I hate flying. Really, I just hate taking off. Once we’re up, I’m fine. For today’s flight, I sat next to Greta. As I focused on sounding cheery and squeezing the hell out of a tissue to absorb my palm sweat, Greta was pressed against her little window saying things like, ‘MAMA! I SEE POOLS AND SANDBOXES! AND WATER! IT’S LIKE ANT CITY!’
“Oh yeah? Cool!!” I mustered. I looked across the aisle at Barrak, but he was busy looking out the window with Magnus.
Greta asked for a tissue. I handed over the little wad I had been compressing into an opal. And she used it to wipe the glass of her window so she could get a better look. UGH. I remember when I was a kid, I loved to fly. I would even coordinate take-off with a cool song from the Bright Lights, Big City soundtrack in my walkman for maximum thrill. It all changed when I had kids. Or maybe it was 9/11.
Anyway, we made it just fine and I won’t let my irrational fear show in front of the kids.
Here are some parting shots: