Sky Daddy

by Kate Folk

I activated the timer, sat on the ball, and fished in my jeans pocket for my shard of plane. I’d purchased it on eBay for forty dollars and carried it everywhere, as a talisman and a tool of sexual gratification. The piece was white and roughly rectangular, the size of a domino. According to the listing description, it was part of the hull of a decommissioned 737-800. I tucked the shard into my mouth while I perused photos of planes on my phone. First there was the A320, who possessed, in my opinion, the handsomest face of any commercial airliner. I proceeded to the 787 Dreamliner, whose beauty was augmented by his lovely name. Next up, a vintage magazine ad of the retired McDonnell Douglas DC-9, a plane that flaunted a certain “bad boy” appeal, having been involved in 276 aviation occurrences with a combined 3,697 fatalities in his forty-nine years of service, among the worst safety records in the industry.