The Trouble with Flying (2 page)

Despite the fact that it’s hardly an award-winning novel, I find myself sucked into the cheesy story. The rumbling of the aeroplane’s engine helps to lull me into that faraway book world I lose myself in so often, and I’m barely aware of the overhead compartments slamming shut and the flight attendants doing their seatbelt and in-case-of-emergency demonstrations. I’m pulled back to the present when, with a small lurch, the plane begins moving.

“Please say something,” First-Time-Flying Guy blurts out.

Startled, the only word that pops out of my mouth is “What?” I lower my book and look at him, but he’s staring straight ahead, his fingers tapping a speedy rhythm on the armrests.

“Talk. Anything. Distract me.”

“Um …”
Talk?
Seriously? He might as well ask me to fly the plane myself.

At that moment, I become aware of the fact that the seat right next to me is empty. And since the plane is about to take off, I’m guessing it’s going to stay that way for this flight. THANK YOU! Except … now there’s no buffer between me and the guy who seems intent on making me talk. Hmm. I really need to be more specific with my prayers.

“I need a distraction,” he says, his eyes pleading with mine. “From the flying thing. I know it’s irrational. Completely irrational. I mean, I’m a scientist. I trust science. And flying an aeroplane is based on science. But being
in
one … in the sky …” He shakes his head. “I know it’s a stupid fear. I know I’m more likely to die in a car accident. But no matter how many times I try to convince myself that flying is perfectly safe these days, my stupid brain keeps reminding me that every now and then things
do
go wrong. And people
do
die. And that this could very well be my moment. To die.”

Sheesh.
I thought my brain was messed up for being unable to form intelligible sentences in front of strangers, but at least my brain doesn’t keep telling me I’m going to
die
.

The silence stretches out between us like soft toffee. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “Did I scare you? Are you also afraid of flying?”

I shake my head.
Don’t. Freak. Out. Just talk!
“No, I’m fine. Flying’s not too bad. Really. The worst part is taking off. Or maybe landing. But everything in between is fine. I promise.”

Yes!
I spoke more than ten words without stumbling over any of them, and this time I may have actually helped this guy instead of freaking him out further.

“Whoa, okay, we’re speeding up.” His hands stop their tapping and squeeze the armrests.

Right, so maybe I didn’t help
that
much.

“So I’m expecting my ears to start hurting when we take off,” he continues, “because of the changing pressure. My sister told me to chew gum, and I know I definitely packed some, but of course I left it in my bag up there, so I guess it’s too late for that.” He forces his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. “You idiot, just
shut up
.”

I can’t help smiling. I think he’s forgotten he’s talking out loud. “Where are you going?” I ask, raising my voice as the rumbling beneath us grows louder. “I mean, on the other side of Dubai. Obviously we’re all going there first, or we wouldn’t be on this plane.”

He opens his eyes and twists his head to look at me. “What makes you think I’m not staying in Dubai? Maybe I have a wife and two children there.”

My ears start to heat up.
You see?
I tell myself.
This is why you should keep quiet.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “South Africa. Half my family lives there, which is why I’m being forced to cross continents for this reunion thing.” His eyes slide past me to the window as the vibration beneath our feet increases and our seats start to rattle. “And as much as I appreciate you trying to distract me, I’m fully aware of the fact that we are going way,
way
too fast right now and—oh bloody heck we’re in the air!” The plane tilts back as the wheels leave the ground and we begin our ascent. First-Time-Flying Guy presses his head back against the seat once more and squeezes his eyes shut. “Please don’t explode, please don’t explode, please don’t explode.”

“It’s not going to explode!” I say.

Pain begins to build inside my ears along with the stuffed-with-cotton-wool feeling. I open my mouth and move my jaw around, causing my ears to pop. No chewing gum for me. I’ve never liked the texture. Makes me feel like I’m eating a super squishy toy.

“Oh dear God, I can see the lights. They’re getting smaller.” His eyes are glued to my window, despite the fact that he said he didn’t want to know how high we’d be going. “Is it supposed to rattle this much? And
bugger
, my ears are hurting.”

