“Oh! Yes, of course.” Collie situates herself by the window, her eyes squeezing shut at every turn of the plane on the runway.
“Want to switch seats?” I ask, offering her my aisle seat.
“That might be a good idea.” We trade off, and I immediately sense her relax a bit. Not fully, but enough to keep her still.
This is going to be a long flight.Long trip.
“Do you fly often?”
I doubt it, seeing as how her hands are shaking and she’s already chomping her gum before takeoff.
“All the time.”The fuck?
I fight back a smile because she confuses the hell out of me. “Then you know chewing gum is useless before we’re actually ascending, right?”
“Uh huh.” Yet, she doesn’t stop. “It gives me something to do. Occupies my mind over the fear.”
“Okay then,” I draw out, trying to find a way to distract her with conversation. “So, you fly a lot but hate flying? Just want to make sure I’m understanding that correctly.”
Collie’s eyes open for a moment, cutting me a look I’m not sure I should find funny. “I hate flying, yes. But I usually throw back a double Dramamine and say ‘peace the fuck out’ to the world. Then, wake up on the other side.”
She throws a peace sign up for good measure.
Is it too late to take back my invite?
“And you can’t do that now?” I ask because it sounds like a good fucking idea at this point.
“Too late,” she mumbles, nervously fidgeting as the plane takes off. “We’re already in the air, and by the time the meds kick in, it’ll be close to landing. And I’d hateto miss out on all the fun to come because I’m too sleepy.”
That would be a shame…
Am I regretting being a nice guy and offering her a ticket? No. But I am questioning whether I’m in the right headspace to handle someone else and their…conflicts.
Especially when I have yet to process my own.
“Tell me something good.”
“Huh?” Collie looks my way as the plane levels out in the sky.
“You’re good now,” I tell her, my hand absentmindedly finding her leg for security. I pull it away the moment her eyes catch on. “Tell me something good. I know you’ve had a rough morning, but what’s been the high of your day?”
To this day, my parents still ask my sister and me what our highs and lows are of the day. It’s usually with a phone call while I’m buildings high in a bucket truck, but the thought still counts.
“I sort of love that.” She thinks on my question before popping up in her seat. “Wanna see what I got?’
“If it distracts you, yes.”
I watch Collie shuffle through her designer bag, only to pull out a glass bottle the size of her hand. “See this baby right here?”
I examine it closely. It’s a message in a bottle. Iridescent in color with musical notes and sand inside. In addition to the rolled-up message, of course.
“Where’d you get it?”
“Airport gift shop.”
Okay…
“So, what makes that your high? I don’t mean that to be disrespectful, so please don’t take it like that. I’m just curious.”
