Life in the Pilot's Seat

I sit on an island. A humid, hot breeze carries with it the smell of the sea. I am perched on top of a barstool while a palm leaf ceiling fan buzzes quietly overhead. The breeze rustles the tiki bar’s once living roof and the bartender pops the cap off of my second Key West lager.

On my right side, clad in sundress and shades, sits a beautiful girl. Her name is Lisa and I am in love with her. On my left side sits a man of 50, balding (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and very, very drunk. I am not in love with him.

He tells Lisa and me about life; its ups and downs, its twists and turns. He tells of his experiences in the cockpit and bedroom and how nothing in life can be lived without the wisdom of both arenas. He bounces on his stool, full of enthusiasm and hate for his ex-wife. He flails wildly as he remembers his youth and attempts, daily, to recreate it.

He is a severely wasted pilot in a tiki bar on some small Key nestled in the middle of the Florida Keys. and Lisa and I have just happened to stop by for some conch and a beer.

His wisdom runs the gamut, from tailwinds to headwinds; he sings a drunken tune of life. He is the perfect fixture on this Keys trip and I am in awe of the fact that I have FINALLY been dropped into the middle of a Jimmy Buffett song.

As the conch fritters crunch between my teeth, I soak in the wisdom of this hapless Joe. Lisa looks at me and smiles a knowing smile, trying her best not to laugh at the poor kid’s antics. I am not worried, so I smile back. If this silly pirate says anything crass to my lovely Lisa, I know that she’ll knock him off of his barstool with one quick jab. She certainly is my kind of girl.

The pilot is crass, of that there is no doubt. His stories are oftentimes cringe-worthy, but he leaves well enough alone with present company, a fact I rather regret, as a picture of my Lisa knocking someone out would fit quite well on Facebook.

Slowly but surely, the man’s talk tames and true-life lessons emerge. He talks of never wanting to be a father, how he hated kids and loathed anything that would keep him tied to one place and person.

Yet, now that he has his daughter, he is completely wrapped around her finger; he would die for her, he loves her more than he ever thought possible. Even though his feelings for the woman who helped bring his daughter into the world are a bit less than love, he can’t help but love the fact that they met, he says. For without that, there would be no her. Continued...

He speaks of the freedom of the open sky and the constant bite of the travel bug. He talks of times gone by; near misses, full crashes and opportunities grabbed and lived. He talks for the entire time that Lisa and I sit with him.

Just as I throw back the remainder of my last beer, one that he bought for me, I find his arm suddenly around my shoulder.

“We’re both a couple of ugly bald guys,” says the aged aviator. “Life happens fast and love comes and goes. She’s way too pretty to be with you. You better marry her. Hold onto her and marry her.”

As Lisa comes to the laughing defense of my looks and we walk back to the Prius to continue our journey to Key West, I think on this parting shot.

I climb into the driver’s seat, a seat I constantly occupy in my own life (figuratively speaking). I look at Lisa and I know the flier is right. Life does come at you fast. Eat conch, absorb sun and marry above your bracket … especially when she is this utterly amazing.