Finding Freedom

I

"In the face of technological fact,

even the most seasoned traveller feels

the baffled sense that nowhere else exists."

- Sarah Arvio (Flying)

---------------------------------------------------

The plane is uncomfortable, to say the least. As the New York sun sets, and the plane slowly leaves JFK airport in the distance, I start to panic. Why, you ask.

Is it the tightness of the space available to me in the teenie weenie plane?

Is it the fact that I'm in the middle of the sky, very far from the ground, in a floating metal bird?

Is it the impending journey that I haven't planned for, the fact that I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing?

Eh. Maybe.

At least my phone isn't buzzing anymore, thank you, good old aeroplane mode. Five minutes in and my seat is already sweating. Or is that me? Sweating I mean.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You need this. No plan. No organising. Going with the flow. This doesn't really feel like a nice, slow flow. More like a frothing, angry rapid. Oh god. Why did I do this?

"Miss? Miss? Miss!"

I slip my shaking, sweaty hands under my thighs and look up at the air stewardess.

"Umm?"

"Would you like a cup of tea, coffee, water?" She asks, plastering on an inviting smile.

"Water please." For some reason, my voice is shaking too.

I mutter a low 'thank you' before bringing the cup with the cool liquid to my lips.

Looking out, through the window, I see the clouds seem to form a kind of floor to the space we're floating in. The emptiness of the sky calms me down and for a couple of seconds, the noises around me are drowned out by a feeling of peace. It's only now that I notice how tired I am. Laying my head back against the seat, my eyelids finally close, heavy with sleep, and I quickly drift off.

* * *

I wake up with a start, just as the plane makes a choppy landing on the bumpy strip. The woman, who looks to be in her fifties, beside me smiles affectionately and chuckles a little, giving me a knowing look as I rub my face and clear my thoughts. The pilot breaks a little harder and she puts a hand on my arm, more for her own comfort than mine.

When the plane finally comes to a halt I turn towards her.

"How long was I out?"

"The whole 17 hours. You were mighty tired, did you some good, I hope." The woman has a southern accent and her kind hazel eyes twinkle with amusement.

"Woah... ok. Oh! I'm Amara Jackson by the way." I extend my hand and she gladly takes it, the laugh lines beside her warm, brown eyes crinkle, as she echoes;

"Gina Cooper." She pauses. "Are you visiting or travelling for business?"

"I don't know." I murmur.

"Well one thing's for sure, you'll probably figure it out at some point. Which hotel are you staying at, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't know either." I mumble, my eyes flitting down to my clasped hands.

"Well, you're welcome to try my hotel, dear. I'm sure they have a room. In any case, you can always share with me, I won't mind, the company will do me some good."