The Fear

The Fear.

I don’t want to think about where I am. That’s what I was hoping the whiskey and Mexican beer would help with. It was a toss up between a couple of drinks, or a Xanex and a nap to get me through the anxiety of flying from L.A. to Houston. It’s the God damned movies that have me so twisted with the fear of being in a plane. Coupled with the visions of falling from the sky, I’m still heart broken over the recent end of my relationship with my long time girlfriend and being unemployed has me on a constant slant. It’s good time to get away. Visiting my friend in Houston is a good distraction.

The gay, pudgy flight attendant in bad shoes, pantomimes and jokes his way through the safety procedures. His jokes aren’t as funny as his haircut. I do not like this fashion of mockery of duties. This fat man in his ill-fitting jacket may as well be the tour guide on the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland.

The ride has been smooth so far and the decision to go with the booze was a good one. Although, I’m just starting to be annoyed with the two small children in the row ahead of me, brother and sister, fighting and clawing back and forth across their defeated mother’s lap. Biggest problem with the whiskey and beer is that I only have enough cash for one round. The credit card machine is busted and they’re only taking cash. Bastards. Now I’m regretting not bringing my medical marijuana laden candy. Would have been a perfect flight.

I’ve turned my phone off and I’m not wearing a watch. No telling how much longer I have to go on this four hour flight. Those two little fuckers have begun to drive me up the wall. Their whining and grappling has me thinking that maybe the plane going down might be a good thing after all. The worry I have about my buzz wearing off is killing the little buzz I have going. Fuck it, I’ll pop that Xanex too.

I’m wearing too many clothes. A wife beater, t-shirt, hoodie and leather jacket. My right ear feels hot and red. It’s dark outside and in the isles too. Somewhere, 3 or 4 rows up, out of my line of sight, another kid sneezes wet and splattering. The young, thin black flight attendant has a light mustache and deep red, cheap lip stick melting into her big full lips. She’s taking up spent soda cans, crunched up cocktail napkins and empty roasted peanut bags from the laps of sleeping passengers.

I’ve only a small swig of the Mexican beer left on the lap table before me. An attractive middle aged woman sits a row behind and across from me. She is traveling with a young adult palsy boy. The boy is wearing headphones and scruffy facial hair. His small frame jitters in the corner between his seat and the window. He seems to be aware of his place in the world just enough to be resentful, or at least that’s what I felt his glare translates to as he caught me checking out his mom. She stood and excused herself to visit the lavatory. She wears herself plain, but pretty. Dark straight hair, cut short, falling just at her earlobes. No make up, but her eyebrows are kept neat and shaped, almost in a scowl. Her skin is fair, clean and clear. In her late 40’s, her body is still good. The look in her dark eyes and wrinkle free skin might suggest that despite the inevitable drudgery of so many years of caretaking, she gets enough decent sex to get her through it all. Yet, in those same eyes, there is also something that has been out of her reach for even longer. Something that she isn’t even aware of. It’s that shuddering, spasmatic burst of complete pleasure that comes from a deep and proper fuck. She’s been there before, but too long ago, and maybe never again. For her, for myself and others like us, I really hope that there is an afterlife. Someplace that we may find to finally feel that release of waiting a life time for, when we should not have been waiting at all, but taking when we had the chance.

Christ, I just remembered, I hid a $100 bill in a book in my backpack in the overhead.  I push the button above my head and chime for the nearest attendant. I want to scream, “Hurry woman, run! And bring me more whiskey and more beer!”

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About magnumturtle

I write fiction.
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