Thirty Years Chasing the Lightning

From play, the manapua truck’s off-key carillon recalled us. Shoving and elbowing each other, we raced. Our palms smeared the Plexiglas finish. My youngest cousin was first; I was fourth.

Minutes later, my cousins wandered off, nibbling rice cakes and giant almond cookies wrapped in translucent white wax paper.

Pushing a scatter of pennies and nickels across scratched Plexiglas, I received a glossy red-and-yellow envelope in return. I flipped it over to the thumbnails, captivated by the Lockheed P-38 Lightning.

With obsessive-compulsive care, I teased apart the crimped seal and shook out a clear plastic clip-on nose cone and propeller. With held breath, I slid out one thin Styrofoam sheet with a spray-painted punch-out WWII fighter.

Dark blue ignited excitement until I saw it was the P-51 Mustang. My disappointment would last until evening, when it would land among other Mustangs, Zeros, Supermarine Spitfires, and Messerschmitt Me 262s on the TV boneyard. Tomorrow would reset my anticipation.

*****

Now, on my smartphone’s touchscreen, I launch an app, scanning the Black Sheep’s wing—pity it isn’t the F4U Corsair. Once I mount it, aligning fighter and online stencil, its digitized form wheels over pixellated waves.

Of available models none are the Lightning.