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#venras logs #eonianemigrant #in which we like to have fun here at eonianemigrant dot com

❥ - a childhood memory - ♣ - a fading memory (luke)

❥ - a childhood memory (luke)

He remember’s Pop’s hands- blunt calloused fingers, hairy knuckles, both of them resting on his shoulders as he buckles the cockpit straps over his waist and chest for the first time. Well, the first time not in anybody’s lap. They wouldn’t do any more than cruise, really- not even high enough for a crop duster and certainly not fast enough to outrun a granny on a moped. He just wanted to demonstrate to Pops that he knew where the straps were meant to go, how they were meant to be fastened.

Pop is standing behind him. Those hands seemed relaxed- not grabbing but merely sitting there on his shoulders in a trusting way, like a pair of peacefully roosting birds. Luke knows almost instincively that if he did something wrong- really screwed the pooch- those hands were at the correct trajectory to shoot down and snatch the “wheel” from him at a moment’s notice. There was no wheel in front of him exactly but something like a pair futuristic stick shifts which could not only be cranked forcibly in many directions, but pulled up to gather charge…only to then be released like a sling shot, a sight which always gave him a thrill when he watched the effortless way Dad did it. Shooting the ship and everyone on it forward, like it was nothing. The harder you pulled, the faster the burst. It was so simple.

Luke was too nice to say it out loud, but Pops himself wasn’t even that good at it to begin with, and he was as forgiving a teacher as you could want. He felt both relieved and a little disappointed that Dad didn’t have time to teach him- to test him instead. He would’ve been a lot more anal about it, more pushy, but…

But he wanted to impress just the same. Either way, he knew Pops would tell Dad how he did later, and it would be an over-dinner conversation. Nah, he wouldn’t be wordy, but the old man would say something. He wanted it to be mostly praise and a little advice, instead of a consolation prize compliment and mostly advice. He knew he shouldn’t have been worried. Logically, flying at this height wasn’t essentially any different than hovering on one of his many repurposed gadgets. But he happened to notice that his breath was coming out a little rattly and he might be gripping the controls a little too tight. He relaxed his hands, but could do nothing for his breathing. If Pops noticed it, he didn’t make a joke, so it wasn’t worth mentioning.

Except- except it felt different. This wasn’t a gadget. This was an aircraft, albeit a small one. He had been told it would be different but he hadn’t believed it. As they rise, he sucks in breath through the noticeable gap in his teeth, but he can’t hear the annoying whistling sound that makes over the thrusters. And then his heart leaps as begins to glide over the glittering sand dunes, picking up modest speed. Forget leaping, his heart is doing an entire gymnastics routine and making the other leotard-wearing children sob into their Happy Meals.

Through their whole trip, Pop’s hands never need to come off his shoulders- he hardly has to correct him at all- and when the ship sounds settle down, Luke can hear him laughing, not because he found it funny but with pure bewilderment and happiness.

His kid can fly.

♣ - a fading memory (luke)

At this stage in his development, Luke feels uncomfortable unless he’s holding something. A toy. A sippy cup. A hand or two. One of his parents’ smiling faces occasionally float within grabbing range and have the most interesting textures. When he grabs those, it elicits hilarious responses that make him wheeze and shriek with laughter.

As a result, he’s always being passed things. Later he found out it wasn’t considered ideal for a toddler to be so accustomed to the taste of soda (orange was his favorite but Tab was unfortunately more common), however since the only other alternatives were usually a parade of Kool Aid rip offs or good old plain water, soda was often present nonetheless. And there was nothing ideal about any human life on Earth, at that time.

While other things were scarce, there seemed to be an endless supply of soda. So much that he would eventually realize it was an aftertaste in many of the foods they ate, especially if the food needed some sort of marinade in order to seem edible.

At first he doesn’t realize there’s something new in his sippy cup, something he’s never tried before. He certainly can’t smell it through that tiny hole where he sips from. His dads say… things. Things he can’t exactly recall in the tone of voice that means something special is happening. Something different. He’s about to go somewhere or be given something. He’s looking around for what that must be, and they help him by bringing the sippy cup up to his lips. He’s baffled about why the special words are connected with his sippy cup, but obediently begins to pull from it in sloppy sips.

“That little man, is called OJ” one of them says. “Shorthand for Oh. Joy. Or "Ode to Joy” if you grow up to like music”. He can’t really remember which of them said that, either option is just as likely and some of the words may be ad libbed by his sub concious because it sounds like something they would say.

All the other associated memories are blocked out by how intense and overwhelming that taste seemed to him, like a fucking sunrise happening on his tongue, filling his mouth with bright. OJ. Du jus d'orange. His body responded a lot like a plant, sucking it up thirstily and wanting more. All he knew at the time was that it was delicious and he approved. His wide eyes must’e been funny, because he also remembers chuckling, when he thinks of orange juice. These were vitamins that didn’t come in the form of a large beige horse pill, and his mind told them they worked instantly-like phoenix down even if that was fake and just in his head. The sugar high he got from OJ and the subsequent crash blew any soft drink out of the water.

Supplies were limited. But they enjoyed the hell out of it while it was there and although the memories surrounded it faded a little more all the time, orange juice is still associated in his mind, with vitality and celebration.

#luke strider #eonianEmigrant #ooc #ask memes

#devicefulflightrisk #eonianEmigrant