I thought of what the girls had gossiped about but never could remember any details on the party. Yes, it had just about floored me, and I was not prepared for a weekend trip. I was trying to a keep both my poise and excitement to a minimal. I hadn’t flown in a private plane since daddy sold the Beechcraft twenty years earlier. This would be some date. My mind had somehow lost the simple visions of a casual party twirling between guest and Sam’s handsome persona.

       Small talk was bounced around as well as Sam’s four-year career as a private pilot. This helped my nerves settle just a little. The Cessna 6 - Seater was all fueled and warmed up just outside hanger 15 at the Alexandria Municipal Airport when Sam and I arrived. The cool wind was blowing moderately with the sun at our backs. Sam threw his car keys to a college kid standing by the blue and white Cessna, “Take good care of her,” Sam yelled. “No problem, Mr. Carver – be washed and ready Sunday evening.” The boyish young man replied as he moved away from the plane.  Sam’s gentlemen-like manners slowly moved me around the tail of the plane. The numbers NG – 700S, displayed two foot tall alphanumeric letters running to back of the plane. The numbers were magically implanted in my brain.

       “Its time to fly,” Sam yelled, gently chiding me into the passenger door. The single engine was deafening but purred like the Ferrari. This gave me a little more confidence. The plane surged as Sam slowly pulled out the throttle while taxing across two runways. The thrill was really building up. The purring engine was now hammering at full throttle. A right turn materialized in to a straight runway and the radio come to life as a green light blinked off and on, “NG700S, you are cleared for takeoff – Runway Three.” We started flying almost due south.

       “Wow,” was all I could muster in my sexiest voice. The blue skies appeared so enchanting, dotted with few pillowed clouds here and there. Sam started checking his gauges and pushing buttons. He would point at each move as if he was instructing me. “Here’s the landing gear,” as he flicked the toggle switch upwardly. A slow hum began directly under my feet and stopped sixty seconds later. As we climbed higher, he continued instructions pointing to the flap’s controls. The tachometer I could understand, it looked just like the one in the Ferrari.
At 5,500 feet Sam started entering numbers into a large black computer screen. The letters at the top of the screen, GPS - NAV, meant nothing to me. Sam jotted a few notes on a makeshift scratchpad on the kneeboard. He finally explained his actions. I was still bewildered by all the gauges, switches and lights. A few numbers were easily remembered, 5500 and 208 degrees.  “These coordinates will put us on autopilot until we approach Chesapeake Bay Airport, just a few miles from Virginia Beach” he said. 

       What a beautiful surprise, I had finally calmed down a bit. The Atlantic Ocean was just visible in the eastern horizon with the sun still bright in the western skies. The conversations went from scenery to simple facts of each other’s life. A sweet smile could not be resisted by Sam’s charming manners. He slowly bent over and sensually kissed me full on the lips. I slowly moved closer to embrace his body. It felt warm and comforting at the same time.  “Beep, Beep, Beep,” the GPS-NAV computer broke the embraced romance.
I jerked back into the seat as Sam gently pushed one button. “Just telling us we’re 15 miles out,” Sam responded. He reassured me by a small kiss and checked all the gauges. “This will be final approach in a few minutes,” his speech slurred.

       My reassurance didn’t last long as Sam’s forehead turned red and wrinkled. He jerked and grabbed his left shoulder as if someone just stabbed him with a butcher knife. I could only scream, “What’s wrong, what’s wrong!” His naturally strong face had turned dark red as he shouted, “hold on to the yoke,” pointing to the steering device that I was scared to even touch. We both had one but Sam had cautioned me earlier not touch it on takeoff. I hesitantly took the yoke watching Sam slowly leaned into the left of his seat, his eyes shut and lips turned blue, smeared with my red lipstick. 
       
       Horrified at what was happening, I felt the plane begin to shake and rock. 
“NG700S … NG700S, YOU ARE LOSING ALTITUDE, PLEASE CLIMB TO 3500 FEET UNTIL FINAL APPROACH,” the radio screaming. Shock had become sweat streaming down my forehead. 
“NG700S … PLEASE RESPOND!” 

