"Hop in my car, son. She ain't pretty but she's the fastest car in the county."

Satisfied by a barbecue sandwich, a chocolate shake and a bag of chips, I returned to the airport with Bill to check on the airplane. For the first time all day, I felt almost peaceful as I unlocked the door, made sure the control locks were in place and that the master electrical switch was turned off. I shined Bill's flashlight all around the cockpit and rearranged the seatbelts, crossing them in each seat just so.
On the return ride to the police station, Billy-Boy demonstrated the siren and the passing gear performance of his 1970 Chevrolet police car. White on the outside, gold and black hardware-store stick-on letters officially labeled each door, "CHESTER COUNTY POLICE."
Back at the station, Bill explained that he would have to go out on patrol. I declined the offer to ride along and opted instead to hang around the station, just in case there was a telephone call from home.

"That's fine, Ron. You stay here, and if the phone rings, it’s okay to answer it. Just say, 'Police Station.' If you don't answer it in three rings, they'll answer it up in Green Springs. Make yourself at home, and if you need anything, call me on the radio. I'm Car 12 you know."

"Gotcha Billy, Car 12."

Sitting down at the desk, I kicked back as best I could. I took the airplane stuff I'd carried around all day out of my shirt pocket and took one last look in disgust at the chart. The course line I'd drawn depicting the planned route of the flight was on top; the actual route and Cedar Bluffs lay folded and hidden underneath. Laying my weary head on the desk, I was startled by the chimes that announced a telephone call.

"Police Station," I used my most authoritative voice.

"Billy-Boy?" queried a female voice.

"No Ma'am, this isn't Bill."

"Who is this?"

"My name is Ron Burch, and I’m just a visitor here. May I help you?"

"Ron Burch...where are you from?"

"I'm from Atlanta."

"Atlanta? What in the world are you doing here?"

"Well Ma'am, I'm a student pilot. I got lost on a trip, ran a little low on fuel, and decided to land here."

"You mean you fly those little Piper Cubs and things?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"And your airplane ran outta gas and you had to land here?"

"Yes Ma'am, sort of. It did and I did."

"Lord have mercy! You runnin' outta gas in one of those little airplanes and landing here...and Governor Wallace gettin' shot...I just don't know what this world's a comin' to. What time did you get in?"

"Oh, I landed about a quarter to seven or so."

"Bet that was it."

"What Ma'am?"

©Copyright 2002 David Ray Skinner/SouthernReader. All rights reserved.