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. drift away . . . As he drifted in the tidal streams of memory, surrounded by the echoes of another life very much like his own, he suddenly thought of his father, and the incongruity of the thought jolted Burnett. As he sat looking at the sea of tables and chairs peppered with navy blue uniforms, out of the blue he could just make out his father’s voice. All the dedicated young faces arrayed before him reminded him of something his father had once told him, and the need to hear his father’s voice now startled him. He had forgotten something. Something vital. Something he had forgotten from time to time, only to have it drilled back into his head like a bullet. It was something his father had wanted him to remember, needed him to remember. Burnett’s old man had flown fighters for the Navy in the Second World War and had gone on to fly for American before a heart attack nailed him in his early fifties, and yet to his last day Burnett’s father had lived and breathed flying. Flying not. I hadn’t the remotest idea I would like classical music. Jeff was humming along and bouncing up and down in his seat. My friends, I gave in and used the closest word, would have found it worthy of ridicule. I found it endearing. I found it arousing. I took him home and had my way with him. For the first time in my life, I had a man stay the night. I awoke to find him sleeping peacefully. I was assaulted by the intensity of the feelings I had for him. This had to be infatuation. It was far too intense to be love. I snuggled up against him and waited for him to wake up. It didn’t take long and I had my first encounter with what I had only been told about by the girls – early morning tumescence. I put it to good use. I made us eggs and bacon. Wasn’t I the little homemaker? Jeff told me he had to go so he could study. He seemed uneasy, but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was I was feeling from him. ‘See you later,’ I said. ‘Yeah.’ Enough with the ‘Yeah.’ I picked him up at.
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