It's Good to be in Control

It’s Good to be in Control

At precisely 12:08 p.m. on the Saturday before the Indy 500 Race, May, 2023:

Dr. Manut Singh and her husband, Rohan, accompanied by three boys, Mustafa age 10, Rahul age 6, and Manish age 5, are seated at a booth in the restaurant near the window.

Ellie MacDonald holds the door open for her sister, Fawn Ashcroft, when Ellie says, “You go ahead and put our name in. I brought something for you, but I left it in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Pilot-for-hire, Solomon Aries, shakes the hand of his Brazilian client, Silas Havier, a professional soccer player, and arranges to pick him up here tomorrow night at 6:00 p.m. Silas calls for an Uber, while Solomon steps into the restaurant for a quick cup of coffee before his next job.

Two young men reach across the table to loosely hold hands as they pray aloud before the meal that’s just arrived at their table, and the neighboring table can hear them, “Heavenly Father, thank you for this food and this day. We trust You for whatever You bring to us in it.”

A young woman steps outside the restaurant to tell her husband to bring their little boy and come in; their table is ready. Dad picks up the toddler and directs him toward the runway, where they see a Cessna 172 gaining speed for takeoff. Waving “bye-bye” to the Cessna, Dad carries his little boy inside. at

The restaurant host yells over the substantial crowd gathered at the On The Tarmac Restaurant, “Miller, party of four, Miller.” And the Miller party of four vacates their prime seats in the Observation Lounge to another party who watches through floor-to-ceiling glass windows facing the tarmac as planes come in and go out.

The cooks in the kitchen are overwhelmed because the day is so busy, and the servers are behind in bringing the food. A woman with an abnormal gait moves slowly, collecting dishes and paper left behind by satisfied customers.

Ordinarily not a town with a metropolitan feel, today Windsor Falls, Indiana becomes a mecca of unfamiliar languages, and the town’s small, quiet airport is a swarm of activity, Lear jets coming in to land, and prop plane doors opening to allow passengers to de-plane.

“Durr, party of three” watches it all unfold, trying to guess how many people will come out of each plane, and wagering on which passenger is also the pilot as the planes arrive in droves.

The television in the waiting area shows a picture of Indianapolis, some 60 miles away, then another picture of celebrities arriving in the city. The volume on the television is turned down, but the little restaurant’s patrons can see 33 mug shots on television: the field of drivers for the 107^th running of the Indy 500 race.

The large “On the Tarmac” clock over the register in the front of the restaurant is turning 12:01 p.m. in Windsor Falls, Indiana, as pilot Erick Heidlum approaches, waiting for clearance to land his Lear jet. He reaches up to touch the flask in his pocket.

Yes. Soon now.

* * * * *

Marelina tried to remember when it had all started. She thought the first time must have been that day in the school cafeteria five or six months ago. She remembered that day in particular because it was the first day she’d had the courage to look Nicole Matheson in the eye. Nicole, who made straight A’s. Nicole who made the teachers think she was so good. Nicole, who “accidentally” bumped into Marelina and knocked her whole lunch tray to the ground. Spaghetti and red sauce had splattered everywhere, even all over Marelina’s white t-shirt, and she’d had to finish the school day looking as if she’d been tie-dyed with spaghetti sauce.

Yes, it was that day. 

On that day, when Marelina gathered her lunch tray and slipped past Nicole’s table, head down, eyes averted, she heard that high-pitched voice. Though she couldn’t make out the words, she was sure she heard her name. Something cold and hard filled her stomach, then that same something drained down into her feet until her entire body felt like lead. Her feet came to a full stop right in front of Nicole’s table.

“So, it’s true,” she said simply, looking directly into Nicole’s eyes. Where had this come from? What was she thinking, initiating conversation with Nicole? And exactly what did she think she was going to say next? Marelina was as surprised as Nicole was.

All the cheerleaders, their boyfriends, a couple of soccer players, and even Natalia and Amber, who were generally kind to Marelina… all of them, the entire table, grew silent. She was almost certain she saw fear in Nicole’s eyes. A sliver of a smiled played across Marelina’s lips.

