The Lucky One

The Lucky One

I had been sitting in the airport concourse listening to Carl play Alley Cat on the grand piano when I suddenly realized I was late for my flight. Running down the concourse to the gate I was out of breath and my shoulders hurt. I was wearing my winter coat because it would not fit in my suitcase. At this moment, the coat was like a sail catching the wind, holding me back, restricting my movement. I could feel my face and ears getting red as I sprinted. I needed to stop and pee but every woman’s room I passed had a line coming out of the door. I told myself I would pee on the plane.

The airline representative saw me coming to the gate. I saw him pick up the microphone, say something, then set it back on the desk. He opened the closed door for me, smiling. He said, “Aren’t you the lucky one?”

I quickly made my way down the gangway, stepped through the open door of the plane, and was greeted by the smiling flight attendant. “You’re the lucky one,” she said. I rounded the corner into the aisle. Everyone on the plane looked up, all eyes on me. Slowly the applause started. In just seconds all the passengers were clapping, the pilots came out of the cockpit and began applauding as well. Some of the passengers unbuckled their belts and stood up, clapping, and smiling at me.

The flight attendant in the back motioned me in a friendly way to “Come on back.” All the overhead luggage compartments were closed except for the one above where he stood beckoning me. My red roll aboard seemed to be weightless as he lifted it into the waiting space so effortlessly. “Can I take your coat?” He acted like he genuinely wanted me to be comfortable. There was one open seat—an aisle seat.

“No, I'll keep it.” I sat down, tucked my backpack and my coat under the seat in front of me and began buckling my seatbelt. The applause stopped and everyone resumed whatever they were doing before I entered the plane. The pilots locked themselves back into the cockpit. The flight attendants started their walk down the aisles to check that seatbelts were on, and seatbacks and tray tables were all secured. Wondering why everyone was so happy to see me, I looked around at the other passengers.

The young woman sitting next to me—wearing earbuds and a fuzzy travel pillow around her neck—smiled at me as I situated myself. It was a warm smile, but not an ask-me-your-burning-question smile. She quickly closed her eyes and appeared to be sleeping. The woman next to her at the window—maybe in her forties—looked at me then turned to the window, biting her knuckles as she looked out onto the tarmac.

The guy in the seat across the aisle from me was already deep into a book he was reading. The passenger next to him, an older lady with a bright headscarf and a blue surgical mask, leaned forward, smiled at me and wiggled her fingers in a kind of sweet wave. Then she put her hands together in her lap, sat back with her eyes bright, waiting for take-off. The kid next to her looked asleep—eyes closed—his hoodie pulled up over his head, leaning against the little window.

The pilot’s voice blasted out of the intercom, startling me, “Well, now that everyone is on board,” his voice was way too loud, “we can start our taxi out. The control tower assures me we will be next to take to the skies. Our flight time to O’Hare International Airport will be about 1 hours and 44 minutes….”

My ears pricked up like a hungry cat at the tapping of the food can. Did he say almost 2 hours? That can’t be right. “Wait!” I called out. I am not going to Chicago.” My voice was lost under the next announcement. I sat, wide eyed, listening. It must be a mistake, I thought.

“If you’re not going to Chicago, now is the time to get off.” The pilot continued. Everyone kind of chuckled then went back to whatever they were doing. “Weather in the windy city is, well, windy. The current temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit, that’s zero Celsius. Now sit back and relax and leave the driving to us. I’ve turned on the seatbelt sign. Once we are at cruising altitude, I will turn it off and you can feel free to move about the cabin. Flight attendants prepare for take-off.” The PA clicked off.

Panicked, I tried to unfasten my seatbelt. I had to tell someone. I had to get off this plane. “There’s a mistake.” My voice was gone. My lips were moving, my head was spinning, my hands were flailing, but my voice was absent.

No one looked up. No one saw me. How could that be? They all saw me a few minutes ago.

The plane was moving. It turned onto the runway. On the intercom, “Prepare for take-off.” Accelerating, faster, faster. Almost off the ground. My heart was beating fast. My seatbelt was stuck. I turned on the call light for the flight attendant. The bell sounded, then the light turned off. I hit it again, it sounded again, then it turned off. I looked around to the back—the galley. The flight attendant was strapped in the jump seat. He was looking at me, his index finger raised. He motioned the word with his mouth, “Wait”.

Wait, I thought. Oh no. This can’t be happening. I turned back around. We were lifting off, leaving the ground. The force against me pushed my body into the seat. I tried to pull my head up, off the seat. The sound of the engines struggling to lift the heavy aircraft was deafening. No turning back now.

The ascent was so steep, I considered that maybe this was a spaceship, not a passenger plane. After a few minutes we began to level off. A few minutes more and the seatbelt sign dinged and went dark. People around me suddenly woke up and unfastened their belts. I thought they must need to pee just like me. My belt was broken—I could not get it off. I had to get up, to pee, to get the plane turned around. I was helpless.

Suddenly, the sound—like a bomb—made my hands automatically cover my ears and my eyes close. I tensed—wind, cold, freezing. The sound was louder than anything I had ever heard. I thought for sure the plane had broken in half. The sky was above me—rain coming onto my face. It was difficult to breathe. I opened my eyes. Some of the passengers around me were gone. The old lady—gone. The guy across the aisle—gone. The girl with the neck pillow—gone. In front of me I saw hair and clothes and arms flying up, caught up in a vacuum. The kid at the window was still buckled in. He looked asleep.

Suddenly warm between my legs. My breath caught like a little snore—I realized I was drooling. My head bobbed. Shaking. Someone was shaking me.

Blurry eyed I saw the nurse standing by my bed. She looked down at me. “It’s ok” she said as she touched my shoulder. I could see her push the call button.

Coming into more focus, I heard the TV before I saw it. “A tragedy in the sky this morning. 169 passengers on United Flight 144 out of Springfield Missouri lost their lives today when a panel of the plane suddenly detached from the craft. The blue box has been found and in the coming days we will know what really happened. One lucky survivor is hospitalized at St Jude’s Memorial in critical condition. More to come at 11 o’clock.”

The nurse said smiling, “Aren’t You the Lucky One?”