Day 125: Learning to Fly

I was in group B, but I didn’t know what that meant. My sister bought me the ticket and told me to get the hell out of town. The trip was only to Chicago. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there. I wanted to drive, originally, but then I looked up the statistics about car accidents on long road trips when people are sleep deprived. No, thank you. I rode on a train when I was fifteen and we were stalled for two hours because another freight train had the right away. What if our conductor never figured out that the train was coming? We would have hit head-on with a train packed to the rivets with raw iron! Planes, statistically, have the best travel record, but I find the amount of data skewing. Yes, there are hundreds to the low thousands of flights every day that land safely. But it only takes one failed engine to kill hundreds of people. You know what the survival rate is for a commercial aircraft? It is less than one percent.

The lady at the counter got on the microphone and called out group B. I saw where we all lined up. I gathered my computer case and backpack and headed to the ropes. My palms were already sweating. There were not many people in group B, it seemed. I was among only a handful of people in a crowd of fifty that moved. The rest stood anxiously with one earbud hanging out, a suitcase half-cocked over, or a child’s hand gripped tight in the middle of the sea of strangers. Before I could enter the short line of people handing one lady their tickets the other lady called out from the microphone, “Group C and Group D.” The flood of Americans poured around me as I stood with my bags, contemplating turning around and calling a friend to come pick me up.

Several minutes passed of people happily boarding the plane and trudging down the flimsy accordion gate.

“Group F and anybody that hasn’t boarded yet are welcome to step up to the gate. Flight 158B will be departing in twenty minutes,” the lady said with her eyes scanning the near-empty terminal. Her glances fell on my face on every pass. The ladies looked at each other and looked at me. The one scanning the tickets asked, “Sir, are you on this flight?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Sir, can you hear me.” She walked closer.

My palms were sweating and my shoulder was getting sore from my bag strap. I could feel my face getting red. I was warm. Like, too warm. Like when I would drink too many drinks at my friends house and someone was trying to casually talk to me but I knew the alcohol was hitting me and I didn’t want to act like a weirdo and say something stupid so I would just not say anything and then feel dumb because I couldn’t carry on a conversation, so I would hide in the bathroom and run cold water over my face until I felt fine enough to sleep in my car.

“Sir, can I see your ticket?” She was two feet from me with her hand extended.

I had been clenching my ticket since the moment she announced Group B. It was no doubt soaked in sweat and wrinkled beyond repair. Perhaps they would have to issue me a new one and I would have to take a later flight. That should give me ample time for a new Xanax to kick in.

I finally said, “Sure.”

She took it and scanned it over for a couple of seconds. She looked up and smiled at me.

For some reason. Man, I couldn’t tell you to this day what happened to me. It was like a dam opening up. I didn’t cry, but I felt like I should. Something inside just let go. It broke. It fell over. I don’t know. But her smile was so genuine. So honest. There wasn’t an ounce of worry in her eyes. I felt like gravity gave up a little.

“Looks like you’ll be flying with us today,” she said, somehow still grinning.

I definitely fell in love. And I was definitely delusional.

“Are you ready to board?” she asked.

I nodded.

She smiled again and moved closer. “Don’t worry sir. Everything will be okay.” She swayed her other arm around like a woman on a game show, leading me towards that rectangle. That aisle that swayed and curved into the side of the giant plane outside that would soon be traveling at four hundred miles per hour a few miles into the afternoon sky.

The death rate was almost certain.

It was time to go, I decided. Whether I live or die, it was time.