January 23rd, 20116
Hey dudsons,
Phew, got that nasty piano exam over! I was a little bit nervous so I did mess up in a few places.
Here's a short excerpt that I wrote based on this parachute packer story by Charlie Plumb:
Every single night, I lay thinking about
that man, Captain Charlie Plum, to be exact, before restlessly going to
sleep. Does he even know who I am? I must find the man and make sure he knew
that it was me, a low-ranked and unworthy parachute packer who spent an agonizing
and arduous period of time down in the hot, sultry bowels of the aircraft
carrier that saved his life. It would be
like a dream for the high-ranked and much venerated officer to express his gratitude
to me and to acknowledge me for who I deserve to be. If only he knew who I was! I wonder if he even cares…
One day, I was merely dong my
everyday morning routine, eating breakfast at the local Lucy’s diner. I was munching on a scrumptious piece of golden-brown
toast slathered on with freshly-made huckleberry jam when I saw him. My jaw dropped and then I proceeded to rub my
eyes, thinking that it was almost certainly a hallucination that resulted from the
restless nights that I tried to sleep, but no!
It was him! He looked weary and
lackluster, deprived of his old self. His
eyes were drooping and a look of perhaps loneliness was expressed on his
face. I stared at him, entirely
forgetting about my meal. Should I go talk to him? No, I shouldn’t talk to him, I’m just a no
body. These were just a few of the
thoughts circulating in my head. After a
period of a few minutes, the officer sensed that somebody was watching him and
thus turned around and to his dismay, saw me, a dishevelled and raggedy man
staring at him. He looked as if he was
trying to decipher who I was before returning to his meal.
After a few more minutes, I couldn’t
resist the urge to talk to him and stood up from my seat. I marched up to him, my
finger pointing at his face, and said in a calm and composed voice, “You’re
Captain Plumb.”
His eyes widened as I continued, “You
flew fighter jets in Vietnam. You were
on the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were
shot down. You parachuted into enemy
hands and spent six years as a prisoner of war.”
I probably sounded like an obsessive
stalker because he then questioned, “How in the world did you know all that?”
with a puzzled and flabbergasted look on his face.
I said quietly and meekly, as my
face reddened, “Because, I packed your parachute.”
Captain Plumb stopped for a minute,
probably rewinding what I had just said in his head. And then I finally got what I had been
waiting for: a simple thank you. The
captain quickly staggered to his feet and held out his hand. I was ecstatic! In fact, I was laughing madly inside my head.
I quickly grabbed his hand, perhaps a
little too forcefully, and I humbly said, “I guessed it worked.”, despite wanting
to say so much more. I wanted to brag
about how I worked laboriously and furiously just to fit that colossal parachute
into a tiny package. I wanted to tell
him that I should be endowed for what I did!
Then again that would be too arrogant of me to say that. Captain Plumb continued to thank me and afterwards,
we small talked, talking about our lives and the good old times.
It was around one in the afternoon when I walked back home in a jovial mood. I remembered exactly what he said to me: “I must tell you I’ve said a lot of prayers for your nimble fingers, but I never thought I’d have the opportunity to express my gratitude in person.” I smiled and felt the sunlight shining on my face as I kept repeating his words in my head. This was indisputably an incredible day for an inferior and low-ranked parachute packer.
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--Cyndi Forrest