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I gripped my suitcase tightly as I slowly stepped onto the plane stairs. I have to say, of all ways to travel, flying is the worst. When I find the egotistical bastard who invented the plane, I'll kill him.
"Hello, this is my first time boarding an airplane, and I just wanted to know if my family would recieve my dead body in the mail, or in an urn," I asked one of the flight attendants. She was a dark woman who was incredibly beautiful and had her hair in a French plait down her back and caramel eyes. Her light blue uniform complimented her perfectly.
She laughed. "Sweetie, I like you already. Come on, we have extra seat in first-class. It might be a little packed, though, I hope that's okay with you?"
I nodded and she led me to the front. I actually jumped when she pulled back the curtains.
A little packed she said. The "first-class" seats were completely filled with people.
There was a lady with whining kids and couples fighting. Geez, this lady let's just about anyone in.
I give her a grateful smile as she leads me to the last empty seat on there.
Some guy with his hood up was sleeping. I was moving into the middle seat, but the air-hostess stopped me. "He bought both seats, you'll have to take the aisle seat."
I took the third seat as the man sloppily pulled down the window cover and replaced his head on it. "It's okay, honey, he only wakes up for more drinks." She pointed to the travel-sized plastic bottles littered all over the floor with her eyes when she said this.
"He's an alcoholic?!" I whispered anxiously, ready to spring out of my seat. I know so many alcoholics that get so violent when it comes to plane rides, for example: my cousin, Omar. He punched an air-hostess when she wouldn't let him take off his shoes.
"Don't worry about it! He passes out after every bottle." And that's good.
She gave me a reassuring smile before leaving.
I watch her bustling up and down the aisle, with the occasional smile on her face. I look around, hoping that maybe there's, like, a board-game somewhere.
An extremely loud and irritating 4-bit version of Rupert Holmes' Escape (Piña Colada Song) rings through the cabin, making everyone jolt.
I fished my phone out of my bra and rushed to read the caller I.D.. It's my... mom? Why would she be calling me in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday? Right when I'm about to flip the phone open to answer, a different flight attendant kneels down to meet me eye to eye. She has this piercing look and says, "Phone calls are not permitted in the cabin, please switch your phone off."
I nod and swallow. Shit, girls are really scary. She quickly stands back up and rushes to the back.
I peek behind me to make sure that she's really gone and flip my phone open. I rush through my Menu and go to call history. Should I call her back? Would could she possibly want right now? I already sent her a money order, and I'm pretty sure I've returned all her dishes to her. I ponder this in my seat. Is my roommate at her house looking for me? Did something happen at our apartment?!
I press CALL BACK and hide the phone in my hair as I press the earpiece to my ear. The first ring didn't even completely go through before the flight attendant returned with that same look and a stiff smile. "Ma'am, please don't make me have to ask you again. Turn your phone off and put it away. This has been a warning."
I can't break eye contact with her, even after I can hear my mother's shrill voice demanding in Spanish (her mouth going a mile a minute), "Violeta, what are you doing that you won't answer me? I've been calling for a whole hour now, unless you're having lunch with the President, you should be answering my calls. You're just like your father, he's so ignorant and—" I shut the phone off and slide it back into my bra.
"Sorry, my mom just called, I was worried—" The flight attendant cuts me off with a tilt of her head.
"Thank you, enjoy the rest of your flight."
She stands up in a flash and starts walking away.
"You just hate me cuz you ain't me..." I mutter, crossing my arms.
"Excuse me?" The woman asked me, her arms stiff at her sides an her look venemous.
"Oh, I didn't say anything," I lied, sweat breaking out.
She bustles back to her seat and straps in, leaving my heart pumping.
"Nice." I hear the guy who sits next to me say in a raspy voice. I turn, suspicious at his comment, but it doesn't look like he's taunting me.
"Oh." I hesitate. "Thanks."
He lays his head back on the window and remains still, almost as if someone pulled a switch inside him, turning him off.
"Is everything okay in here, folks?" The attendant with the French plait comes back.
"Um?" I tentatively raise my shaking hand, clearing my throat.
She bustles over in seconds and leans down to hear me better. "Yes?"
''I was just wondering. Is that sound normal?" I point to the ceiling, hoping to God that the wing wasn't tearing off.
"What sound?" she cocks her head.
"That sound. The kind of whining, coming from the wing or the engine?" I take a quick glance at the window. "Sounds like there's a hyena laughing or something?"
''I can't hear anything." She looks at me sympathetically. "Are you a nervous flyer?"
"No!" I say immediately, and give a little laugh, like it's common that people assume that of me. "No. I'm not nervous. I was just... was wondering. Just out of interest." She puts a hand on my shoulder and nods.
"What, is there a gremlin on the wing?" The flight attendant asks, making the man sitting next to me chuckle. Is this a joke? I want in on this secret. Before I could ask what she meant by that, the flight attendant disappeared.
I've never told anyone I'm scared of flying. It just sounds so lame. And I mean, it's not like I'm phobic or anything. It's not like I can't get on a plane. It's just ... all things being equal, I would prefer to be on the ground.
I never used to be scared. But over the last few years, I've gradually got more and more nervous. I know it's completely irrational. I know thousands of people fly every day and it's practically safer than lying in bed. You have less chance of being in a plane crash than ... than winning the lottery.
