Waves - Book #2 [completed]

1 ~ Resfebar

Resfebar
(Swedish)
noun
The mixture of anxiety and excitement that a traveler feels before a journey begins.

Traveling is heavily romanticized. There is nothing great about the stoic roar of the engine and being ripped out of a deep sleep by a glaring white light coming through a tiny, grimy airplane window that burns your pupils, even behind closed lids, so hard you see stars.

What the actual fuck?

Pushing the roots of my hands into my eye sockets to ease the sting, I hear the shrill chirping voice from the elderly woman sitting next to me. "Good morning."

I repeat: What the actual fuck?

I'm used to private or charter flights, so for this long distance flight I thought at least in First Class people wouldn't get on my nerves. That's the main reason I chugged out a fuck-ton of money for this flight - to have at least a decent one. I don't fashion myself as a fancy guy – give me a beer in a dodgy dive bar and I'm good – but I'd never in my damned life fly economy. I just can't deal with fucking crying babies and narrow seats with no leg space. In business class stuck-up, suit-wearing office studs would only eye my stage boots with snippy disdain. So First Class it was.

But this woman, fuck, she's been annoying all flight, rambling on and on about how she's looking forward to meet her grandchildren for the first time. I think I've even gotten up once to use the lavatory while she was still talking. And when I came back, she just continued. Fucking Christ.

After a heavy dose of groaning and squinting I finally find my way back to the world of the living and my vision clears. Helen or Mary or Heather or whatever her name is continues blubbering while I keep ignoring her and look out the smudgy window.

The wavy, green and beige coastline of Australia spreads over the deep blue water which is lined with the turquoise outlines of reefs and sandbanks. Everything is tinted in bright yellow early morning light.

Okay, this is beautiful.

The announcement ringing through the airplane now is not. Even though you can hardly understand what the pilot says, I get the gist. Apparently it's about seven in the morning in Brisbane and around twenty-seven degrees Celsius. However hot that is. I failed to get accustomed to the Celsius degree system. Okay, let's be honest, I didn't even try. I only know the temperatures can get pretty high.

The slender flight attendant with sleek black hair, Monica I think, who has been winking at me all flight, teeters through the aircraft making sure everyone is prepared for landing. She grazes my shoulder and inconspicuously drops a piece of paper into my lap. Smirking and shaking my head I shove what I know is her number into my front pocket for later use.

How many flights have I taken in my time? Hundreds. Yet I'm a little uneasy in my seat, wiggling with anticipation as we're about to land in Down Under and I'll be starting a brand new chapter of my life.