| |
––––––––
“This never gets old,” Fawna could barely contain her excitement while she sat next to the pilot flying the private jet she’d leased. It was against regulation for civilians to fly in the cockpit alongside the pilot, but he made an exception since she was the only passenger aboard the large private jet. “Oh, please, please let me sit in the cockpit with you,” she begged. I promise I won’t touch a thing. I want to look out at the horizon.”
“Ok, Mrs. Zanobia-Walker,” the pilot relented. “Come on in.”
The weather in Chicago had been blustery and nasty the night before, halting most commercial flights. As soon as the skies cleared, she’d decided she wanted to avoid the chaos at O’Hare and rent a plane instead. She was itching to get home and spring the surprise she had in store for her husband.
“I probably land in this airport more than ten times some months,” she told the pilot. “The lights below still blow me away every time.” The lyrics of Fly Me to The Moon by Frank Sinatra began playing in her head:
Fly Me to The Moon, and Let Me Play Among the Stars, Let Me See What Spring is Like on Jupiter and Mars... She sang the tune in her mind while watching in delight as the miniature skyline below twinkled in the moonlight. Three layers of awesome: the clouds, the stars and the city below.
Fawna imagined the clouds were created by some invisible giant puffing away on an enormous wooden pipe until he puffed out a blanket-like pattern of cottony clouds covering the sky below. It seemed as if they were floating on top of them. Little did Fawna know, she’d played on some of those clouds with the same giant she thought she’d only imagined.
Some of the stars burst onto the dark night like fireworks while others clustered into swirls, as if someone had thrown glitter onto the sky. And the shimmering city below sparkled in the glow of electric lights. Bridges became straight lines of neon racing across the water, while streets and highways snaked throughout the enormous city. From skyscrapers kissing the heavens to small houses, Chicago laid lit up before her like an enormous light-filled Christmas snow globe.
“I’ve always wanted to be a pilot,” she confessed.
“It’s the best job,” Captain Robert Chavez admitted while he flipped a few switches, checked gauges and kept a steady hand on the wheel, readying the flight for descent. “I fly in and out of dozens of airports, see hundreds of different types of landscapes. So many that it’s easy to take for granted. It’s sort of like living in an exotic place like Hawaii or Switzerland. Or even near a gorgeous mountain landscape.
“When you see it everyday...day in—day out...it’s easy to go beyond seeing it and almost become blind to it. Sometimes, when I get that way...taking it for granted—I do what you’re doing now. Stop and mindfully take in the beauty of it all. Nothing beats it.” He beamed as he looked out of the planes crystal clear windows at the breathtaking landscape.
Fawna Zanobia-Walker looked on as the pilot talked, wishing she knew what it felt like to command a jet plane. Sadness overtook her a moment as she thought about Mr. Brown, her high-school counselor who’d chuckled when she asked him about becoming a pilot in the Air Force.
He did what most people did who she dared tell her dreams to. They told her to get her head out of the clouds (literally—even though that’s where she wanted to be) and become an actress or model. Something that wouldn’t waste her good looks.
As gorgeous as she was, with her green eyes rimmed in gold flecks, thick curly ebony hair and honey-golden skin, thanks to her Greek ancestry, Fawna could’ve cared less about her looks. Against advice from her mom and dad and Mr. Brown, in eleventh grade and with full intentions of becoming an Air Force pilot, she signed up for the ROTC—Reserve Officer Training Corp—a program that prepares young adults to become officers in the Air Force. It was not to be. When she was 17, a talent agent spotted her while she was at Dairy Queen enjoying ice cream with her family. The agent urged her parents to bring her in for a photo shoot.
The agency signed up the 5’9” natural beauty on the spot. Still, she insisted on finishing out her remaining ROTC training for the year, determined to one day join the Air Force. She finally gave in and began modeling when she was almost 18.
Even she had to admit that traveling to exotic places—taking photos in lovely clothing was not nearly as vacuous as she thought it would be—though the hours could be long. And the money couldn’t be beat. She made millions. For about three solid years, her face and slender body were splashed on the cover of every fashion magazine all over the world. She became one of the most well-known international supermodels. She was able to buy her parents and new house and her sister, Nell, a brand new car.
She knew it wouldn’t last, though. She realized that like a football career, the average model’s time on the runway was short—three to six years. She determined she’d make the most of her time, but also make smart investments.
Fawna made so much money in the five years she spent modeling, she was able to buy the agency when the owner’s husband died suddenly and she decided she wanted to get out of the business to retire. Now Fawna spent her time growing her modeling agency—The Glam Squad. She’d added her own line of skin care and cosmetics to her brand. Her line thrived—keeping Fawna plenty busy.
