PE 4 - Vignette Fear of Flying

My heart started pounding double time when the black limousine pulled up in front of my apartment.  All sleek and shiny, my chariot for the cause and my pangs of anxiety ramping up a couple of notches making it difficult to swallow.

Watching the well dressed driver get out, raise the trunk and open the door so a passenger can glide into the cavern of comfort.  He waited by the curb.  His limousine cap pulled low on his forehead further hiding eyes behind aviator sunglasses.  I expected him to toot the horn like a cabbie, but it was quiet except for the pitter patter of rain and the rumble of a delivery truck passing and the swish of a few vehicles.

I want the toot of his horn--the sound of impatience to spur me on.  Staccato blares to propel me forward like a zombie late for dinner, so I can call out, “Hold your horses.  I’m coming.”

My bags are ready—I’m all set to go.  I’ve shut off the iron, checked for potential fire hazards, and left a note for my sometimes roommate to feed Goldie, our fish.  My brand new Tumi wheelie bag, provided by Keno, holds more clothes than I’ll ever need for three days. 

I check my carry-on for the third time.  Inhaler, flight tickets, picture ID, money, Advil, granola bar, cell phone, Bazooka gum.  Keno said to chew gum on the flight.  Something about ears popping.  What does that mean?  Why do they pop? I imagine confetti blowing out of my ears.

Rapping at the door stuns me and I lurch to the door.  The driver is impressive in his black suit and cap, middle-age and strong from schlepping baggage in and out of the trunk.

“Ready miss?” he smiles.  “I’ll take your luggage.”

“Sure.  Fine.”  I need more time.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

I’ve kept a terrible secret from Keno.  Well, it’s not exactly a secret.  It just never came up until now.  I’ve never flown—ever.  My whole life has been traveling in cars or trucks with my mother.

Living with Delphina consisted of picking up roots every time she destroyed a relationship with whatever boyfriend she loved at the moment.  Just when I felt comfortable with Rex, Giovanni, or Marty, Delphina would get bored and say it’s time for a vacation.  This meant, pack everything near and dear we’re not coming back.  And worse, I was always the new kid at school in whatever city/town Delphina found work.  Mind you, she doesn’t like to labor and toil, but when she has to she can be an okay waitress.  She turns on the charm and whistles Dixie out her behind.  The benefit?  We received at least one hot meal a day—otherwise I lived off Coco Puffs and cheese crackers.

Restaurant food usually comes with steamed vegetables Delphina forced me to eat.  Once I gagged so hard on broccoli and threw up.  I never ate it again.  Keeping down corn, peas, and carrots are less of a struggle, but green beans are questionable.  Squash is just not acceptable.

Popping a piece of the pink Bazooka gum into my mouth, I notice the limo door is ajar, the driver waiting for me.  He eyes his watch.  Time is closing in on me and I’ve run out of excuses.  How bad can it be?  I see planes all the time.  It’s just a big bird in the sky with seat belts and cocktails.  What’s not to like?  Inhale…exhale.

My feet shuffle.  I lock up and slide into the limousine wearing my brand new pale yellow silk dress.

“I’m Suede.”  The driver smiles encouragement before closing the door.

If I keep breathing I’ll be okay.  It’s a miserable day and in a couple of hours I’ll be with Keno in the hot sunny desert at the Bellagio for the poker tournament.  He’s already been there a few days mixing business with pleasure.  I play poker but it’s rather dull to watch, so Keno planned my visit as a romantic weekend getaway.  The last time I saw Las Vegas is when Delphina left Pete and she drove through the desert plotting her next career move.  We traipsed to several of the hotels, but the only thing available was a housekeeping position.  She wanted to serve drinks and receive free room and board.  Needless to say, the shabby motel off the strip would have had strings attached to it by the looks of the creepy manager.  We didn’t stay long.  I like to think she had my best interest at heart.

My discomfort with flying is further magnified when we pass a cruising motor coach.  Eureka!  I could have had a pleasant ride, albeit longer travel time, if I’d taken the damn bus.  And more scenic, too.  Instead I’m in this limousine with ribbons of rain wiggling down the windows.  The wipers working hard rubbing the windshield clear when a brilliant jagged line of lightening tears across the gray sky.  A moment later thunder claps.  Will the plane take off in this weather?  I shiver at the thought of the plane doing cartwheels in the clouds.   

Suede brings me out of my revelry.  “Help yourself to something to drink,” he calls from the driver’s seat.  I catch his eye in the rear-view mirror and nod.  I grab the first thing I see and it’s a bottle of white wine.  I want to sip it from the bottle, but with a shaky hand I pour a full glass instead of using one of the wine glasses provided and gulp it down.  A calmer me comes in small waves before reaching O’Hare airport.  The storm has shrunk to a mere drizzle.

*

After my bags are checked, I pass through security and walk over to gate C-18.  My heart is thumping like a jackhammer.  I know others can hear it, so I pace around trying not to appear anxious.

They start calling row numbers.  I haven’t even noted my designated seat and before long I’m the last person outside the entrance.  The airline personnel reaches for my ticket in hand, but I refuse to release it.

“Miss, are you all right?  It’s time to board.”  She looks concerned and I see her eyes shift as if I’m a potential terrorist, so I give her a tight lipped smile and release my grip on my boarding pass.

“You’re in first class,” she informs me.

I don’t know what that means, but when I spot the empty seat I full out panic.  It’s next to the window.  I may have a heart attack even though the storm has passed.  The sky is already clearer.

The back of my dress is stuck to me like paste.  I’m beyond glistening beads of sweat.  Little comfort comes from rocking back and forth in my seat.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I mewed in agony.

My seat mate is staring.  She’s an attractive well dressed woman in her fifties.  I’m astonished when she touches my arm.  “I use to get the jitters.  Just close the shade.”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling I end up having a coughing fit.  A male attendant in the aisle hands me a moist hot towel.  I press it to my face.  He asks a question, but I can’t focus.  A few minutes later a drink is placed in front of me.

My new best friend offers me a toast.  “Drink up and relax.”  She washes down her martini.

“Thanks, I’m Juliet.”

“Nice to meet you, Juliet.  I’m Sandra.”

I know we chatted for awhile longer and I experienced the jet taking off like a race car. Sandra held my hand, but in the end after another martini, I slept and was the last person off at the Las Vegas airport after she nudged me.  “We’re here, Juliet.”

Wiping the drool from my chin I slid open the shade.  Heat waves radiated off the tarmac under bright sunshine.

Still groggy I managed, “I can’t thank you enough for being here.”

“You don’t have to thank me.  I’ve been there, accept I threw up.”  Her diamond earrings twinkled in the light. 

It wasn’t funny, but we both giggled.  “There’s probably a limo waiting for me if you’d like a ride somewhere.”  I offered.

She didn’t need a lift.  Her husband Maxwell would be right outside.  We hugged and said our goodbyes.

Maybe flying wasn’t so bad after all.  Maybe…