We've Reached Ten Thousand Feet

“Eh, good evening. This is your captain speaking. We’ve…reached ten thousand feet, and looks like we’ve got clear skies to Miami. Should be easy flying.”

These trips were starting to become a killer for his home life. A double Jack and Coke appeared before him, just in time to see off the shakes and calm his aerophobia. The lights outside the tiny window sparkled out toward the horizon in their nice and neat grid. His drink was gone before the rest of steerage had theirs ordered. Business class had its perks, as did seeing this client...He pushed any thoughts of last night out of his mind. Veins pulsing, he leaned back and shut his eyes.

“Eh, good evening. This is your captain speaking. We’ve…reached ten thousand feet, and looks like we’ve got clear skies to Miami. Should be easy flying.”

His head jerked as the announcement woke him up. Hadn’t he just been here? He racked his brain, trying to remember falling asleep. Didn't they just make that announcement? A quick glance told him no one else around him was concerned. As if he hit the call button, the stewardess arrived with his drink. He smiled and took it with shaking hands. Down below, amber and yellow lights flitted by like little ants trudging through their same boring routines, evenings after unceasing evenings. He pressed his head into the headrest. Tomorrow called for a meeting with his boss about all this travel. It was best for all of them if he dialed back–put some space between him and this town.

“Eh, good evening. This is your captain speaking. We’ve…reached ten thousand feet, and looks like we’ve got clear skies to Miami. Should be easy flying.”

Wait, that wasn’t right. I put this behind me. None of the passengers around him stirred. Before him, in the cup holder of his little pod, sat an empty plastic cup, the ice within slowly melting. He must have misheard. From outside, rays of splendid sunlight pierced the cabin, day and night contorting together as time and place became indecipherable. He blinked, and the evening light returned. His heart raced. He undid his seatbelt with trembling hands and reached for his briefcase in the overhead bin, hoping he’d remembered to pack a book. Something, anything to distract him. He gasped as he saw it. It was impossible. How many times had he showered? Yet there it was–an innocent kiss of red lipstick on the back of his hand. He shut the bin and pressed himself into his seat.

“Eh, good evening. This is your captain speaking. We’ve…reached ten thousand feet, and looks like we’ve got clear skies to Miami. Should be easy flying.”

He awoke gasping. How was he here again? This had to be a bad dream. An empty Jack and Coke sat on the tray table before him. Trembling, he looked at his hand. There was nothing there but his slowly wrinkling skin. Must have been a dream–I would never. I swear I didn't. Hands trembling, he hit the call button. This was starting to get out of hand. The stewardess arrived, standing in the little doorway to his pod, smiling through red lipstick. Looking just like she did…last night...in the hotel doorway. No. He waved her away. Yes, it’s all a bad dream.

“Eh, good evening. This is your captain speaking. We’ve…reached ten thousand feet, and looks like we’ve got clear skies to Miami. Should be easy flying.”

He twisted in his seat, vainly trying to get comfortable. A small mountain of plastic adorned the tray table in front of him. The exit row door was a row behind. Trapped again in this blasted metal cylinder with no way out, he hit the call button for another round, hoping in vain it would calm him. Screw meeting with his boss, he needed a shrink. Remember, it was a good trip. Their teams figured out all the issues, and the project progressed positively. Everything was back on track. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing at all. Got to keep it all straight. He repeated the silent mantra over and over again. All would be just fine, assuming he could break this loop–put it all behind him. Knock…Knock…Knock…The sound came from behind him. No, I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. They came again. He rose from his pod, reaching toward the exit door. Reaching. Reaching to unlatch the lock…To let his guest in. Lay back down, you idiot. You idiot. YOU IDIOT! A steward appeared before him, “anything I can help you with, sir?” He shook his head and sat back down.

“Eh, good evening. This is your captain speaking. We’ve…reached ten thousand feet, and looks like we’ve got clear skies to Dallas. Should be easy flying.”

He sipped his drink with steady hands. It would all be fine. Nothing ever happened, it was just work and his jet-lagged brain screwing with him. He repeated the mantra over and over again. He’d still talk to his boss, just in case. The route home would take him by that flower shop; maybe he’d stop to get her some. Tiff deserved that. He’d been working so much lately, and she deserved something nice. He pressed his head against the headrest, his hand resting calmly on the arm.

“And good news. Dallas has cleared us for landing. Should, eh, be on the ground in twenty or so…”

He tuned out the rest of the announcement. An hour later, his taxi pulled up in front of his home. Toys lay scattered across the front lawn.

“Welcome home, dear. We all missed you!”

“Thanks, my love. I’m glad to be home. These trips to Miami are getting so tiring. What was that? Five flights? Ten flights in a row? They honestly all run together at this point. I swear I’m losing my mind at this job.”

She stood silently in the doorframe, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a confused look hanging on her red lipstick-adorned lips.

“What are you talking about, Steven? Weren’t you in Boston yesterday?”

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A/N

Written for the 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 (𝐔𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞), by RM Stockton. Information below:

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