I can’t wait.
My transfer in Fiji was a quick two-hour turnaround and the flight onward would only take a few more hours before I could sleep in my own bed, wear fresh clothes than the ones in my suitcase, and decompress for a few days with takeout and pyjamas.
Luckily, the flight wasn’t full, which meant I had a window, middle, and aisle to myself. Unfortunately, I was also the last row of the cabin.
The traipsing passengers and constant flushes of the facilities meant I couldn’t sleep or relax. Elbows and knees constantly hit mine as weary travellers marched the tiny space, doing their best to keep their circulation flowing and muscles from seizing.
Rubbing my eyes, I pulled up the airplane journey on my in-seat screen. The small aircraft flying over the flattened atlas showed we were somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Far below me existed atolls and paradisiacal archipelagos.
Fiji wasn’t too much further. I’d made it this far, including the last nine hours without another nerve-wracking incident. The turbulence at the beginning of the flight freaked me out, but it had been smooth since.
I could make it home before succumbing to sleep deprivation.
A kid with grubby hands brushed my forearm as he charged back to his parents, leaving the bathroom door hanging open.
I groaned under my breath, reaching behind me to secure it.
Never again.
I would never sit at the back of the airplane.
You should’ve upgraded to business class.
Plopping my headphones over my ears, I rolled my eyes. Just because business class would’ve offered more comfort, I refused to start being that person. The one who expected better service just because they’d had a windfall. The asshole who felt more deserving than others just because money had changed their financial situation.
No, I wouldn’t be that person.
Changing the atlas for the latest movie channels, I laughed at myself for being so nervous. I’d spent the entire flight wound up and petrified of the simplest noise.
I’d burned through enough calories to sustain me for a week. I was wired on adrenaline and desperate to put as much space between me and flying as possible.
But there’d been nothing to worry about, after all.
There was no such thing as messages or premonition.
I was living proof.
My fingers itched for my notepad to add more lyrics to my half-cooked idea. There was a song lurking in my unwarranted fear. It could become a metaphor for other terrifying things in life.
That was where my true passion lay. Not in performing or seeing my name on billboards or screamed by strangers. My passion was fresh paper, sharpened pencil, and the joy of taking innocent words and stringing them into a necklace of rhythm.
My foot tapped a non-existent beat, gathering depth the more I composed.
My stress levels faded. I stopped flicking through the movie selection to focus inward, letting the melody cast me away from the plane, sink me deep into my art, and allow me to conjure music all while sitting in a tiny seat thousands of feet above the earth.
Love doesn’t live in first glances.
Life doesn’t dwell in second chances.
Our path exists in unseen messages.
Power to transform from unknown wreckages.
No, that last line wouldn’t work.
I pursed my lips, mulling over words that could replace it.
For a few wondrous seconds, I lived in my calling and allowed a new song to form.
But then...a reminder.
A hint that I hadn't been stupid to listen. I’d been stupid to ignore.
Another message.
The plane rocked with a buffet of air, sloshing the half-finished water on my tray table.
The lyrics in my head screeched to a halt.
I froze...waiting.
A minute t..i..c..k..e..d past.
All was well.
Another minute as I stared at the bright screen enticing me to click on a romantic comedy.
Then...my screen went blank.
The plane suddenly hopscotched across clouds.
The sparse cabin cracked as the hopscotch turned into a rodeo.
Passengers woke up. Headphones were wrenched off. Slumber turned to screams.
My fingers clutched the arm-rests; my lap drenched in water as the plastic cup toppled over.
However, as quickly as the turbulence hit, it was over.
My heart raced and strangers made eye contact, searching for answers.
The seat belt sign pinged; the captain came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the slight discomfort. We’d hoped to avoid the storm but it’s inevitable if we wish to land in Fiji. We’re descending and confident we can avoid the majority of turbulence. Please keep your seat belts fastened and refrain from using the facilities at this time. We’ll have you on the ground at 6:45 p.m. local time.”
His words were soothing.
His voice was not.
He’s afraid.
I’d been in the industry. I knew the inner lingo.
I hoped I was wrong, but nerves fledged into fully spread wings, careening around my ribcage like a startled crow.