Dream Again

Day 0

Click. Beep.
"Flight 267 to Los Angeles now boarding all rows all passengers at gate 8."
The voice is cool over the loudspeakers, interrupting the tinny Alan-parson's project playing too high above our heads to provide adequate ambiance for the hot terminal. Passengers are lined up raggedly, all in various states of beach wear casual. Sunburnt Americans going home from holiday throughly crisped and hastily taking vacation snaps with glossy iPhones. Everything smells vaguely of sunscreen and sweat. There's the odd commuter, parents with kids and the occasional businessman or surely teenager. But overall the feeling of weariness is already beginning to settle. It's a 14 hour flight. Neck pillows are already being deployed, kids are wrapped in blankets, last few minutes to download things and the travelers of flight 267 are making the most of it, tablets balanced in hand and kids bickering over what to watch first. Airport staff are operataing int he usual level of chaos, this happens four times a day, five if it's summer travel season. Making everyone form a ragged line is nothing new, and their bored indifference speaks of planning tonight's meal, or maybe where to grab a bite in the packed terminal on a too short lunch.
There's just shy of 400 passengers on this thing, and boarding takes at least an hour, in a military precision, which is not usually obtained. We've been in line for just shy of four hours, for a total of 6 hours in Sydney international. I'm content to linger at the back, getting just a few more moments of sunshine before over twelve hours of plane flight. If I calculated the time difference correctly which I likely did not, we'll land at LAX in the middle of the night.
"Row 42, you're seat K, I'm J," Brandon lowers a pair of tickets for me to see, as if to verify. He's trying to be nice so I take the courtesy with the tip of my head. There's been premium and some sort of premium plus class boarding. I did assume we'd be in something like economy. "It's in the back. Just try to sleep yeah?"
"I don't care. I always thought I'd go back to American in a box," I say, slyly.
"Now that is one for the therapist," he says, but he half smiles at my dark humor.
"Come on much more transportable. Wouldn't even need to spring for a seat just push me under the seat in front," I say.
"You know in America we have something called 'the right to remain silent'," he says, as we shift forward in line.
I do shut up, watching the other passengers board. A little boy is attempting to escape the line, a noble and relatable sentiment.
"No, no, I want Oba," he sobs.
"Oba's right under the plane he'll be fine in customs," the mother soothes, American accent. A dog I assume. I smile a little at the boy who just glares at me, tears wet on his face. Nearby a businessman is finishing up a phone call, he covers one ear to block out the noise of the negotiation underway.
A mother in front of us is hurriedly trying to get a ticket out despite a chubby toddler balanced in her arms. The little girl has frizzy blonde hair with limp bows in it, and is clearly already going to sleep on her mum's shoulder. We pause politely. I'm in no rush anyway to board.
She finally steps forward and Brandon presents our tickets. Beep. Beep. They scan in and the ticket agent nods at us, giving Brandon a quick look and says, "Have a safe flight."
"Friend of yours?" I ask.
"She is now that we spent six hours trying to get booked on this flight. I think I know everyone at—every airline actually," he says, hand on my back to guide me down the jet bridge. The jet noise is loud in my ears and I reflexively inhale the last clean air I'll breath for some time.
The plane smells heavily sanitized, like stale plastic dipped in Lysol. All of the first rows are already occupied iwth the same mostly demure passengers, now trying to get sorted into their plush seats. The ones who can afford to travel premium are already enjoying water and looks like snacks, while they get their entertainment set up. We pass them swiftly and as we go down in price of tick the plane gets a bit louder. I already feel a tight ball of claustrophobia as the literal hundreds of people breathing the same hot air as I, all have overlapping yet mostly parallel conversations. They're searching for charger cords, pillows, and anything else to make our long ride just a bit more comfortable.
Our seat isn't at the back of the plane, but it might as well be. The unfortunate are even farther back than us. Whoever gave up their seats for us, likely got premium? I don't know what strings Brandon pulled. And I don't actually care.
A middle seat in the middle of a packed plane is a special kind of trapped. I'm instantly hot, but I don't take off my hoodie. All I've got on under it is a t-shirt, I'm in jeans for once and rubber sandles. Taking it off would be too much trouble, and despite the heat I'm comforted by the fabric.
I climb into my seat without complaint, and Brandon takes his, smoothly pushing his backpack onto the floor in front of him.
"Here you want your book or you want to sleep?" He asks.
"Book," I hold out my hand.
"Why are you reading this anyway?" He asks, handing me my book, Peter Pan.
