Day 134 - Spare Parts And Broken Hearts

Spare parts. That’s what they’re loading into a cargo truck right now. It arrived at about 10 pm to begin dismantling Mecca. A few odd-and-end airplane parts, the flight simulator, and all the furniture from the school are now piled haphazardly in a giant box truck with “U-HAUL” plastered on the side. Mixed in there somewhere are my joy and contentment. All bound for Indianapolis.
The company headquarters called this morning and, in quite the matter-of-fact manner, advised that they were closing this location. A mere matter of hours later, the phones had been disconnected. And as we speak Matt and a company representative are loading all of the office furniture and training materials into a truck. They’re flying a pilot down to get the Cessna tomorrow, and the Seminole that I’ve been flying will be shortly behind. That’s all, folks. It’s over.
And with the end of this era, so ends some of the happiest, deepest enchantments in my recent memory. I’ve had more fun here than can be described, and it truly breaks my heart that I have to leave. To say that I love it here is a colossal understatement, and I’ve basically been on the verge of depression all day. I simply don’t want to leave. I want to stay with the Boss, Ryan, Ed, Glenn, Sara, Dan, and the rest. It’s no secret that I’ve become completely disillusioned with the school itself, but I love this location. The things that I get to do outside of the school are amazing. My flights with Ed. Flying the Baron with Glenn, as we did today. Enjoying the company of some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. Not to mention the daily inspiration I draw from being around the Boss. All of these things do so much for me; more than any ridiculous excuse for a ground lesson. From flying in Big Red, to riding through Jasper with Ryan and the Boss in his Cadillac (windows down) singing George Jones’ “Yabba Dabba Doo” at the top of our collective lungs, these are the things I’ll miss and the lost prospects that leave me with the broken heart that I’m currently suffering. It’s truly like leaving family.
The only silver lining here is that the company offered, as an obvious olive branch, my unquestioned choice of locations to which I may transfer for my cross-country stage. Based on its reputation, as well as its geographic location, I chose Bowling Green, Kentucky. It’s a small location as far as the company is concerned, roughly the same size as the one which I enjoyed here. It’s also actually closer to home, and a stone’s throw from Nashville. I don’t know when I’ll have to go there; in fact, no one seems to know anything. I expect that this will be expected within the next few days, but who knows? They sure don’t. My disenchantment with this company grows exponentially with each passing minute, and this mess sure isn’t helping. I’ve seen train wrecks that were better organized than this.
The sorrow I feel right now is truly indescribable. It’s one of the oldest, corniest lines in the book, but it honestly feels like a part of me is dying. To lose the daily interactions that I enjoy here is devastating to me, and I’m still grappling with that prospect. My resolve has yet to falter; if anything it’s grown stronger just to spite these invisible forces that obviously seek my demise. My morale, however, is on life support now as a result of this. To be so simple a place with such modest accommodations, I love it here; more than I can begin to describe. This airport shone as a beacon of hope after my experiences in Atlanta. My arrival here reminded me that I was meant to fly. The not-so-subtle hints abound; like my intense affection for my mentor, the Boss – who just happens to be a FedEx MD-11 Captain (the dream I’ve held since the age of 8), or the twice-weekly flights that just happen to go to McMinnville, Tennessee, of all places on this earth. Folks, my solo airplane from 2004 even showed up here the other day. I did my first solo in it in 2004, and a few months later it was sold to an attorney in Pensacola, Florida. Somehow, it ended up here a few days ago. Five years after I spread my very own wings (with its help), N548DC is sitting on our ramp right now at this very moment. But above all of these things, the greatest hope and inspirations that I have enjoyed here have come in the human form. The support of my local family, just like the support from my extended family of readers, has been invaluable. These kind, successful people have supported me for more than four months now and I don’t know how I’m going to make it without them. Thankfully, I have a habit of forming fierce loyalties and long-lasting attachments; evidenced with such examples as elementary school teachers that maintain an interest in my progress and well-being. My goal for my airport family is no different. While I may not see them daily anymore, they will always be a part of me. And I’m not going to like it, but I’m going to press on.

I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye to Jasper. I dread it, really. Like I said, with each armload that was carried out of the building, it was like I was watching a component of my very soul walk out of the building for the last time. I just stood in silence and somberly observed the opening minutes of the process. The beginning of the end.
“Lloyd, aren’t you going to help?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head as I dropped it and turned. “I won’t be a part of this funeral.”


And with that, I disappeared into the darkness.

Joey