The 30,000ft Gamble

The Airport Hike

The grey walls and aggressive lighting of security seemed to melt away as I stepped into the polished halls of Duty-Free. I instantly felt more at ease under the warm lights, surrounded by sparkling luxury cosmetics.

As I moved deeper into this lavish section of the airport, posters of flawless celebrities began to stare down at me from every angle, advertising their latest perfume with slogans like –

Unleash the wild!

Within the darkness, be a sweet breeze.

There was a gigantic floor-to-ceiling tank of tropical fish in the center of the room. The fish, suspended gracefully in their glittering prison, added to the almost spiritual ambiance which seemed to whisper,

“Relax. It’s all okay now. Why don’t you buy a hydrating face mask for $60? YOU DESERVE IT.”

The spirit of consumerism was kind of beautiful and kind of nauseating all at once, however, I did not succumb and pressed on, anxious to know which gate I was leaving from.

The gleaming aisles of face cream opened out into a spacious food court. There were several little restaurant islands surrounded by tables and beyond them, rows of chairs where people were camped out waiting for flights.

I noted all the different types of people – the businessman sat with his laptop open, furiously typing and taking micro-breaks with violent sips of coffee; the hen party group sat at a bar laughing obnoxiously in a neon cloud of feathers and prosecco; lying full length across a row of seats I saw a lone traveler having a nap with a beanie pulled over their eyes.

They all had time to relax, to take deep breaths, to get lost in the distraction of work or friends.

I did not. I had a plane to catch.

The acid in my stomach churned at the thought of it. I was fairly experienced with traveling but had yet to warm to the fact of flying. It was my own fault really. I allowed my thoughts to make up the WORST POSSIBLE scenario and then would fixate it them until I was convinced that it was my truth.

There had been occasions when I managed to suppress the anxiety and allow myself to relax, but each time I traveled it was a gamble.

If I had time to sit down, have a drink, and take some deep breaths, maybe I would be okay - but I didn’t. Today antacids would be my friend because time had abandoned me.

The screens hovering above me indicated that my flight was to be boarded from gate 36.

The signs along the halls gave estimates of how long it would take to walk to each group of gates. Gate 36 would take 20 minutes to walk to. This place was flipping huge.

I imagined not making it in time.

. I wouldn’t mind. At least I wouldn’t have to fly.

A Boarding Interlude

I made it to Gate 36 with time to spare. The flight attendant was stood at the desk, looking pristine in the airline colors. He patiently waited as I fumbled through my backpack trying to locate my passport and boarding pass.

“Sorry!” I said, retrieving my journal from the depths of the bag. In my concern to keep them safe, I had stashed my travel documents in a nifty pocket that was attached to the inner back cover of the notebook. It had kept them safe, as well as making them highly inconvenient to access.

“That’s okay,” he replied.

I handed him my passport and he glanced at the photo and then at me. He smiled and then passed it back to me along with the boarding pass.

“Have a great flight.”

I felt the heat rise to my face and replied, “I will!” a little too enthusiastically.

I boarded the plane and tried to muster an air of confidence. Fake it to make it, right?

I had an aisle seat near the back of the plane. The walk to my seat gave me time to think about what I wanted to have at hand when I sat down.

• Phone

• Water

• Antacids

• Chewing gum (to assist ear popping during descent)

• My headphones

• E-reader

• Journal

• Pencil Case

I liked to have every option of distraction available during flights, but 99.9% of the time I ended up watching the in-flight entertainment for the entire duration.

Once in my seat surrounded by my comfort items, I buckled my belt, crunched a couple of antacids, and tried to divert my thoughts by flipping through my journal.

The Little Black Book

It was a neat little black book that had been gifted to me by a friend at a time when I had been going through a particularly grotesque breakup.

The inscription read:

Teardrops dry tales on

yellow, aging paper.

And when you know how far

you drop you know how high

You bounce and fly.

Love you. Xx

I initially wanted to use the book to write down how I was feeling about the whole wretched business. At the time I had assumed that I would use the whole journal to vent out my heartache on paper.

It turns out, I had underestimated my ability to get over it.

The first four pages were a record of me wallowing through the breakup, the rest of it was another story. A story of healing and learning. A story of enjoying life independent of a frankly, pointless relationship. Boarding pass stubs, memories of happy days, and messages from friends decorated the pages like trophies – 1st place in bouncing back!

