Lonely People

I Can't Wait To Tell This Story to My Grandkids

The last time I had been on a plane, I was too angry about being deported to be afraid. This time, however, was different. Once again, I stood and stared at the giant tin can we would be flying in. This was different than going to Hamburg. We would fly over an ocean this time. The flight would last nearly a day! I wasn't sure if I could handle that.

We were on the tarmac. The lads had already run to the plane and were climbing up the stairs. I found myself frozen, staring at the plane as the engines started, my stomach rapidly falling to my feet. My every muscle quaked, and I felt like I was going to faint. My fingers were latched around the straps of my pack as if it were the only thing standing between life and death. Every part of my body was becoming whiter and whiter as I stared at the plane.

"Lia, come on, we've got to take off," Paul said, running back to me.

I felt like all of my blood had stopped pumping. I wanted to run away, but I could barely move. Paul placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a worried look, "Lia, you alright?"

"N-no," I replied, "This-this is worse than Hamburg. I can't do it-I can't-I'm-"

"Lia, no, listen to me," Paul held my shoulders and looked me in the eye, "It's going to be fine, just like the flight to Hamburg. It's just a little longer, is all."

I shook my head, "We're going over a gigantic ocean this time, to the other side of the world! N-no, nope, I'm-no. I'll just go home, I can't-"

"Lia, I'm not going to America without you," Paul held a tight grip on my arms, "Don't think about the plane, alright? Focus on me. We're going to go in and sit down just like we would in our own homes. Focus on me, not the plane."

I couldn't reply, my throat was slowly closing. Paul grabbed my hand and gently pulled me towards the plane. My feet moved without my permission, and, soon, we were climbing up the stairs.

The loud roar of the plane's engine drowned out any sounds until we entered. Once we were inside the plane, the steward shut the door behind us, muffling the sounds of the engine. Paul gently pulled me down the aisle of the plane and towards a seat.

Brian had gotten The Beatles a private jet. It was just the band and their associates on board. The seating area was more like a lounge than a plane, with large armchairs facing each other over tables. George and Ringo sat across from each other at one table. Ringo was shuffling the cards as George patiently waited. Having been the one to sit next to me on both Hamburg flights, he knew exactly what was wrong when he saw me walk past with my hand gripping onto Paul for dear life. He caught my eye and gave me a comforting smile. My muscles relaxed, but only slightly.

Paul sat in the chair closest to the window and pulled me into the seat next to him. They had no seatbelts, which only proved to make me more anxious. In the event of a crash, the seat belts would do no good, but it did provide a sort of comfort factor.

When the plane began to pull down the tarmac, I felt my heart speed up. Paul held onto my hand and gave me a small smile. He saw my eyes glued to the window and quickly moved to shut it. All the rest were shut as well. The only way I knew we were moving was the hum of the engine and the sound of the wheels on the pavement.

The plane sped up. I gripped onto Paul and shut my eyes as I could feel us beginning to lift into the air. For a few meters, the plane bounced, making me feel airsick before we even made it into the air. Paul held my arm with both hands, "It's just a long car ride, nothing more."

"A flying car ride," I muttered, "We're practically a flying tin can of sardines."

Paul shook his head, "Sardines or no, we're safe. You're just as safe in this plane as you are on the ground, it'll be fine."