Midnight Plane to Georgia

I walked down the terminal, bag in one hand, papers in the other. The ticket said Georgia, but I couldn’t have cared less where I was going.

The flight attendant smiled at me, a cheap yes-I’m-getting-paid-for-this smile, and took my ticket. Row 18, seat D, right behind a group of soldiers returning home. They were comparing stories from the war; I lost 6 friends, how about you? Like some kind of twisted hand clapping game from elementary school.

 I sat down in my chair and one of my better visions appeared, altered by the situation and the sepia glass screen that covered my eyes ever since I got on the flight. He crawled out of the baggage compartment and asked me what I was doing here. I told him I was visiting my family in Georgia and that he should know that already.

The plane pulled out of the depot and began its routine take off.  It reminded me of my friend, and I could almost see her in front of me, half-man half-plane, pulling the needle out of her arm and sitting back in her chair, waiting for the shit to come and take her away. Anyways, I was sitting in my chair, watching this metaphor unfold, when the lady sitting next to me offered me a Baby Ruth, fun sized. It was one of those moments where you know you’re being offered paradise for your soul. She was the prototypical grandma and that was a major red flag. I said no thanks, picked up an emergency booklet, and began the 2 hour ordeal of distraction.

I touched down in a brighter state.

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