The rubber tires escaped the hot ribbon of asphalt - both so hot they could melt, or so it seemed. While still early in the day, the temperature held the promise of significance. Rivulets of sweat dripped between my breasts. The airplane gently wobbled from the confines of the earth to the freedom of the air. Lift, drag, thrust and weight symphonic in creating the magic of flight.

The desert sand pulled away as the airplane climbed into the blue sky with an occasional puffy cloud that imagined white poodles frolicking. At the increased altitude, details gave way to the bigger whole, with nature and man competing to create patterns on the canvas of the desert floor. Tracks carved by water racing to meet its gravitational destiny and tracks carved by man racing to a future fate made a design impossible for either to create on their own. In the distance the wind mills performed their private dance as the wind coaxed them to motion -- again, a blend of nature and man. The green oasis of a golf course added a shock of new color to the desert palette of mushroom.

It was a perfect day to dispose of a dead body. I knew I could find the perfect spot. The vastness of the desert could swallow a body and secrete it indefinitely. I pulled back on the yoke of the airplane to gain altitude to begin my search for the ideal spot. My husband's lifeless head snapped to the right as though he were looking out the window of the cockpit.

Below, the airplane created a shadow over the gravel pit. Monster machines carved a reverse pyramid deep into the earth, moving sand and gravel from where it was useless to where it was useful. Junked cars aligned, patiently waiting to be mined for parts or scrap metal. Neither was a good location for a dead body.

 

The Chocolate Mountains loomed ahead; the asymmetric folds of the hills reminded me of thick velvet draperies ready to hide the darkest secret. As I flew closer, the velvet draperies were realized as blotches of sand and creosote bushes. No roads, no buildings -- the perfect place. Now I just had to increase my altitude to insure his body would be unrecognizably disassembled in the fall.

I was flying in a TRSA - an uncontrolled airspace in which radio communication with SoCal Approach was voluntary. My headset crackled with other pilots in the area stating their intentions, but I did not identify the airplane and kept the transponder on 1200 or Visual Flight Rules. No need to alert the FAA of my presence. My altimeter read 6,500 feet. I would need to perform a slip maneuver in order to take the wind pressure off the passenger side door. I stepped on the right rudder, executed cross control with the ailerons and opened the passenger door. His motionless body transformed into action and began a free fall to the desert below until something stopped the motion. His foot was trapped in the seat belt harness and the bulk of his body was dangling upside-down outside of the plane - frustrating the slip stream. He was proving to be as mean and tenacious in death and he was in life. Was I ever going to be free of this man? While trying to maintain straight and level flight I struggled to free his imprisoned foot. I released the buckle on the belt and his entire body left the plane causing the plane to roll to the left. I felt free and light. I banked the plane and turned south towards the Salton Sea.

He always said he wanted to be scattered in the desert.

end