There was only one page left, like hell was I going to finish it with a story about me succumbing to anxiety on a homeward flight.

The plane lurched off the runway bouncing once, then twice, before gradually ascending upwards.

There was no turning back now. We were airborne.

A Cruising Companion

*ding*

The seatbelt sign switched off and the captain announced fair weather, cruising elevation, and ETA. Passengers eager to use the facilities jumped out of their seats and queued down the aisles, waiting for their turn.

I wasn’t ready to leave my seat quite yet. With my arms folded tightly, I focused on the new movement around me to distract my brain from making up any off-putting scenarios.

“You okay, love.” a voice spoke beside me.

I glanced next to me and saw my seatmate, a woman, looking at me with a concerned expression.

“Yeah,” I said, “Just flight nerves, I’ll be okay in a bit.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, “I’ve just taken a Diazepam, do you want one?”

I shook my head, “Thanks, though.”

She gestured to the journal that was sat on my lap, “I really like your stickers, are they all the places you’ve been to?”

“Some of them,” I said, handing the book to her so she could have a closer look at the various stickers that I had applied to the cover, “I didn’t really mean to start collecting them, it just kind of happened.”

“I love it! The yellow one is my fave.” She said, pointing to a particularly attractive yellow-scale sticker depicting a scene from a famous national park in the USA.

That was my favorite one too. This coincidence made me suddenly warm to her and as she looked further at my sticker collection, I quickly weighed her up. She was about ten years older than me, dark hair cropped at the shoulder, and wearing a warm yellow cardigan that matched her personality to a tee. She gave off the vibes of a big sister, or a cool aunt and It made me feel at ease, I almost forgot about my anxiety.

We quickly got into conversation about where we were coming from and where we were going. She had been to the USA for business, sourcing specialist materials for her art shop. We talked a lot -- about art, how we loved to visit cities, but would rather live in the country. she told me about her family at home and I told her that I lived alone. I showed her the sketches I’d made from my recent trip, she said they were really good and we followed each other on Instagram.

When the flight attendants came round with lunch, we were served by the same guy who had checked my passport earlier. After serving my new friend he directed his attention to me, maintaining eye contact a little longer than seemed normal.

“Chicken or beef?” he asked.

“Chicken, please.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Could I have water and apple juice?”

“Of course.” He said, deftly pouring the requested beverage. “Anything else?”

More eye contact.

“Not at the moment, thanks.”

Then he continued to make his way down the aisle.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” laughed my seatmate, nudging my arm with her elbow.

I shushed her and quickly glanced down the aisle, hoping that she hadn’t been heard.

“He fancies you.” She said, in a lowered tone.

“No he doesn’t, he’s just doing his job.”

“He does! I’d bet my house on it.”

I grinned and leaned down to smell the meal.

“If this chicken doesn’t poison me, maybe I’ll ask for his number.”

“I dare you,” she said.

“Don’t tempt me.”

It felt weird to me that a few hours ago I was so unsettled, so nervous. And now, I was sat laughing with a stranger who felt like a friend.

The 30,000 ft Gamble

An hour before landing an announcement came across the speakers about a special in-flight $20,000 lottery. The flight attendants would be coming round with scratch cards which passengers could purchase if they were so inclined.

“Now is your chance.” said my friend.

“What?”

“When he comes round with the tickets you can ask for his number.”

“I was only joking about that!” I exclaimed, “I couldn’t!”

“Go on! I dare you! You know you want to.”

The flight attendant began slowly making his way up the aisle.

I started to feel nervous again. In all honesty, I was curious about him. I knew that asking for his number was yet another gamble, just like getting on this plane had been.

But…the flight had been better than expected, maybe I was onto a lucky streak?

When he finally got to our row, we bought a scratch card each. I didn’t ask for his number, it hadn’t felt like the right moment.

“Never mind.” Said my friend, handing me a penny.

I laid the card flat on the back of my journal and used the coin to scrape away the foil.

“Oh my God,” I said in disbelief.

Written on the card were the words – CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE WON $20,000

“What. The. Heck.!” Said my friend, taking the card from my hand to take a closer look.

In that second, I knew what I had to do. I opened my journal to the last page and grabbed a pen. I unbuckled my seatbelt, rose out of my seat, and walked towards the flight attendant. He saw me coming.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” he replied.