The engines are finally roaring as I tilt my head towards the oval window.
I haven’t even taken my coat off. My seat neighbour offered to scooch away, to let me make myself comfortable, but I declined the kind thought. I always end up freezing when I fly, and I know I sleep better with my hood on.
Sleep… It seems like the only thing I need for now. Just days ago, I was still sitting at my desk, trying to force-feed useless insurance over the phone, to a mother of five, who didn’t have any reason not to hang out on me.
I hated it.
When the plane starts rolling on the tarmac, the flight attendants engage in their security ballet, knowing all too well that noone is paying attention by now. All we all care about is taking off, having a safe trip and landing in just one piece. Flying isn’t fun anymore, but it is convenient. Best way to get far in no time, if you ask me.
Soon, we’ll be offered microwaved pizza, over priced drinks and useless gadgets you would never buy otherwise, if you weren’t bored out of your mind and gazing at the ”tax free” fares in currencies you aren’t familiar with in the worn out catalogue stuffed in the back of your front neighbour’s seat pocket. If you have a valid Visa or Mastercard to wave in the air when the stewart passes by with the damn squeeking cart, as a warranty you will be a good customer, that is.
I am just waiting for the wheels to lift from the ground to doze off. Two rows ahead, a man is stretching his neck to catch everything about oxygen masks emergency procedures. A new flyer. I would bet twenty bucks he’ll be doing back and forth trips to the bathroom as soon as the buckle light will go off above our heads.
Thank God, he’s not sitting next to me.
I am not nervous. Nor am I excited. I just feel relieved I had the guts to get here. The worst has been taken care of… I am officially gone for vacation, but I haven’t told anyone where to and with what intentions.
It’s nobody’s business, realy, but mine. And if things don’t change and I come back to my insipid little routine, I’ll have noone to blame but myself.
Mr ”Wanna-me-to-scootch?” tries to start a conversation about his lovely time spent in my home city, but I couldn’t care less. This is not home. Not anymore, at least for now. I curl over to the side, ignoring him.
The plane is about to take off.
Let’s just pray for a turbulence-free flight, so Mr Nervous doesn’t get a panic attack on board. I don’t need the drama…