By
Michael Chaput
| It begins almost as soon as the tiny Dornier 328 pushes back from the gate. He becomes restless in his seat, his hands began to fidget, breathing becomes irregular, like a dog on a warm summer day, panting incessantly. The problems worsen as the aircraft takes its final position on the runway and the engines power up. The ground speed increases rapidly, and the aircraft hurdles down the runway, causing him to clench the armrests so firmly it leaves imprints in the leather. When the engines power down slightly after the initial climb, he removes his seat belt and almost stands upright to see what has happened. He sits back down and glances over at me with genuine fear in his eyes. The stewardess comes around shortly thereafter, and asks whether he wishes to have a beverage. He whimpers “wah…wah…der”, choking on the last syllable, and it goes unheard to all but me. When she kindly asks him to repeat his request, it blurts out as if projected from a megaphone in a shaky voice…”WATER”! He devours the contents of the plastic Evian bottle in mere seconds and then rubs the bottle against his forehead.
He begins to play with the empty bottle as the plane bounces lightly through the sky. Click click, click click. The sounds get louder with every bump. Click Click, Click Click. He reaches for the window shade and pulls it shut firmly, and then re-opens it. He rubs his hands on his beige cotton pants, leaving sweaty paw prints. At one point, the turbulence causes the plane to bump and yaw from right to left. Visibly shaken, he reaches for the seat in front of him and puts it in a Vulcan death grip, causing the female occupant wearing a yellow floral scarf to turn her head in bewilderment. He relinquishes the grip on her arm when their eyes meet over the top of the blue-checkered seat. He continues to play with the plastic bottle…click click, click click, click click. The sounds get louder and mimic the bouncing of the aircraft as if on a one-second time delay. On final approach, the plane is rocking slowly from side to side with slight fluctuations in pitch. Click click, the window shade closes abruptly. The heavy breathing continues and he looks in my direction gasping for air and I wonder if his lungs have collapsed in fear. Click click, click click, the window shade opens and then closes again. He reaches for his armrests, and his left hand slides off and rubs my thigh. I am starting to get annoyed. He waves as an offer of apology. I send him a pathetic look. Click click, click click, click click, the plane begins to rock heavily, the turbulence has intensified, and again he puts a love embrace on the seat in front of him. He begins to moan softly…ummmmmm, ummmmmm, ummmmmm, his arms still locked around the seat. The woman in front again turns and gives him a dirty look, which causes him to relinquish his sleeper hold and return to his armrests, ummmmmm, ummmmmm, ummmmmm, click click, click click. The pattern of anxiety continues until the plane comes to a final rest in front of gate 17. I break out in a smile. “I’m going to automatically assume that you’re not too fond of flying”, I say. “Whatever gave you that impression? I really don’t mind flying at all”, he responds in a calm, collected voice. I don’t have the heart to point that there’s a small trickle of blood coming from the right corner of his lip. Perhaps he should have bitten down on the headrest instead. |
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