I Have Become It - 2

This must be some nightmare, this can't be real!

I'm looking around for something, anything to show me that this is all a dream and I'll wake up in my bed or washed up on a beach somewhere, assuming that I didn't drown and this is my brain's last wild delusion before the final lights-out. But all I see is a tractor... and it too is moving. It's got eyes and a mouth... and it's coming right towards me. Do I do something sensible, like make no sudden moves, maybe say "Hi?"

Of course not. I jump back and holler like I just saw a zombie horde coming at me.  The tractor jumps six feet in the air, turns and kicks me with one of its massive rear tires... right in the head.

Lights out, indeed.

Then I wake again... Indoors again... light filtering from a doorway and two windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. They look like floating gold dust in the sunlight. It must have been a dream after all. I hope so...

"Hey, buddy, you awake?" a voice reached me. There was a prodding at my side. "You took a little bit of a dent in the head there, but Dottie patched you up."

I open my eyes a little wider, though I dread to. Who the hell is Dottie? I know no such person. I see another airplane, a cropduster type - smallish, white and orange, black accents, blue eyes, brow furrowed with concern. "Am I still dreaming?"

"You look pretty wide-awake to me." the cropduster replied. "Anyway, you're in my place right now, and my name's Dusty. What's yours?"

Exchanging names was about 1,032 on my list of concerns right now. Despite a ringing headache, I picked myself up off the mat. "I don't know what I am..." A reflective surface at the other end of the room caught my eye... a mirror. I hauled myself toward it. Dusty followed, still looking worried, "Easy now, you're still reeling from that kick. You need to take it slow."

I made it over to the mirror, saw myself there... and froze. The same airplane I saw in the water's reflection still looked back at me. It was no dream. It was real. My heart would be pounding right now, but something else was racing inside me, roaring like thunder... an engine. The prop on my nose started to spin. I turned, noticing others watching through the doorway. I headed straight for it, and the throng parted before me, sounding an alarm. I streaked out, looking for a clear path, frantically trying to figure out how the rest of my body worked... "Damn, what muscle flexes an aileron? Do I even have muscles anymore?" I had no idea how to make this new body obey, and the engine seemed to have a mind of its own.

Dusty shouted after me, "Hey! Whoa! That isn't the way to the runway and you're not fit to fly yet! Dottie!" he called out to someone ahead of me, looked like a forklift, periwinkle blue in color. "He's still not all there yet!"

The forklift lunged forward, coming to a stop directly in front of me, tines spread wide. "Just stop right there, buster. You're still hurt. You are NOT getting off the ground until you're 100% again!"  She was small, and I could have got around her if I tried, but the implacable "Mom voice" froze me in place. A fuel truck and another pitty, both older types, came up alongside her and between themselves and Dusty, had me completely corralled. She made a "cut" signal to me. "Turn it off! You're not going anywhere right now."

"I. DON'T.KNOW.HOW!" I just shout back at them. "It just started by itself!"

"Buddy, don't think about it." Dusty was beside me again. "Just relax. Deep breaths, slow deep breaths. Don't think of anything else right now. I'm right here, OK?" I strain towards his voice like it was a lifeline in the ocean, and feel, oddly enough, reassured. Everything seemed to slow down, even time. Finally, my engine followed suit, and quieted again. I drooped down, sides heaving, while I surveyed the crowd I'd drawn with all my commotion. Mostly aircraft, but all vehicles.

"Come on," the forklift woman beckoned, in a gentler tone. "Let's get you back to the hangar. You still need to rest for a while." Dusty gives me a nudge. "Better follow Dottie's advice. She knows her business."

"All right." I go along, as all the fight's gone out of me for now.

Am I ever going "home" again?