Model Air Planes

Monday was David Scott’s Birthday. He turned forty eight, and Dave knew that because it would mean seven years now that he was no longer in the Air Force. Dave was never a birthday celebration man, and he was used to people assuming that birth congratulations could and should be kept to a minimum. Maybe it was his grand stature that kept the balloons at bay, or perhaps it was because his hair  never grew a millimeter past government regulation. Dave’s students knew it was his birthday because the principal regarded it in a morning announcement. It felt nice to have them know. Subtle spotlight can be tolerated by anyone.

Father O’Nolan discovered it was Dave’s birthday twenty five minutes after he said morning Mass. After this realization, Father O’Nolan’s quick wit brought him to the fifty year old model airplane that was resting on this dresser. He meant to finish it long ago, and he was sure that Dave would love it. After all, Dave was in the air force. People in the air force love air planes just as much as Irish priests with dreams.

Father O’Nolan knew that he had one hour to retrieve the present, so he ran home and carefully finished the stippling in egg shell white. It was perfect. Father O’Nolan knew that it was not proper Air Force protocol to deliver presents to one’s door as an over anxious boy scout, so he left it on the faculty table with a note written in green felt pen that simply said, “Happy Birthday Dave.” He didn’t sign it, but Father O’Nolan hoped his Irish p’s would be a proper identifier.

Father O’Nolan had many things to do that day, but he managed to schedule in twenty minutes of sitting in a chair by his model airplane gift. Every now and then a teacher would walk by and marvel at his generosity and kindness. It was nothing special, he said. He just loved planes, and this one needed a good home. He implored about the effectiveness of the stippling, as if a negative response could bring about the egg shell white paint in order to make corrections. Everyone agreed with Father O’Nolan's internal sentiment; it was lovely.

Father O’Nolan later found out that Dave left the school early for a round of golf. All was well, because Father O’Nolan had some business to attend to himself. He left his perch and went along. Perhaps the reveal could wait until tomorrow. It must, anyway.

The plane sat on the table for the entire day that followed. Along the line of time is disappeared. Eventually, the only evidence of its existence were faculty murmurings regarding Father O’Nolan's attention to detail. The murmurings  pleased him well enough.