       I snapped out of shock and remembered the letters back at the airport; they were talking to me. I noticed some headphones neatly stored over my right overhead. “Hello, Hello … Help, help!” that’s all I could reply into the attached microphone. 

“NG700S … YOU ARE AT 2500 FEET, SLOWLY PULL YOU’RE YOKE TO SLOW YOUR DESCENT,” the voice was now a woman but I obeyed even in the confusion. 

       The plane slowly stopped shaking and leveled off. I was still a wreck but explained to the woman that Sam, the pilot, was unconscious. The woman slowly coached me to an approach altitude of 600 feet. I remembered daddy’s flying but very little memory relapsed after twenty years. “It’s a walk in the park honey, see the lights in front of you, two sets?” The woman finally had me assured that I could land. I was still terrified. My face darted back and forth, then looking over to see if conditions had changed with Sam. He was breathing, Thank God, I sighed. 


      “Ok Danielle, “ the radio crackled, “I’m Kathy and I’ll walk you all the way through.” Kind words but I needed a lot of instructions. “First things first,” Kathy said, “Find your landing gear, push the toggle switch down.” My eyes stared blankly at a million buttons and switches until I found it, LANDING GEAR. I could hear the familiar hum of retracting wheels directly under my feet. Sixty seconds and the wheels fully extended. “Ok.” I replied. Sweat was streaming down wetting my blouse. But what about Sam, I could only pray for him, still crouched in his pilot’s position.

“Ok the next step is tricky,” the radio crackled again. 
I screamed again into the microphone, “WHAT, I’M NOT A PILOT.”

”Ok, calm down, just find your flaps – they should be – right over the landing gear switch, hold on to your controls and move the lever down five degrees.” I obeyed only to feel the plane again jerk and shutter.
“That’s great, you just come down another 250 feet, descent at 700 feet per minute – perfect, “ Kathy still cool and calm.

“Keep your eyes on the lights, you are now 1000 feet out, looking good honey!” I was drenched with sweat, my lily-white knuckles numbed from crunching on the controls.
“Right in the middle below your gauges – you will see a throttle stick, “ the radio crackled to silence.
“CONTROL TOWER WE HAVE TRAFFIC COMING IN ON 111,” some other man was yelling.
‘SB202W PLEASE WE HAVE A CODE RED ON 111, PLEASE CLEAR THE AREA!” Kathy was screaming back. 

       In the descent I did not notice the flashing red and yellow lights on either side of the white lights Kathy had me fixed on. The huge growl above me confirmed that everything wasn’t kosher. The roar was deafening! A huge plane swept over the front of us less than 200 feet from the nose of my plane. 
“Ok, Danielle pull the throttle back slowly to 50%, push on your controls slowly,” Kathy was now back to her calm execution.

      Everything started coming in so fast. The doubled row of lights glared in to the cockpit windows with fire trucks screaming on both sides.

“Ok, honey push the throttle in slowly and pull up on the controls – PULL UP -- PULL UP, “ Kathy screamed, “ STEP ON YOUR PEDAL UNDER YOUR KNEEBOARD – HARD.”

       My only instinct now was survival; the wheels bounced and screeched in my ears. The nose of the plane was bouncing up and down. As soon as the chaos started, it ended. The tail of NG - 700S swung around at a full stop. Fire trucks and ambulances circled the blue and white Cessna 6 - Seater.
 Sam’s head was now moving a little but I could only wonder the catastrophe that beset this journey. Medics and firemen had now both doors flung open.

“Are you ok, where does it hurt,” the voices seem to come from everywhere. 
“No – No, not me, I think he’s had a heart attack,” tears now streaming from the once calm girl from New Jersey. 

       They slowly moved Sam onto a stretcher; oxygen mask now engulfed his face. His eyes slowly opening to the lights and sounds but still a little blurry. Men canvassed my body with a blanket that read EMERGENCY SQUAD, I ran over to the ambulance where Sam was being transported.