Thump.
"Oh, my God. What was that?”
The jolt had woken me from a hazy half-sleep and bumped my head against the window. I jerked around to see if anyone else seemed alarmed, or if the flight attendants were taking care of business as usual, my normal protocol for mid-flight scares, a common experience for this nervous flier.
I always do a thorough scan of the faces around me, watching the other passengers as they engage in various shades of reading or sleeping, to show myself that I am the only one frightened, thus proving that whatever turbulence, noise, or motion that caused me to jump out of my skin is perfectly normal, perfectly expected. The nonchalance of others is my best reassurance.
But this time was different. The air was filled with unusual activity. Like me, people were glancing about with round eyes and darting motions, peering at each other, asking, “What was that?” I could see the backs of my kids’ heads about 12 seats in front of me. One appeared to be asleep with his Steelers beanie pulled over his eyes and headphones covering his ears, while the other was moving around in his seat, looking this way and that. I couldn’t call out to him because he was too far away and the engine noise was too invasive. And every time I waved at him, he was looking somewhere else. I wasn't sure if he remembered where I was seated.
One moment we were gliding noiselessly, the next we were roaring through the air, and then back again. The changes sent my head bouncing forward and back, but the jet finally settled into some sort of smoothness with a slight tilt to the left. Was it my imagination? I felt a lump go from my stomach straight to my throat, where it lodged and stayed. A sudden jerk pointed us slightly downward.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The flight attendants were running up and down the aisles with plastic, white garbage bags, thrusting them toward people, collecting the remnants of snacks and beverages. One of them tripped over a napkin that had fallen into the aisle. They did not look at us. They watched their hands, the door of the cabin, each other. I felt as if I had just stuck my finger into an electric socket. Weren’t the passengers just served their snacks? Tears began to roll down my cheeks. No sobbing, no drama. Just tears. I couldn’t help it.
"Put that in here whether you're finished or not."
"Fasten your seatbelt.”
“Put your tray table up and lock it into place."
"Return the seat back to its original upright position.”
The lump got bigger, cutting off my air. The flight attendants disappeared from the aisle. The lights went out. Even the seatbelt sign and emergency aisle lights.
The pilot’s voice pierced the dusk. "This is your captain speaking. The bump you just felt was our left engine being shut down."
"Oh, my God. This is serious," I thought, as my mouth dropped open.
"The good news is that the right engine is working just fine. We are 20 minutes away from the Atlanta airport and have begun our initial descent.”
"No shit."
"Please stay in your seats with your seat belts fastened until we are on the ground."
"No shit again." It was useless to wipe my face. I felt the tears dripping from my cheeks and chin onto my lap.
My thoughts were clear, as I realized for the first time that perhaps this would be the end of my life. I cannot claim a calm, but I can claim a resignation, an acknowledgement of my utter helplessness. Whatever was to happen next would happen without any contribution or participation from me. I was completely insignificant in the process and the outcome. The lump in my throat persisted, as did my soundless tears. I couldn’t help it. I held my hands tightly in my lap, with my fingers cemented together.
My neighbor’s husband leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. This is a non-issue. They do this sort of thing every day.”
But he had missed the mark. My focus was pinpointed on the scene around and within. There was no escape. I was embroiled in fight or flight mode with a sense of danger that consumed me as if I housed a black hole in the center of my being. Everything else was sucked into it. Especially my neighbor’s words.
I stared out the window and went over my life as it rolled itself out before me like a gigantic to-do list. I smoothed out the pages and reviewed them, hoping for checkmarks. Had I told the people closest to me that I loved them? My father and my stepmother? Yes. Eleanor and Ingeborg, the ladies whom I care for? Yes. Postcards were on their way, hopefully not on this plane. Oh, God. Poor Ingeborg. Days after her husband died, his birthday present to her was delivered. It haunts her to this day. I hope that doesn’t happen again. What about best friends Annie and Hilary? I wish there was something in writing heading their way. Poor Annie. She has suffered more loss in the last 10 years than anyone usually suffers in a lifetime. I hate to add something new. Maybe I could call her on my cell phone. Dodo head. Cell phones don’t work up here. Besides, they know I love them. I tell them all the time. My kids are on this plane. Young men who are barely beginning. They have too much to do to go out so young. Our whole family would be eliminated. Who would be notified? What would happen to the mastiffs? To our cats? And what about the other families on this plane? Lots of whole families. Back from vacation. Students going back to school. This just can’t be happening. I am the innocent daughter of The Universe. I am the innocent daughter of The Universe. I am the innocent daughter of The Universe. I am a helpless daughter, is more like it.
