Death From Above

This is an excerpt from my diary. I was en route to Richmond, Va from SF via a red eye when everything seemed to go wrong.

Right now, I am not where I'm supposed to be. I'm supposed to be hovering in an express sized jet plane over VA. I'm supposed to be giddy with anticipation of what this day has beheld to me. I'm supposed to be elated. I'm supposed to be home.

Instead I sit by my lonesome near the vacant Air Canada luggage carousel in Newark at the patriotically renamed "Liberty International Airport". Alone. Tired. Heated. Impatient.

The plan was to catch a red eye flight from SF to Newark then to RVA. Simple as peach cobbler, no? Well, little did I know that my flight would leave SFO 90 plus minutes late. Damn.

"This is gonna be a long night." I said to the cute, fatigued Danish blonde standing next to me. She too was weary. She looked to be on the last legs of a long vacation. My guess was right. She'd spent a month in SF and worked in a trip to Portland for good measure. Her name is Leah and she was visiting her brother who lives in Ingleside near City College and SF's version of suburbia.

Before she flashed her Danish passport I wouldn't have guessed her to be from Copenhagen. She spoke without a discernible accent. Actually, her accent sounded American; a mash up of NYC and everywhereville. She spoke English flawlessly (as I imagine all Northern Europeans to). Even I hesitate more than she did (I'd like to attribute this to my expansive vocabulary but that's debateable).

After several minutes of conversation with Leah, and her exemplifying a kung-fu grip on the English language, I had only one though on my mind: I wish I was a polyglot.

As we were boarding I realized I wasn't gonna make my connection from Newark to Richmond. I voiced this to Leah and she seemed more concerned than me.

"They'll work it out." she said confidently.

I agreed and thus the battle of being pissed was forfeited...so I thought.

I find my seat and bid adieu to my single-serving friend. I'm seated next to a window on the left wing of the plane. To my right is a tall, sunkissed, long-lashed girl in her early 20's. We both put our lights on in order to read. I'm enjoying Dave Sedaris' latest compilation of short stories. I haven't read him in ages so I'm relishing every simile.

Around page 94 I decide to catch a nap. This is always a Sisyphean chore for me. I'm a light sleeper and planes feel claustrophobic, especially this one (sardines would be unsettled in this motherfucker). Add to my discontent the fact that there aren't any tv screens. I've been spoiled by Jet Blue, Virgin and other modern airlines. The fact that this 757 has a 4.5 hour flight ahead and no tvs leaves me utterly nonplussed. Yes I have my book but sometimes you just wanna look up and see CNN or Sportscenter.

If you haven't figured it out yet these factors will lead to create the perfect shit storm.

So, post Dave Sedaris, I'm trying to get some z's and I'm actually getting some. I'm comfy and really digging my current status in a hibernative state. Then...the sound that awoke me from my idyllic slumber was unlike that of any I'd ever heard.

I can make comparisons but it was a unique sound. Pure fear. That's the way I'd put it, pure fear.

These fearful shreiks belonged to a 225 lbs. women 3 seats over from me. These were shreiks of ecstacy-cum-desperation. It was like combining an orgasm with "Oh shit! We're all gonna die in a few moments." A deathgasm.

As this huge banshee wailed, everyone awoke and there were a few moments (which seemed like two eternities) before anyone reacted. It was like I was watching it unravel in slow motion.

"Is this really happening?", I thought.

The lady went on for about two minutes before I could think of the perfect cynical, smartass quip. Just as I'm about to utter said quip to the leggy girl next to me I realize she's doing damage control on the future contestant from "The Biggest Loser". It turns out that my neighbor is the daughter of the terrified beast.

Needless to say I was glad I kept my trap closed. In case you were wondering, here's what I would've said:

"Will somone gag her?"

"Somebody strap a parachute on her, bless her, open the back door and boot her in that fat ass. She'll land somewhere in a cornfield in Middle America where she belongs."

"(Said in a general mocking tone) Help me! Help me! Help me! Shut the fuck up I'm trying to catch some z's!

Things of this nature crossed my mind but not my lips. I'm a nice guy. I don't say stuff like that...I just think it.

In the end she stopped screaming and panting and fidgeting and sweating. Turns out she hates flying and the moderate turbulence we were feeling was "scary". To me the turbulence felt like a rocking chair; wisking me off to dreamtopia. Evidently to her this episode of shakes felt like that "I'm gay!" moment in "Almost Famous".

After this hyperbole of an anxiety attack I couldn't get back into my sleeping zone. My heart was racing and I had one eye open monitoring the status of fatty boom blatty. I had images of an emergency landing where we screeched into O'Hare, jettisoning her immediately into a wheelchair accompanied by an oxygen tank.

Alas, we made it past the rough spots and in the end my devilish mind could only drift to regaling my friends with this episode--consumed with the hilarity of this audition for a Hitchcock movie I actually managed to laugh out loud the way you do when you're in church, where laughing is a sin. Shame on me.

So we landed. I made it. Here I sit in Newark with some food vouchers and 5 hours before my plane to RVA. I should be there by now, driving somewhere acknowledging the changes that have occurred in the year while I was away. Me, the prodigal son back for a taste of the nectar that nourished me before I depart again to my new normalcy.

It'll all come to me soon. But now, right now, I can only wait, laugh, read, write, text message and relax. I'm going nowhere for three hours so let's breathe in Newark Liberty International Airport. Only a few hours until freedom...