Silver Linings

Sensitive topic warning - refers to an impending plane crash.

“Do you ever wish you could just pause time?” asked Eric.

I just sniggered and shrugged. Little did he know, I had that exact gift. I just hadn’t worked out how to use it properly in forty years. It’s actually much less useful than you’d think. I can see how it could be helpful to be able to rewind or fast forward time, but pause is just that: a pause, and then you hit play and it’s back to whatever shitty situation you wanted to escape. It’s not the same as “stop.” It buys you some time to think, but that’s about it. I haven’t had many strokes of genius over the years in my paused moments. It actually makes me go into panic mode, I find. If you freeze everything for too long, it goes into a dormant state and then you have to spend your time defrosting everything. It’s like dealing with the Ice Age on your own but having to thaw it out with nothing but a crappy hairdryer.

I knew I had “the gift” whenever my grandmother pointed it out. She had it too, so I guess I inherited it from her. Why couldn’t I inherit something cool, like the ability to fly or to time travel, or to change from a person to a reptile and then back into a human again? I felt like the broken radio equivalent to all the world’s specialised sound systems.

When I was a teenager, I’d use it for silly things, like pausing whenever a girl undressed on screen so I could ogle her body for a second longer, or pausing a teacher whenever they were boring me to death. I used it a lot when we were studying verb conjugations or trigonometry. The problem was, like I said, I’d still have to finish the class whenever I hit “play.” It didn’t really get me out of anything, and isn’t that the point of a superpower? It allows you to escape the constraints of normal human life?

Sometimes, whenever I’m eating a packet of crisps too quickly, I’ll pause it to stop my hand thoughtlessly digging in the bag so I can savour them for a little bit longer. I don’t feel like I’ve ever really used it for the good of humankind. Maybe there are ways to do that, but it would take a smarter man than me to identify them.

For example, if someone was about to embarrass themselves by tripping in the office and face-planting right in the middle of the floor, I could pause whenever I saw them start to trip, but what could I really do with that regained time? I could find a pillow and put it under them, or take their shoes off, but if you’re going to fall, you’re going to fall. There isn’t really a graceful way to do it. There isn’t a way to make the embarrassing not embarrassing, unless the victim of said embarrassment takes the situation into their own hands.

Finally, I thought my day of action came to me, forty years into life. It had been a long wait, but I hoped this was my moment of glory – the one where I’d finally figure out the true use of my special skill. We were on the passenger plane over the Atlantic when we were told there was a problem. Something in the system had failed, and then the backup, and then, unlikely as it was, the backup for the backup. This was my moment to shine – I told myself with pride.

I froze the plane, so we were suspended midair. I could have kept it frozen for good, but then we would all freeze solid with it and remain, suspended in the sky, unconscious forever, and isn’t that almost the same as being dead? I had to act quickly and I didn’t have the foggiest clue what to do, but I decided to do my utmost to do something – anything.

I raced to the cockpit. It was locked, but I resourcefully took the steward’s key card and let myself in. The pilot and co-pilot were frozen in their seats, fear in their eyes. It wasn’t the expression you’d hope to see on the faces of those responsible for your safe transport overseas. But I could work with this. I looked at the vast number of buttons and dials in front of me. There seemed to be thousands of them, all looking back at me, daring me to press one. I could have just closed my eyes, slammed my fist down and hoped for the best. I knew that wouldn’t end well.

Frantically, I thought of what to do instead. All my plans involved going back in time and changing something: ensuring the flight was cancelled, packing parachutes for everybody, talking people out of boarding the plane. Even after forty years of possessing this skill, I still hadn’t taken in all the limitations of it. I still imagined I could reverse time or fast forward, or stop it altogether.

Maybe, I thought, we’d be better off in a forever frozen state, like the woolly mammoths and their friends. No one would have to cover the expense of the funerals because we’d all just be frozen instead.

I searched the cockpit for an answer. I was looking for a button reading something like “fix all problems with the plane, whatever they are and bring us to a safe non-bumpy landing on the right runway.” No such button existed.

Like I’ve warned you, I’ve never been the sharpest tool in the box. I guess, sometimes you have to trade genius for a superpower, even if it’s unclear what that power does.

I racked my brain, thinking of all possible escape routes but none came to me, so eventually, I just hit “play” and started the chant of “brace, brace, brace.” The cabin crew looked at me with confusion, wondering how I read their minds, but any idiot with a free minute to peruse the safety manual can learn that.

We assumed the “brace” position and I turned to smile at the kid sitting next to me. “We're over the sea. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll get to use the inflatable slide,” I said. His face crinkled up like balled up paper. I gave him a thumbs up and a wink. Silver linings – you've got to see them. Superheroes - they're just a thing of myth.