Fly By Night

Fly by night

It was an hour after the plane was supposed to leave and I still hadn’t boarded; an emotionless voice rang out on the intercom:

“flight nine-nine-one: Washington DC to New York will be delayed until two-thirty; we apologize for the inconvenience,” it reported. I looked at my watch, the lights read ‘1:55pm’, I couldn’t say that the delays were irrational (the rain pounding on the windows was argument enough), but I still resented them for it. I didn’t know who ‘them’ was —the pilot, maybe, or the company or even the raindrops pelting down the flexiglass window in front of me—no matter who it was, I still resented the delay.

It was the second time my flight had been delayed, and the way things were looking, I didn’t think that I’d be getting on until at least 3:00. As time passed, my mind swirled. ‘Should I be leaving?’ My mom hadn’t been too happy with me leaving, she had spent the entire drive to the airport trying to convince me to stay. ‘What do I really have to gain there? No family, no friends –barely any money or food.’ I did my best to push my thoughts aside. ‘Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.’ 3:00 came and went, then 3:30, then 4:00 and I was finally called to board around 4:30, when the rain had cleared.

It was awkward; I had been on planes before, but not without my parents, and I instinctively expected a guiding hand to help me put my carry-on bag into the upper compartment. I realized a moment later that the guiding hand would not come and I placed the bag in the compartment myself. I was seated at the window; I shoved my backpack under the seat in front of me before shoving the sunshade on the oblong window up and looking out. There wasn’t much to see: the wing blocked most of my vision and what little I could see was dismal gray.

An older woman sat in the seat next to me. I was immediately reminded of my grandmother —another person I was leaving. ‘Is it really worth leaving all this?’ The question whispered its way into my mind again. ‘you don't know anyone. you can barely handle driving in Alexandria.’ The thought ran circles in my head, one leading to the other, each in slightly different wordings and tones. They all meant the same thing though: doubt. I figured it was too late for that, no matter my decision. I was on the plane—I had paid for the ticket and I couldn’t just get off now.

‘Well, why not?’ The thought dominated my mind ‘just because you’ve never seen someone leave a plane last minute doesn’t mean you can’t do it.’ The plane lurched and began to move. ‘Well now that you wasted all your time arguing with yourself it doesn’t matter what you decide does it?’ I was going to sigh, but then I realized the old woman next to me might ask if I was alright. Older people always seem to be the nicest to strangers, but they seem less appealing the longer you know them—but that’s how most people are. The aisle seat was taken by a young, busy looking man in a suit. I watched the shrinking airport building as the plane taxied to the runway.

I was always afraid of flying, but there wasn’t a chance I would have made it driving––too expensive and the longer I had to think the greater the chance I would just turn around. That’s how it seems with most people, the longer they have to make a decision they don’t want to make the smaller the chance they’ll actually make it.

However uncertain I was, I was quite certain of one thing: I wasn’t going to stay cooped up in my mom’s basement, I was going to do something. ‘Yes, you’re doing something.’ my thoughts pricked at me. ‘You’re debating every step you’re taking.’

My thoughts were drowned out by the growling of the engines as the plane sped up on the runway. As the plane began to lift off the ground I remember when I would sit next to my dad (‘still another person you’re leaving,’ The thoughts whispered) and fantasize that I was an astronaut and we were ascending into space.

I wasn’t innocent enough for that now, but still innocent enough to appreciate my quickly widening view of the ground as the plane ascended into the darkening sky. ‘Would birds envy me if they knew what I could see?’ I wondered as the plane leveled out. ‘No.’ My thoughts answered. ‘No one would envy someone as indecisive as you.’ I sighed and looked at my watch: ‘5:00’ it read. I sighed and slumped back in my chair. I tried to sleep, but every time I shifted my position I found myself less comfortable than when I had started out. I eventually gave up on sleeping.

About thirty minutes into the flight I needed to go to the bathroom. I groaned inwardly at the prospect of having to ask my companions to let me through. ‘You’ve seen people do this dozens of times.’ My thoughts prodded me along. ‘Not once has anyone done anything but stand up and let the person through. Just ask for god’s sake!’ I took a deep breath and turned to the old woman sitting next to me. She was perhaps a few inches shorter than I was; her thinning white hung down to the tops of her shoulders. Her eyes were closed behind her rectangular glasses and she looked to be sleeping.

