J.G. Weddle
Survivors of a plane crash in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State, in the middle of winter, remain determined to survive even though the odds are stacked against them. The “survive first”, then “wait time” is spent by a fire, where they discuss any and all subjects; religion, personal histories, goals and dreams, some satisfied and some never realized. This emotionally charged story tries to reflect what crash survivors really experience in this unimaginable scenario. Once again you are asked to place yourself into the story and see if you agree. Deeply reflect on all the things you have gained and lost in your lifetime, up to this given point. This is the opportunity afforded to these survivors by tragic circumstance. Everyone could use a little soul searching time in this fast paced world.
J. G. Weddle continues to write part time, while working as a factory supervisor. He is a veteran of the United States Air Force. Born in Texas and raised in the Midwest. J. G. Weddle’s debut novel, “28 days in the Coke Works”, continues to garnish great reviews. This second adventure, “97 Evergreen West”, will once again give you the downtrodden to root for. Common people with common faults, varied backgrounds, and average misgivings are forced to endure the uncommon hardship. Once again, J. G. Weddle demonstrates his abilities to imagine a story from beginning to end and his tenacity to see the project through in a comfortably quick paced readability that will appeal to the common working person. The author is a common working person who wishes to entertain the same.
The phone rings, I think. I try to shake out the cobwebs in my head and listen, and it rings again. I looked at the clock and cussed whoever might be calling this early on a Sunday morning. Work, probably. “I’ve got a flight for you Jason.” The dispatcher said. “You’re doing the Seattle-Vancouver run again, if you’re up to it.” He continued. “No problem, when do we go?” I replied and asked in the same sentence. “We scheduled a 4 PM take off tomorrow. Seattle landing time about 6:30 PM. Your overnight there and then take off for Vancouver at 6 AM, quick turn there and return to Spokane.” This was dispatcher lingo for a simple out and back hump run. “Who is Co-pilot?” I asked. “Your buddy Doug, should I call him or would you like to?” He asked. I explained that since he was responsible for this aggravating hangover that I was experiencing, and the fact that it was 7AM on a Sunday morning, I wanted the pleasure of calling him. With a forced “See you tomorrow” pleasantry, we were off the phone. I called Doug. He sounded better than I did. We flipped a coin and I won, so I would be Pilot in Command tomorrow. This was a ritual we started about a year ago. You really have to trust someone a lot to do a coin flipping decision over the phone. We were tight enough to trust each other that much. Think about it.
Oscar determined that I was up and moving and began his demanding ritual seeking food and attention. Since I didn’t have a mate, I had a cat. He was decent company, though he could be quite the pain in the ass at times. Oscar liked to act like he was a tough cat, but he was an indoor cat to the extreme. If you played rough with him, he could leave some impressive scratches on you, but I had my doubts he could survive 24 hours outside, even in the summertime. I was convinced that if it came to killing something to eat, he would starve. The only thing he could kill was the contents of a can with a Friskies label on it. He convinced me to bring him home when he was a kitten by not giving me a choice in the matter. He decided he was going to live with me, and that was the end of it, no discussion, the decision was his and it was final. He was of the Heinz 57 variety with some percentage of Siamese in him. I wasn’t forced to pick a kitten from the pile of kittens, or anything like that. I reached into the box to pet a couple of them and Oscar just never let go. We made a good pair, as pets and owners go.
My Sunday was fairly routine. I took a shower, ate my Frosted Flakes, drank coffee, watched some CNN, and went to Wal-Mart for essentials. When I got home I had a message on the answering machine from my brother Buck. He was asking if I knew any pilots that could take Kim up to get some pictures for her portfolio. She was always adding levels to her photography genre. I had to think about that one for a minute. Let’s see, I’m a pilot, more than half of all the people I know are pilots, friends of pilots, married to pilots, or have a family member that is a pilot. He could be awfully dumb sometimes for a smart person.
I had a better idea, so I called him back. “Buck, I have a flight to Seattle tomorrow, with a follow on to Vancouver, then back here. Why don’t you see if Kim wants some shots of the mountains, the ocean and coastline, some cities, etc? Better yet, why don’t you call Boeing and tell them you’re taking a couple of days off and we will make an adventure out of it. The company doesn’t mind if we take family and friends with us once in a while, as long as you’re not paying customers that can bitch about substandard accommodations and crappy in-flight services.” I explained and suggested. He liked the idea but needed to make some phone calls before he could commit to it, so he suggested that I come over for dinner later and we terminated our call.
I arrived at Buck and Kim’s house at just about 5 PM. Kim met me at the door and explained humorously that Buck was out on the back patio BBQing. I asked Kim if anyone had told him it was wintertime. She just smiled. It doesn’t matter to him that it is the middle of December. I swear Buck would grill a steak in a blizzard, or even a hurricane if given the chance. Kim got me a glass of iced tea and told me about expanding her portfolio to include some aerial photography, and liked the idea of joining me on a “hump run.” Buck came in with a large platter of steaks, way more than enough for three adults. This was just another reflection of his overkill attitude. “Boeing boys told me to have a nice trip, so I guess we are on. Kim thinks it is exactly what she needs to get the pictures in her head onto paper. That’s how she explains to me being a photographer works anyway. I hope you are hungry.” Buck said. I had to laugh at the amount of steak he grilled for the three of us, and at the fact that it appeared he had chilled himself substantially to grill them. His red ears and red cheeks almost glowed.
