©Mark H. Pillsbury
Rick instinctively recalled feeling as he once did at Six Flags® over Texas, where as an eager young kid he rode The Rotor; an amusement park ride where victims stand against the inside of a cylinder, and once the cylinder is spinning fast enough, the floor drops out. The dark, dingy cylinder slowly achieved proper speed and with screaming and crazy looks, one could almost predict the exciting moment.
Instead, this JetRanger® fell at once with no culmination or thrills, just killer rotors snapping through intertwined steel cables of a hoisted elevator, plummeting the yellow cage terminally on its side into the water. The concussive blow was slightly relieved by the shallow tank, almost completely dry due to the longest drought in Texas history.
News photography later showed the wreckage at a deceptive angle; what appeared to be a lone helicopter resting sublimely in a Canadian glacier lake, actually was the yellow bird dumped in a dying pond of an east Texas ranch. Placid, shallow, and mossy, their wet grave was surrounded by burning wilderness and a flat clearing designated LZ (Landing Zone b.) Bravo.
The jarring crash hit Rick so hard it knocked him unconscious momentarily, but he revived quickly to see two of Jessica. The double and blurred vision didn’t keep him from finding her across the passenger compartment, blood oozing from her scalp. Jessica looked still and ashen, he thought, as he sloshed through the warm pond water to pull her up to him.
The quiet was deafening, his shock complete, the devastation total; but Rick quietly cradled Jessica’s limp body in the half-submerged compartment of the downed rescue helicopter.
“I am so sorry Jess.” Rick, almost sobbing, softly, lovingly spoke to her bloody face, gently patting her head. Despite the carnage, this was a tender moment; however she was either unconscious or dead. Rick began to conceptualize the suddenness of their fall was due to hitting the wires overhead. At the same time, it was painfully clear the momentum of his love had also crashed. Far-off dreams of weddings, suburban bliss, even children, just as surely were destroyed.
With so much unfinished business, regret, and terror processing through his shaken psyche, his natural urge was for action; however, he sat there listlessly in the murky green water comforting his lovely partner Jessica, “There, there, babe—it will be OK now; you're here in my arms,” he paused, holding back the flood of emotions, “I gotchu safe babe, you’re gonna be fine—just take it easy now, Jess.”
Time stopped for the storm chasers, and it was still like a sanctuary.
“God, take her from me now, please, I love her so much… Keep her safe for me, I love her so…” Rick could barely whisper, his eyes clenched shut. Grief robbed him of his voice.
He looked at her now in a daze, smiling sorrowfully, “Jessica girl, you get to ride the wind now, sail above the big storms and keep watch over me—will you watch over me, Jess?!” Rivulets of tears watered his pain.
Finally, Rick broke down and heaved with silent sobs, holding her closely to his heart, muttering, “There, there, Jess… it’s OK now...” But for Rick it was over. She was gone.
©Mark H. Pillsbury (Aug. 19, 2011)
Rick's burden is too heavy to carry, too real to hide, and too deep to undo. This tragedy is like the weight of the world, it was his idea to detour into the ranch outside Liberty County. His heart cannot bear the grief, it longs to be set free, but the pain is a consuming fire. What can he do? To whom does he turn? He sits in the helicopter needing help, failure all around, the futility of their rescue so ironic, so terribly unattainable. How could his soul ever heal?
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