“M-ma’m?” I hesitated as the old woman opened her eyes and looked at me. Her eyes were dark brown.

“Yes?” She asked.

“I—need to go to the bathroom,” I began, wincing inwardly as I managed to mangle the rhythm and inflection of almost every word in my sentence. “Could you…” I trailed off uncomfortably. She nodded.

“Oh! Sure. Just give me one minute.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and stood.

“Thanks.” I tried to sound grateful, but words came out as a mostly toneless mutter. I managed to just slip past the younger man in the aisle seat. He was sleeping. I made my way down to the end of the plane. I was relieved when I saw that neither of the lavatories were occupied. I went in and relieved myself. I came out a few minutes later and walked quietly back to my seat. The old woman stood up to let me through and I once again slipped past the sleeping young man and the old woman. I sat down and closed my eyes again, not expecting sleep.

Sleep came—somehow—and when I opened my eyes I found myself staring at the exterior of the airport terminal. I didn’t feel very rested—that happens sometimes, people go to bed and wake up just past midnight wondering if they had gotten any sleep at all. I didn’t feel different, at any rate. The warmer air of the terminal as I walked out of the plane with my carry on did little to wake me. I stared out the terminal windows at the sky. The clouds in Virginia were nowhere to be found and the starless night seemed to be urging my eyelids to droop.

‘You could get plenty of sleep on the plane.’ I pushed the insidious thought away. Despite my best efforts, it rang out, unceasing, as I made my way to the baggage claim.

The person I stood next to was a darker skinned woman. She was wearing a pale red fleece jacket that gave an Interesting counterpoint to her black hair. She seemed only four or five years older than myself. When her bag came she picked it up and walked away, leaving me with a view of a family of four. A tired looking father with light brown hair held the hand of the younger of the two sons. The father seemed in danger of having his arm tugged off. ‘How can children have so much energy?’ I wondered. The mother, a similarly tired woman with shoulder length black hair streaked with electric blue had a gray backpack slung over one shoulder and watched the other son, an older boy who looked to me about ten years old.

My eyes were drawn away from the family by my suitcase. It was sapphire blue. My mom had told me it matched my eyes when she had given it to me. I managed to drag myself out of my reflection just in time to drag my suitcase off the carousel before it passed through the dark opening in the wall. It landed on the gray carpeted floor with a rattling thud. When I turned around I saw the family leaving. I watched them walk as the automatic doors slid open and admitted them out into the night.

The baggage claim was sparsely populated. I counted around twenty people of varying ages; I saw three graying or white haired couples as I struggled with the handle of my suitcase. Once I managed to extend the handle I walked across the room to the sliding doors. The first pair slid open and a gust of warm air hit me as my suitcase trundled on to the segmented plastic floor. A moment later later the second set of doors slid open. The chill woke me enough to realize that I didn’t really know where I was going. I turned and walked down the sidewalk to the bus stop. It went to sit under the flexiglass roof and stood my suitcase next to me. After looking at my phone I turned my head up to look at the dark sky through the transparent ceiling; the upper half of my vision was cut off by the roof of the varanda that ended abruptly at the road. Despite the indistinct blackness of the sky I had a feeling that warned of coming rain. I brought my head down to stare at the concrete between my legs.

I took out my wallet from my back pocket and looked at what money I had. ‘More than enough for a ticket.’ I tried to push the thought away, but it wouldn’t stop prodding at me. ‘You can’t just quit!’ My thoughts argued. ‘You’ve made it this far going back now would make all those arguments with mom and dad pointless. Do you really want to see her gloating?’ As my thoughts whirled around I dimly noticed people enter the booth beside me and leave on the bus in a sort of time lapse. ‘Mom wouldn’t gloat, you know she’s better than that (she probably is anyway).’ I sighed. My vision grew bleary as my thoughts crashed into each other, merging and flowing like rivers. ‘But having mom worry over you would be just as bad, you know how embarrassed it would make you. And say nothing of mom possibly gloating—you know that father will, do you really want to see that?’