She wondered exactly what it was that was true? What was it that Nicole thought Marelina knew? Whatever it was had shaken Nicole.

Between fourth and fifth periods, Marelina sensed someone behind her, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with Natalia.

Natalia seemed rushed, and her eyes darted rhythmically up and down the hall, but despite her unsettled air, she took her time formulating her question. Her lips moved twice before her voice caught up, and Marelina had the oddest sensation that she was watching a dress rehearsal. Finally, the words came.

“You heard something about Nicole?”

“Yeah,” Marelina lied as easily as she breathed, “You didn’t?”

“No, well, I mean, I think. I’m just not sure…” Natalia stammered.

“Well, I just heard her dad was messing around on her mom and he left them.” That sounded plausible. Warming to this game, Marelina added one last juicy droplet of falsehood, “I think they’re gonna have to find some cheap-out place to somewhere to live.”

There. That should do it. Where had that come from, Marelina wondered. Whatever. It made her feel good and gave her confidence, even if it wasn’t strictly true. As a matter of fact, she was proud of that little piece of drama she had just created.

Marelina smiled. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow, but for today, it sure felt good.

The odd thing about it, though, was that a week later, it was all over school that Nicole’s dad really was cheating on her mom. Nicole disappeared from school, and Marelina heard that she and her mom actually had moved to some dirtbag apartment, and she didn’t even get to finish her tenth-grade year at Mont Bravard High.

Marelina thought hard. How had she known about Nicole’s parents? Had she overheard a conversation about Nicole and forgotten about it? How did she know? It was almost like that time she told Natalia that Tim Shaw cheated on his Algebra test. She hadn’t really seen him do it, exactly. It was more that it amused her to think of what would happen if it were really true. Tim was always strutting around school in his shirt and tie on game days like he was something special. Marelina could hardly stand the sight of him.

And Miss Hunt and Mr. Wellgrove… they both taught English and Literature, and Marelina thought it would be fun if they were dating. She asked Natalia if she thought they might be, but Natalia didn’t know. So Marelina pretended it was true and told the kids who sat around her in Literature class she’d seen them together at the pizza place in town. To her great surprise, the very next week she actually did see them there.

Marelina told the mean boy down the street she’d heard his dog ran away, and she told her mother that her Aunt Cici had come to town without stopping to see them before she headed back to Florida. In an inexplicable turn of events, Aunt Cici actually did come to town without contacting them. Now Mom and Aunt Cici weren’t speaking. And the mean boy’s dog was gone. And Miss Hunt and Mr. Wellgrove were openly dating. And Tim Shaw got caught cheating and had to miss the game that night.

The more she talked about other people, the more people seemed to like her. It wasn’t long before Marelina had a new walk, and new look, and a new confidence. Now she strutted across the cafeteria, head held high, amber-colored ponytail whipping back and forth, fanning her neck. Her footsteps were jaunty, and everyone wanted to be her friend. It was a little unnerving at times, but it felt good to not hang her head in fear at lunchtime every day.

But there was still Brad Capshaw to contend with. Him and that prissy girlfriend of his, Shanna.

Brad’s locker was three numbers down from Marilena’s, and he always used to say hi to her when they met in the hall. She had written his name all over the inside of her spiral-bound notebook and had made a crossword puzzle out of her name and his, connecting them with the R’s in both their names, daydreaming about their first date.

Then one day, she accidentally dropped the notebook and when he picked it up for her, it fell open. All she could see were the “Brad Capshaws” written all over the inside cover. And he had humiliated her that day, calling her a stalker right there in the tenth-grade hallway. Marilena would never forgive him for embarrassing her in front of her friends. Just because someone follows you on social media and texts you and knows where you live, and knows the names of all three of your siblings, and that you have a dog named Zeus... that doesn’t necessarily make them a stalker.

Does it?

