The Flight (1 of 4)
12.3.5
I currently sit 37,000 feet above the ground in a plane headed for Detroit, MI. I will have a short layover there, followed by another flight to the city I was born in...
Ft. Myers, FL
I had two hours to get ready, pack my bags, and get to the airport. It was only through some very "creative" driving that I even arrived on time. Not only was I on time, but I had a good 10 minutes to spare.
As I sat in the concourse waiting to board, I noticed what seemed to me to be an odd choice of decoration. On the eastern wall, hung a rather enormous photograph of a field of dead sunflowers. I studied the picture, trying to ascertain what exactly had convinced someone to place it here. It certainly wasn't pretty. If it were there to make an artistic statement, it was lost on me.
As I stood pondering the meaning of this particular wall, I heard the boarding call for my flight. I waited for most of the passengers to have boarded before even stepping into line.
When I had finally entered the plane, I quickly found my seat and began preparing for take-off. It was a bare-bones flight with very few passengers. I had my choice of seating in my row, so I headed for the window seat. As the plane began to taxi, I closed the window shutter and rested my head on the seatback.
I'm the type of person who pretends to sleep during the flight, simply to keep up the illusion of remaining calm. In truth, the older I grow, the more I hate flying. It's actually not a fear of flight. I've flown hundreds of times, and in fact used to love bumpy weather as a child. I feel confident that no matter how many times I fly, nothing will ever go wrong, and I have none of the silly American fears of terrorism.
It doesn't really have anything to do with the concept of air travel at all. Frankly, these days I'm even uncomfortable riding in a car I'm not driving. I believe it has more to do with the lack of control than anything...
Whatever the reason for it, I always end up in an almost frenzied physical state. My breathing speeds up and comes in erratic bursts. My hands grip the nearest armrest as if that connection itself were the only thing keeping the universe in existence. My leg muscles tense up. It's a standard fight-or-flight reaction to a situation where neither option is really possible.
When the initial turbulence finally passed, the flight attendants came down the aisle with the beverage cart. I ordered a Bloody Mary to calm my nerves a bit. I only drink them on planes, despite the fact that I happen to make an excellent version at home.
It is now about 6:00 CST. The clouds below me have long since darkened. In a few hours, I will be stepping into a terminal in beautiful Florida to see my dad for the first time in over a year.
For now, though, I plan to sip on my drink, and stare out the window for awhile. If I look long enough, I just may lose myself in the wing's mesmerizing pulsations of alternating red and white.
To be continued...
