Chapter 20

20

This is plane number four today. On again, off again, up and then back down. I put my luggage on in Boston and I won't see it again until I land in Miami. It's not like I have anything of value in my suitcase, just my favorite pair of jeans, but fear of losing what's mine haunts me at every airport claim.

It's getting close to nine in the evening; the plane calmly drifts along, a giant bird passing through the clouds. We go unnoticed, unheard, quietly looking down upon a sea of city lights.

The day is ending and I still have yet to call Jamie.

Yesterday morning, when the taxi had arrived and we kissed goodbye, I felt relief. That relief might turn to joy if this plane began to plummet from the sky.

I'm growing weary of this life.

Now, halfway through my forties and rocketing towards half a century on this earth, I feel my mind slowing, releasing freshly sprouted thoughts before they've chance to ripen. I rarely see a sentence bloom to it's full potential, and I, the constant gardener, am saddened by these events.

Upon departure, as Boston below begins to shrink, contemplation consumes me. The futility of life is so overwhelming at twenty thousand feet.

I write this now as I sit in the exit row, ignoring my obligations as steward of the escape route. I am randomly entrusted with the lives of everyone on this plane, as ironic as that may be. If they knew the inner workings of my mind I'd be in cargo with the luggage.

A jovial fat man crams himself into the seat next to me, coughing, inhaling his gut, laughing as he wriggles in between the arm rests. He's tried to talk to me twice since take off, unaware of my distain for pointless banter.

"Where ya headed?"
"Same place you are."
"Where ya from?"
"No place in particular."
"Ya married?"

Fuck you fat man. I hope your heart explodes when we lose cabin pressure.