Fall

Thursday night’s flight was clearly designed as punishment for someone on that plane, and, given my circumstances, I’m guessing it was me. It started out with Sunny screaming bloody murder as we entered the back of the plane, since Daisy, the rogue Jack Russell terrier behind us, was softly growling through the vents of her airline-issued plastic carrier. Instead of quietly answering her with a menacing turn of her own, Sunny thought that revenge was best exacted as loudly as possible, screaming like she’d been injured, and wiggling and kicking so hard that little paws and knees pushed out thed sides of the vented bag. To the untrained eye, I’m sure it looked like we were carrying a tornado in a duffel bag, waiting for the right moment to unleash its fury a few thousand feet above the earth.

Once she calmed down and was stowed safely beneath the seat in front of Adam (the middle seat was too small. This is, I might add, the first benefit of the middle seat I’ve ever encountered, ever) we took off in the most miserable and turbulent fashion ever in the history of flying. The plane hurtled through the air like a wooden roller coaster, lurching from side to side and careening over bump after bump, usually at the same time, creating a sickening combination of tenuous altitude and lateral torture. A look around the airplane revealed an odd mix of reactions – some were amused by the terrifying journey and laughed heartily as they shouted over the hum to their seatmates, “Good thing we skipped dinner!” Others were considerably less composed as they dropped their heads into their knees, hastily grabbing the too-small airsick bag on their way down. Still more prayed to God aloud, tears streaming down their faces as they clutched the arm rests with the force of a pit bull’s jaw.

The family behind me had a unique way of coping with the horror of it all. The young child, called, “Papi” by his grandmother, happily kicked and giggled his way through the passing storm, his feet just long enough to reach the tray table on the back of my seat. He demonstrated this power by kicking hard with both feet, using formidable force. Each pitch, totter and heave of the plane only served to fuel his excitement as he screeched with unbridled joy, and I became convinced that the last experience I will have on this earth, errr, sky, would be:

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Kickkickkickkickkickkickkickkick

“AIEEEE MAMI!”

Kickkickkickkickkickkickkickkickkickkickkick

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

“PAPI! We’re flying Papi! LOOK! We’re flying! YAYAYAYAYAY!!!” She was as loud as she was, and boy, was Papi excited!

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. WE FLY, MAMI”

Kickkickkickkickkickkickkick

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, we hit what is commonly referred to as an “air pocket,” but what feels like a “giant wave of death that will kill us,” likely the size of the wave that drowned the Andrea Gail as we struggled to reach the crest, but failed as we fell, out of control. Down, down, down into the abyss, stopping only once we reached the depths of hell. I clutched the arm rest, sweating, head firmly pressed to the back of the seat, certain that if I became one with the aircraft, I could save us. Silence was of the utmost importance. One false move and the spell would be broken. I was holding the plane together with my calmness! Behold! The woman in seat 4D is a magician!

It was during the plummet that the woman next to me screamed out loud, like someone stabbed her in the eye. NO! NO! THE SPELL CANNOT BE BROKEN!

“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” she cried, bursting into tears. “I CANNOT TAKE THIS. WE ARE GOING TO DIE.”

Instead of comforting her, my first instinct was to shut her up, because again: the spell! I told her so, in a not-so-calm way, “SHHHH! YOU STOP THAT CRAZY TALK. SHUSH SHUSH SHUSH!”

And then, realizing my rudeness, I tried to stroke her arm softly (?!), but because I was so nervous, ended up clawing at her flesh with my fingernails. “SHUSH! IT IS GOING TO BE OKAY IF YOU JUST STAY QUIET!”

“THAT HURTS.”

“SORRY. STOP YELLING.” And yet, we were both yelling.

As we pulled above the clouds and leveled off, all that remained of our histrionics was painfully awkward silence.

I just hope tomorrow’s flight is better.

*Kay Hanley

10 comments July 3rd, 2006