If that doesn’t look like trouble you make a damn good appearance of it.“

“You can stop bitching.”

He continued to punched at a buttons on the console.

The aircraft lurched to the right and dropped fifty feet. My bladder turned to water. I rammed my right leg against the door frame to keep from being thrown out. I pushed back with every lurch of the copter. My heart was pounding at an inhuman rate, The sweat rolled off my brow and into my eyes for fear the shabby seat belt would tear loose with me and no parachute.

Red gave the throttle a violent twist. The engine whined and the controls vibrated.

“Red, can’t we get out of this damned wind?’ I’m getting sea sick!”

“I’m too damned busy to conduct a seminar. I’ve got to get the speed under control.”

The aircraft lurched to the left and dropped another fifty feet.

I wedged foot and arm into every space in the inside of the helicopter to keep from toppling from the cockpit. I looked down as if on the edge of a thousand precipice about to lose footing. I was frozen in fear.

Suddenly silence. The engine was dead. Red leaned forward to read the instruments. He tripped the craft forward and got nothing but the whirling sound of the blades of a gliding helicopter.

The scene in front of us reached out. The cars and trucks on the freeway became larger in size with every wind-controlled turn of the helicopter’s rotors. I could easily see trees bent low by the heavy wind. My heart pounded at the rate of the silent helicopter, my breath came in gasps! The closer we came to the Number Ten Freeway loaded with cars and trucks speeding at seventy miles an hour, the more certain our death.

We accelerated. A “damn!” hissed from Reds tongue. He fought to get control. His feet constantly corrected the tail rotor to stabilize the copter. Sweat was showing down his face. He was breathing hard and pleading. “Come on baby! Come on!

Red worked even faster, repeatedly pressing the start button, hands and feet flailing the controls. I closed my eyes expecting to be torn apart on the concrete of the freeway below. I pushed against the door frame even harder. My back ached in the fight to keep from being sucked out of the copter. I was certain that the seat belt would tear apart under the power of the Santana. My frozen hands could hardly grip the seat.

Then magically the engine roared. Red let out a whoop of victory, and I slowly opened my eyes in disbelief. We were close to ground and smoothly flying over the traffic.

I slapped him on the back, snatched his hat and leaned back with a grin.

“You did it, Red. You did it.!”

Red had a wide smile from ear to ear.

“Yeah, She’s spinnin’ like the button on a outhouse door.”

Going home I got to thinking about the many photos taken of the fourteen - thousand foot mountains; the icy valleys that revealed their beauty to a camera at high speed and from close in to it: the perilous chutes of snow from above; but especially the risk of the men who challenge its lure..

The Perils of Time Travel
by Ben Greenstein