Page 13 of Owen
Shaking off any unnecessary thoughts, because I have a few years to consider my options, I remove my white cloth napkin from my lap and place it on the table. “Excuse me, I need to nip to the ladies’.” Pushing my chair back, I loop the strap of my gold cross-body bag over my head and remove myself from the table.
Our twenty-five-man table makes it sound like a full restaurant of patrons. However, now I’m on my feet, I’m aware of the emptiness of the place, realizing we are the last ones still here. Even the waiters are sitting around their own table chatting in their fast-paced mother tongue while eating their supper.
I slide my credit card across the table of the feasting waiters, wink and hold my pointer finger up to my mouth, instructing them to keep quiet about treating the guys tonight. One of them grabs the card machine and I punch in my pin, then place a hefty tip on the table.“Efharisto,”I say, thanking them.
The four white-shirted waiters smile gratefully, and chorus,“Parakalo,”thanking me and telling meYou’re welcome.
When they point me in the direction of the restrooms, I use them, then wash my hands.
I stop for a moment as I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I may look confident on the outside, but inside I am equal amounts of excited and petrified.
When I returned from maternity leave four weeks ago, aside from a handful of flying hours, plus a few sessions in the flying simulators, it’s been almost eighteen months since I flew with the guys as a unified team and performed a full display sequence, because I discovered I was pregnant after our first display year came to a close.
I grasp the sides of the washbasin, feeling every heavy ounce of expectation on my shoulders. The expectation to succeed. The expectation of being the first woman to be selected to join the elite team of pilots. I suddenly feel the same pressure I did the first year I joined. Only this time, the weight feels heavier with the expectation of being a mom while making this extraordinary job work around my daughter.
I know the Air Force has done everything in their power to make it work for me, and I couldn’t do it without their support, but making it a success, that’s all on me.
Having to pinch myself when I made the team, every minute of every display was a dream come true, and once I had proved myself as a capable pilot who could lead a team, my ultimate dream came true when they made me Red 1, just before I found out I was pregnant. Flying was incredible before but now I am the leader, it’s even more thrilling.
Although that’s what is causing me to feel the pressure I do. I want to succeed. I want us all to succeed.
This year, we also have a couple of new pilots. Having studied everyone’s techniques for hours, I’m praying we gel and that my choreography suits each team member.
Not only do I have my teammates’ lives in my hands, but people are watching because I am a woman. They are waiting for the ball to drop.
In a way, that sort of happened because falling pregnant after joining the aerobatic team wasn’t part of the marketingand public relationships strategy the Air Force planned to implement.
Knowing what I wanted to do with my life since I was ten years old—become a pilot within the Air Force—becoming a mom, or rather, having Poppy, was not part of my life plan, nor had I ever given a thought to starting a family.
Only here I am, approaching forty, at the height of my career, with my adorable eleven-month-old baby, trying desperately to be, do, and have it all, while masking the internal freakout I have at least several times a day.
I’ll be away for weeks at a time. Will Poppy forget me as I continue to pursue my career?
And recently I’ve started to weigh up the risky nature of my job. Something that never crossed my mind before I had Poppy.
And how will I manage a deployment away from her? Sometimes being gone for up to six months. It’s fine now while she’s a baby and can come with me, but as she gets older and has school, it won’t be as easy.
Like a piece of paper, my heart crumples in my chest as I think about leaving her for half a year. She changes daily. How will I cope with that? And will she remember who I am when I return?
I can’t imagine ever being okay with that.
I’m not now and never will be ready for that. The sad reality is that I’m more than certain, as soon as my time with the aerobatic team is up, I’ll be at the top of the deployment list and not a single ounce of me wants to be away from Poppy. I can’t leave her knowing Michael doesn’t care about her, and while my mom has offered, she is older now and should be enjoying her golden years. Not looking after a baby. My baby.
I’m so torn, my priorities have completely changed. I’ve changed.
My mommy-guilt has taken on new heights, much higher than my aerobatic plane will ever allow me to fly.
I stare at myself, hard, in the mirror, then push my shoulders back.
Breathe, Jade. You’ve got this.
I tug the zipper of my bag and locate the gift my father gave me. He said it was my good luck charm; the one that would get me selected to join the aerobatic team.
Holding the glazed white stone in the palm of my hand, I flip it over and give the bright red poppy painted on the top a rub with my fingertips.
I remember those selection days as if they were yesterday. I’ve carried this stone with me through every assessment, interview, training, and flight I’ve ever taken.
So much has happened since my father’s charmed gift worked its magic, and it’s been a whirlwind ever since.