Idyllic images of a possible future flitted through my head as I stood—a nice apartment where I’d host my parents and listen to them admit how wrong they were, and me sitting smugly while I listened. My thoughts extinguished such naive visions. It had started raining now.

‘Your parents aren’t the type to admit being wrong. How many times have you heard them admit they were wrong? Once, maybe twice, and never to you. And besides, apartments in New York City cost several corpses-worth of appendages and a small fortune—for anything bigger than a small hotel room anyway, what in the hell makes you think you could afford anything in New York other than a night at a hotel. You need to get your head out of the clouds. Go home, figure yourself out.’

My other stream of thoughts whirled about, casting for a response. There was none. Home then. I looked up from the concrete. The rain had stopped; and, I registered with dull horror, the sun was rising. I wondered if I had slept. I looked at my watch, it read ‘6:45am’. I called my mom up on my phone. I hadn’t expected any response this early and I didn’t get one; instead her voicemail spoke:

“Hi—um—this is Julia Ray; if you—um— have a message leave it here and I’ll get back to you when I have a chance, thanks and––um––bye.” when the message ended I spoke.

“Hi mom, this is Alex––I’m sorry but I just don’t think I can do this right now. I’m coming back, I have enough money for a ticket home and I guess I’ll try and figure things out from there. I know this must be frustrating for you––it’s no better for me, I hope you’ll forgive me. Just telling you so you’re not surprised when I text you later. I’m sorry.” I ended my voicemail and put my phone in my pocket. The rain had stopped.

I gripped the handle of my bag as I stood. ‘I failed.’ I thought as I walked around the side of the building, looking for the entrance. By the time I found it I felt that I was collapsing forward with each step rather than walking. I staggered forward and the sliding doors opened before for me, letting out a gust of hot air. I went to stand in line. After an agonizing half-hour I finally made it to the counter.

“Where to?” The woman behind the counter was short and pale with clipped brown hair. She seemed kind enough.

“Earliest flight to Virginia.” I answered. For the first time I was aware how ragged my voice sounded. She nodded and poked at something or other on the touch screen of her computer.

“What kind of ticket would you like?”

“Economy class, aisle seat.” I answered, my mind too tired to worry about my tone. The ticket printed out of her machine. She tore it off and handed it to me. I took it and replaced the empty space in her palm with one-hundred and eight dollars.

“Your flight will be flight two-twenty-three in terminal A, gate ten, at twelve-thirty p.m.” nodded my thanks. After I had tagged and weighed my suitcase I walked to the security gate

The line seemed to snake on for miles and when I made it to the metal detector I could barely process the instructions the security guard, an older man with square framed glasses, was giving me. After I passed through security it took all my effort to keep awake as I marched towards the gate. ‘At home I actually have a bed, where I might be able to finally get some rest.’ I was still trying to justify my decision to myself, even though I was already too far gone to make another try. ‘I could always ask for a refund.’ I mused, then dismissed the thought. ‘And spend another sleepless night at a bus stop wrapt in my indecision? No. Home, then I’ll plan things out.’ I had failed in whatever mission I had contrived for myself.

When I finally made it to the terminal I collapsed into one of the hard plastic seats, setting my backpack on the unoccupied chair to my right. Igratefully closed my eyes.

I had my back to the large windows, but I soon realized it didn’t matter. I was too tired to sleep. A whimpering wail rose in my throat. I pushed the sound back down. I kept my eyes closed. The hours passed and I grew frustrated at my lack of sleep, though a strangely unwanted peace had begun to creep in at the edge of my mind by the time the intercom rang out.

“First class and business class will now be boarding.” The voices announced blandly. I still had my eyes closed and I kept them that way as all the other groups were called. Finally, my class was called. I opened my eyes. They were bleary, but felt at least a little rested, though my brain still felt fogged.

I picked up my bag from the seat beside me, showed my ticket to the attendants, and went down the gray tunnel into the plane. The belly of the plane was cold, cramped, and cacophonous. Even if the engines were quiet the tumbling conversation would have rendered the loss barely noticeable.

My seat was near the back. There were two people already sitting there, an older man at the window and a busy looking younger woman in the middle. I opened the overhead compartment; slipping my bag off my shoulder I slung it in then I sat down. After I buckled my belt I slumped in the chair. And against all my expectations, I slept.