The Float Plane                                       Panama Canal, 1944   The old man said he wanted a float plane, he thought he’d do some fishing on the lake — the fool was a bird colonel, wouldn’t take no for an answer. We took an old trainer, a two-seater, stuck on two pontoons — your float plane, sir. The pilots took one look and began to place bets, the bookies were grinning.                        Next morning, just as soon as the sun rose over the jungle, he and Olsen climbed aboard — Olsen had drawn the shortest straw, maybe he should have gone a.w.o.l. The guys laughed, called him Lucky. We watched from the top of the hangar. The plane taxied along, got up some speed, got airborne, circled the base. We could see the pair of them: the colonel, beaming, half insane as he buzzed the hangar and waved hello; and Olsen, blank, not having so much fun. They skimmed the water, then all at once spun in.     I guess we sent a boat, but . . . you know.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont January 2016