Preface
__________
The tales which I herein present to you are more a scattered sequence of events than chapters of a story; the only similarity they share is the subject of air travel- that and a simple, curious prospect: For all you know, these short episodes may well have occurred all on the very same flight; or each in their own; they may have occurred years ago, or may be still to come, years into the future. They may just happen to take place on your very next flight!
"Trans-Atlantic"
Tom and Rochelle stood in line at the gate to board their flight, chatting nonchalantly about their journey ahead; each trying to calm their own nerves.
"Thanks for coming with me," Rochelle said sincerely, but distractedly as she craned her neck out to try and see the head of the line. "I don't know why I'm so nervous, but having you with me- it's nice," she added.
Rochelle had flown several times; her daddy was a doctor, and every summer his wages guaranteed the family two separate vacations, typically with a third at some point between autumn and winter. Most trips had been cross-country destinations, but there were a few international flights, too.
Today, she was flying to Spain, to study abroad for a semester. She had begged her best friend Jennifer to come with her, at least for the flight over, but Jenn couldn't take off work, and agreed to send her boyfriend Tom in her place.
Rochelle had known Tom for a very long time, and was as good of pals with him as she was with Jenn.
Tom on the other hand hadn't flown before, at least not commercially. A buddy with a private pilot's license and permission to use his uncle's little four-seat Cessna had taken Tom flying on a few occasions. They were remarkable experiences, each one of them, and had quickly instilled in him a great passion for flying.
Presently, with his thoughts regrouping, he patted her back amicably. "No problem Kid!"
"At least you'll get to see Spain," Rochelle leveled sportingly. "And I'm sure we can find some authentic paella for dinner."
Tom's eyes widened. "Shit, you're right!" he exclaimed. "I've only been waiting my whole life."
The line slowly began to move as passengers disappeared through the door leading down the narrow jetway. Through a wall of glass panes, Tom could see the jetway leading around to their plane outside, which was currently facing them.
"Damn," he breathed. "It's huge."
Rochelle glanced down at the ticket in her hand. Seven-eighty-seven, Boeing's latest!" she chirped. "Comfy too. There's a lot of space on the inside."
"Ah, nice," he replied simply.
Soon they walked through the door and shuffled uneasily down the carpeted corridor. Tom couldn't help but feel like a sardine packed into a tin.
At least it didn't smell like a tin of sardines
, he told himself silently.
Entering the plane's passenger cabin, they both glanced at their tickets simultaneously for a seat number; before either of them found it, a polite stewardess introduced herself and offered her assistance.
Once they had reached their seats, Tom hefted Rochelle's carry-on, along with his own into the overhead bins, marveling as to the spaciousness of the compartments.
"Nice that they give you so much space," he mentioned plainly, settling into his seat.
"Yeah, for sure," she replied, pulling out her phone to check messages. "This airplane is pretty much state of the art."
Tom envied how acquainted Rochelle was with flying. He was sure her familiarity with it all was making the experience much more enjoyable for him.
Presently, he was fumbling with his seat belt, which seemed horribly less intuitive than anything else in the aircraft.
Rochelle glanced over, giggling. "No, here-" she muttered, grabbing the two lower straps and pulling them across his lap, her hand brushing against his crotch. She clicked the buckle into place.
It was a little awkward for Tom, but he decided to not think more about it, and quickly put it out of his mind.
Less than half an hour later, the plane was being pushed backward and away from the gate, and towed to the entrance of a runway.
A stewardess' cheerful voice suddenly resounded through the plane. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Flight One-Seventeen, direct service to Barcelona. Today we will be flying at an altitude of twenty-seven thousand feet, at a ground speed of approximately five hundred twenty miles per hour; our flight will be about seven hours and fifteen minutes in duration. The captain has just informed me that we are third in line for departure."
Tom closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, focusing on his even breathing.
In the seat beside him, Rochelle put her phone away and adjusted the cardigan she was wearing to better cover her.
Less than a minute later, the 787's twin Rolls-Royce engines spooled up to their healthy high-pitched whine and the plane was moving.
"It's so quiet inside," Tom marveled. "Even with the engines at full throttle."
"Pretty cool, right?"
Shortly after takeoff, Rochelle produced a book from her carry-on and proceeded to read; Tom took note of a placard on the seatback in front of him, informing him that wifi was complimentary to all passengers; he pulled the laptop out of his own bag and surfed the Internet to pass the time. As he glanced around, he noticed that the cabin was relatively empty- he guessed only half of the seats were filled. Luckily, there was no one else in their row, and the closest fellow travelers were in the row ahead and one aisle over.
He rested his head back and soon fell asleep.
When Tom again opened his eyes, the cabin was rather dark; the lights had been turned down and most of the window shades had been lowered.
"Shel, what time is it?" he asked groggily, sitting up a little straighter. To his surprise, she was leaning against him, with her head on his shoulder.
"One thirty," she yawned, leaning to a more upright position as well. "I could use some coffee or something, you?"
"Ah, I'm alright," Tom assured her as she stood and headed to the back.
"So," Rochelle said plainly upon returning to her seat a few minutes later. "How ya doing?"
There was a warm smile on her lips, and her brown eyes seemed bright amidst the dimness of the plane's interior.
"Uh, good," Tom managed flatly. "Didn't think it would be so...ordinary. So...not exciting," he added with a laugh.
"Hah, yeah especially when you can't even look out the window," she said lightly.
"You ever sleep much on planes?" he asked her.
"No...I'm not sure why, but I've never been able to. It's the craziest thing." She sipped her coffee and uttered a sound of satisfaction.
"Their coffee is actually really good," she went on. "Kinda surprised." She offered the cup to Tom, who took it hesitantly, and sipped from it also.
"Hell yeah it's good," he agreed. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, how are you and Tony doing?"
"Ugh, we broke up," she murmured indignantly. "He got all weird about me going abroad for the semester. I don't know if he
ever
trusted me."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Tom said with genuine sympathy. "I thought you guys made a good match."
"Eh, there's probably still hope," she continued. "I don't know. It is kind of annoying, the way he always gets all jealous and protective."
"Hey, I would be too if I was your boyfriend," he told her earnestly.