The plane began to tilt left as it turned. I could see the ground below me, the cars, houses, lights. I could tell which were floodlights and which were spot lights by the size and intensity of their glowing spheres. There was a mall, shining so brightly that it lit up the inside of the plane. I glanced at the darkened panel above my head and pressed the reading light with a solid click. Nothing happened. Just like I figured. We were in the dark, completely locked down, and heading toward the ground.
How does a plane with only one functioning jet engine brake to a stop? If the engine is thrown into reverse, with no balancing force on the other side, wouldn’t the plane just flip over? Several times? I squeezed my fingers together more tightly. I couldn’t feel them anymore. I held my breath. Would it hurt? Or would I disbelieve as I did even now?
We touched down. Was that clapping? Don’t clap yet. The engine hasn’t been reversed, making us flip over.
The engine roared. We held steady. We slowed. I could see a dozen moving, flashing lights joining us, accompanying us to a standstill. Red lights on neon green trucks and vans.
"I think this may be an issue to someone after all,” I said to my neighbor’s husband, motioning for him to look out the window with one hand and wiping my face with the other. “We’ve got a police escort down there.” Both husband and wife leaned over to look. She smiled. He shrugged.
“This is your Captain. We are stopping on the runway. The fire department wants to make sure we aren’t dropping anything and that we’re not on fire. Once we’re cleared, we’ll go the gate.”
"God, can't they at least let the children out?" The feeling in my fingers returned. "Actually, why can't all of us get out, and then check for fire? I’ve never slid down the slide before. Yes, good idea to make sure we’re not ablaze. That would be totally uncool." A stab at gallows humor.
Finally, it was time to de-plane. Sitting in the last row, I was glad to let everyone else get off before me. Would my legs hold my weight? Could I walk? Yes, I was standing, and now I was moving forward. There was my coat, still crumpled in the overhead bin above the seat in front of me. I pulled it out and continued down the aisle without putting it on.
I heard the pilot explain to a passenger up ahead, “We were already in the process of....” I didn’t listen. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I would melt into a grateful, groveling puddle on the floor. Not the way to go. I wanted to regain my composure and see my children. All I wanted was to see my children. I looked beyond me as I continued taking one step, followed by another. As cold air from the outside hit my face, I sagged with relief. A smile as unconscious as the tears earlier lifted the corners of my mouth. We were going to be okay.
The boys were waiting for me at the end of the runway. We hugged each other for a minute, before we all began talking at once. Did you feel the bump? I thought we were going to crash for sure. That plane was going down. The stewardess fell over her own shoe. She touched my shoulder. I turned on the help light and nobody came. The lights went out after the engine spurted a couple of times. Heads were looking everywhere. The people around us were scared shitless. I knew something very bad was happening, but I wasn’t sure what. Didn’t you hear the pilot’s announcement? I didn’t want to know. I thought about Eleanor and Ingeborg. I didn’t want to die. I haven’t even done anything with my life yet. What a crappy time to die. I slept through the whole thing.
A 12-hour drive was looking quite attractive to me. I knew I could find a Hertz counter around there somewhere. Instead, we made our way to Gate A4 to catch the next flight that would take us home.
“Mom, are we going to be on the news?”
"No, honey.”
“Why not?”
“Because nothing bad happened. No one was hurt. The plane didn’t crash. There was no fire. We had a happy ending. The media only reports bad news. It’s part of their commitment to excellence.”
I don't think he heard me.
Personally, I’ll take the unreported, everyday happy endings over the real news any day of the week. For me, it’s good news just to be alive.
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