That day Brad started an all-out campaign to mortify and embarrass Marelina by vexing her with his very presence. She knew it was him even before she heard the whisper close in her ear. It was always him. He took every opportunity to embarrass her, “Hey, Sexy. How ‘bout goin’ to the game with me?” or, “Oh baby, gimme some o’dat.”

No matter how many times it happened, no matter how many times he openly ridiculed her, it still made her heart jump a beat. Why couldn’t she learn? Why did she always think there was hope? She hated Brad Capshaw.

Like a high-stakes game of chess though, it was her move and today she knew exactly what to do.

Again, she made her move in the lunch room, but this time, the target was Brad. When he left his seat to get a napkin, she left her seat as well, speaking nonchalantly as she passed his friends, “Please tell Brad how sorry I am to hear about his dog.”

There. The groundwork had been laid, and now she only needed to wait. And, sure enough, it didn’t take long.

She’d felt his presence behind her before she saw him, felt his warm breath against her neck, awakening her senses. No, this had to be cold. This had to be heartless. There was no room for hormones in this game today.

“Baby, you’re so fine.” His hoarse whisper echoed across the tenth-grade hall and bounced off it, audible to anyone within twenty feet. His friends sniggered behind him.

Patience. Three. Two. One. Now.

Marilena whirled around, her ponytail smacking him in the face. “Maybe you better go home and check on your dog…I heard Zeus got run over while you were at school today.”

That did the trick. Brad was gone in a flash.

* * * * *

On the Friday before Memorial Day:

3:42 p.m. Brad Capshaw finds out his dog is dead, and storms out of the house. He gets in his car and drives like there’s no tomorrow. And for twins, Monica and Myra Phelps out on a bicycle ride, there isn’t.

3:58 p.m. Brad Capshaw comes out of a tunnel, blinded by the sun and his own salty tears, and strikes Monica and Myra Phelps, ending both their lives instantly. He flees the scene of the accident.

4:41 p.m. Randy Phelps, father of Myra and Monica Phelps, and substance abuse sponsor, now 2,325 days sober, learns of the accident that took his daughters’ lives.

8:58 p.m. Randy Phelps, clean and sober 2,325 days, walks into a local pub he hasn't frequented in years, and downs four shots of 80-proof Jack before going out to look for the son of a bitch who killed his little girls.

9:35 p.m. Brad Capshaw and his girlfriend, Shanna Heidlum, hurriedly pack a bag, their VISAs, and all the cash their parents have stashed at home, and board a plane to Dubai.

10:42 p.m. Pilot-for-hire Erick Heidlum finds a note from his daughter, Shanna, that she’s gone to Dubai with her boyfriend, Brad Capshaw. He needs her now, and he needs to get out of the country.

On the Saturday before Memorial Day:

7:42 a.m. Pilot-for-hire Erick Heidlum, 672 days sober, packs a flask in his gear, and calls his sponsor, Randy Phelps, in one last ditch effort to stay sober. He finds Randy Phelps drunk and in tears.

10:08 a.m. Pilot-for-hire Erick Heidlum loads up his next paying customers and takes off, headed for Indianapolis.

At precisely 12:08 on the Saturday before Memorial Day

Cleared for landing at the Windsor Falls, Indiana, airport, Erick Heidlum decides there’s no use in living. If he can’t be happy, no one else will be either. He pulls the flask from his pocket and downs the whole thing. His throat is on fire, and somehow, he finds that gratifying. His wheels touch the ground, but he doesn’t stop. He pilots his Lear jet directly into the Observation area at the On the Tarmac Restaurant.

12:42 p.m.

Breaking news flashes across Marelina’s television screen. Somewhere in Indiana, at least 45 people are dead when a privately owned and piloted aircraft smashes into a restaurant situated on the tarmac of the small airfield. But Marelina is absorbed in thought.

12:43 p.m.

Marelina begins to wonder if her gossiping comments might actually be coming true. They seem to be happening just the way she imagines them. She smiles. Maybe her classmates will finally respect her more now. This is the most amazing superpower ever!

It’s good to be in control.