Flight 55

One

The attendant elegantly smiles at me, displaying the perfection of her teeth, and inserts the ticket into my trembling hands. She monotonously states, "You will be attending Flight 55, which will depart in less than a hour, taking you across the Atlantic ocean to Europe. You will discover a group of chairs behind you, and that's where European travelers may be seated." I perform an observant glance towards her while I stagger over to the empty area. She is clothed in a tightly fitted airport uniform that exaggerates the natural curves of her body. The posture she controls, which contains a slight slouch, explains the boredom that paints across her flawless face. Her hair is neatly pinned in a bun, that is displayed on the peak of her head, with a small wad of her bangs framing her cheekbones. 

I seat myself in the center of the first row, and begin to observe the beauty the airport offers. The transparent windows share the view of the busy airline traffic.  Planes with tremendous detail bounce onto the runway, returning to the aircraft station, while the others are disappearing into the gloomy sky. People of different ethnicities and cultures scatter throughout the terminal, conversing with the their nearby neighbors. Many decorations replace the bareness within the building. I examine the sights with extreme curiosity. My mouth appears agape, and my eyes search for more marvelous views. 

My concentration is broken when a squeaky, feminine voice is projected into the atmosphere of the terminal, "European travelers shall consider boarding the plane. The flight will be held in fifteen minutes."

I immediately scramble to my feet, and discover myself trailing after my peers. We exit the terminal we were previously lingering in, and enter a complex concourse. My eyes widen to the size of a watermelon. The concourse glows with vibrant colors produced by the shades of light bulbs. The ceiling, of the passageway, grasps the clouds with its height. I stroke my bare palm against the tunnel's surface, which creates a cold, prickly sensation. I shudder, and ignore a deep surge of eagerness that swirls throughout my interior as I decrease my distance between the plane and I.

I progressively shorten my foot steps, and come to a halt in the concourse. Bodies slightly brush against my frozen figure, and proceed their motions toward the plane, but rotate their heads to deliver a blank stare in my direction. I exhale a faltering breath, and shut my eyes. I imagine my family, waving their thumbs in the air to signify that I am prepared to travel on this plane. I absorb their supportive comments. Suddenly, I carry a heavier amount of confidence. I release the tension in my eyelids, and decorate my face with a broad grin. I march, with a positive attitude, to the plane's steep stairs. My right foot hovers over the first step, and the joyous expression plastered on my face vanishes. A horrendous wave of anxiety surges throughout me, crashing into every sensitive nerve which explains my excessive shaking. A line of vexed travelers shout rude criticism and harshly poke me. Their actions do not seem to faze me; I continue to doddle in a cloud of terror. Someone repeatably taps my shoulder until reality smacks me across the face.

"I got it." but I was too late, the man had already captured my bag, and was guiding them to the airplane. I was assuming he was some staff of the airport, but he didn't present himself the way the other committee does. When I finally stand right in front of the grand staircase, which leads me to my death bed, I get a glimpse of the boy. He has brown curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that could steal a lady's heart. Not mine, though.

"Thanks." I try to keep this short, and reach for my luggage. Thankfully, he hands me them, and stutters "I-am T-Trever."

I give him a blank look, and stumble onto the plane. He follows me.

I search for an isolated seat. I find a row with two open seats.

I deposit my bags on the railing above my head, and then settle myself on the seat nearest to the window. My heart beats in my chest, hard and unsteady. Someone plops down next to me. I swear, if "Trevor" decides to sit next to me, we will havean agrument prepared to be discussed. I rotate my head, and put on the most evilest look on my face, ready to pounce my anger on him. The man who sits to my left is not Trevor. He inspects me, but shows no emotion. Then whirls his head forward, and so do I.

The pilot announces "We will be in take off in one minute. Would all of my attenders, please, buckle up and enjoy the ride." Yeah right, I think. I hear the clicks of my and the other's belts as they lock into place.

I feel the plane tug forward. My heart pounds throughout my body. The plane creates speed, and we commence to lift into the sky. My stomach turns. Then, finally, we are thousands of feet in the air, and that's when I pass out over my anxiety.