"It's for school, also, everything else at the library sucked except Discworld, and I wasn't allowed to take that. This is for the curriculum so, less boring than the back of my eyelids," I say, taking green, very worn book. Well loved and smelling of old paper it's hauntingly like home.
"Makes sense," he nods.
"Yeah," I say, holding the book on my lap.
He's fiddling with his phone, sending a quick text and then turning it onto airplane mode. I recognize the swipe to achieve airplane mode, but I can't make out who he's texting.
"Do you know if my mum's going to be there? At Heathrow?" I ask. We're connecting from LAX after what will be a much needed night in a hotel.
"No, she's not, last I heard," he says.
I nod. That's fairly typical. I don't know why I was hoping.
"Look it's—," Brandon begins, but is interrupted by our seat mate. I don't know what he thought he was going to say. Except it's okay that she doesn't care. Doesn't affect him at all.
"Hi, um, sorry," a girl, well, probably early twenties, squeezes in, carrying a hiking type bag. Sweats and flip flops but better shoes tied to the bag. That's all she's got and she's wearing a designer shirt. Some rich man's daughter on a hiking vacation? Yeah there's a tiny tattoo on her thumb, an anchor.
"Brandon Wakely, I'm flying my nephew back home," Brandon says, when I'm clearly not going to say anything.
"Oh, ah, hi. I'm probably going to go right to sleep but if I do snore or something feel free to wake me up. I'm Miranda," she says, waving a little. No rings at all but a tan line for a smart watch. She does have on a Tiffany necklace though. Very classy definitely wealthy but not wealthy enough to be in premium class. Or sold out seats. It is a full flight.
"Nice to meet you," Brandon says, coolly, so clearly willing me not to say anything.
"Enjoy your time down under?" I ask.
"Yeah, yeah I did, it's my third time to the Great Barrier Reef, I scuba dive," she explains, "What brought you down? Seeing the sights?"
"Yeah, little vacation," I smile, "I wish it could have been longer."
"Oh I know! It always feels too short. But. I—need to take care of stuff at home," she says.
"Yes. Real life, right?" Brandon says, shooting me a look to be nice. I am actually being nice.
"Yeah," she says, a little awkwardly. Not used to travelling alone even if it's her third trip? No something else is bothering her. Her hair is tied back in a soft scrunchie she takes it out then puts it back up again. Can't get comfortable. Should be used to long flights by now.
The boarding is finally finishing. The cabin lights flicker to alert us to a safety tutorial. I listen obediently, then open my book. Brandon is no stranger to such long flights and stretches a little next to me, clearly he's relaxed we're about to be in the air.
Miranda puts headphones in, and tries to get comfortable, I take up as little room in our row as possible.
The engines hum louder and we are ready for take off. I pretend to read my book and really just bend my head down, breathing. This is going to be so long. And I'm trapped here in the middle row. The plane lifts from all semblance of safety and we are airborne. I keep my head down and try to breath. I hate this.
I'm not alone, Miranda quickly throws up and a flight attendant comes to help her. I hand her the vomit bag and hold back her hair automatically while Brandon tries to tug me to leave her alone. So we look normal when the flight attendant shows up.
"Thank you," Miranda says, just generally, face red from illness and embarrassment.
"Oh you're fine, let me get you some ice," the flight attendant offers.
I go back to my book, Brandon reads something on his phone but wont' show me. A couple of people start lining up for the bathroom and meal service starts. For us that's water and snacks.
"Meds," Brandon says, the moment bottles of water are distributed.
I hold out a hand and he drops the pills in. I could have swollowed them without water. I do use it though, the crinkly cold bottle is actually soothing in the hot belly of the plane. I finish it off without complaint.
For once I'm glad of the tranquilizers, they hit me like sledge hammer. We're only forty five minutes into the flight and I'm ready to pass out. Uncomfortably so, my head and eyes feel like they're full of sand.
"Get some sleep," Brandon clearly sees me fading. He hands me a folded up sweatshirt I guess from his bag.
I don'T argue, curling up with my head on the tray. At least I should be able to sleep through some of the flight.
I'm obviously drugged I'm sure my eyes are glassy. But I'm too tired to care and just lay down, fighting for no reason to stay awake.
"He has some health issues," Brandon says, to Miranda.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she says, awkwardly.
"We're taking him home for treatment," he says, patting my back.
I want to bite him but say nothing,just cramming my face into the shirt and praying for sleep to come and take me away. Dreams aren't pleasant but at least they're mine. I'm completely uncomfortable, still hot, and very heavily drugged, enough to ignore the first two things. Finally my mind surrenders and I drift off to sleep.
When I wake we are falling.