“Make yourself yawn,” I tell him.

“What? I can’t
make
myself yawn.”

“Yes you can. Or move your jaw around. With your mouth open.”

Frowning, he obeys my instruction. Then he winds up yawning for real. And then his eyes slide back to the window, and the panicked expression is on his face once more.

I twist in my seat so I’m facing him and try to cover the window with my back. “South Africa,” I say loudly. “I’m going there too. That’s where I’m from. I was in England on holiday. Visiting my older sister. She moved there two years ago. She’s awesome. Really fun. She makes me laugh all the time.”

Oh my goodness, can you pick something just a
little
less random to talk about? And maybe try sounding less like a robot reciting facts?

“That’s … cool,” First-Time-Flying Guy says.

“And … um … so, I’m really looking forward to feeling the sun on my skin again. I’ve been wrapped up like a burrito for way too long. I mean, how do you guys survive the entirety of winter? Three weeks was enough for me. I don’t know how I’d survive any more of this rain and wind and paralyzing iciness.”

Wow. Are you really talking about the
weather
?

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as the plane starts to feel more horizontal. No more rattling. Just flying. Smooth flying. He peers over my shoulder once more, then leans back in his seat. “Okay,” he says quietly, probably to himself. “We’re in the air. I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” I say, then feel like slapping myself. He wasn’t asking for my opinion. He wasn’t even talking to me anymore.

“So … I should probably apologise,” he adds. I look up, but his eyes refuse to meet mine.

“What? Why?” I can’t remember him doing anything wrong.

“For that whole … panicking thing. We haven’t exploded yet, so I’m starting to realise my over-the-top reaction wasn’t exactly necessary. And I can’t really remember what I said to you while it was happening, so I hope it wasn’t too embarrassing.”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t. Not as embarrassing as my weather rambling.”

“Oh really?” He raises both eyebrows. “I must have missed that while I was contemplating the plane making a nosedive towards the ground.”

“Well, now that I know what was actually going through your mind, I kinda wish you
were
listening to my silly rambling.”

Oh my fuzzy beanie. I’m having a conversation. A normal conversation. With someone I don’t know.
I look down at the closed book in my lap as I try to hide the idiotic smile stretching my lips.

“What?” he asks. I guess I didn’t hide it very well.

“I just … don’t normally do this.” Whoa, okay, I think that’s where I was supposed to say, ‘Nothing.’

“Do what?” he asks. “Talk about the weather?”

It’s officially blurt-it-all-out time. “Talk to strangers.”

“Of course,” he says, keeping a straight face. “Because talking to strangers is the height of dangerous. At least, that’s what our mothers always told us.”

“What I
mean
,” I say, “is that I
can’t
talk to strangers. I freak out. My mind goes blank and I don’t know what to say.”

“Ah, so that’s why you looked so scared earlier when I asked you to talk to me.”

“Well, honestly, yes.” A hint of heat warms my cheeks again. “Talking to people I don’t know is one of my Big Fears in Life.”

“You don’t seem to be having a problem right now.”

Except for the blushing part, which I never seem to be able to control. “I guess you don’t really count as a stranger anymore, since I managed to talk you through a near panic attack just now.”
And it probably helped that you freaked out in the first place instead of acting cool and confident,
I add silently.

“Yes. There was the near panic attack. But you don’t even know my name, so in that regard I’m still a stranger.”

“True.” I stare at him, waiting.

He holds his hand out. “I’m Aiden.”

I wipe my hand quickly against my jeans—in case of clamminess—and grasp his. It’s warm, and his handshake is firm. “Sarah,” I tell him.

“There,” he says. “Now I definitely don’t count as a stranger anymore.”

The tear-snot hand. He’s shaking the tear-snot hand. I cringe inside but manage to stop myself from snatching my hand away. I let go of him and wrap my fingers around my book. My safety blanket. I smile at Aiden—and my mind goes blank again.

Dammit!

I look down and fumble to open the pages of my book. Where was I? I was on page … page …

“Don’t you use a bookmark?” Aiden asks.

I stop my fumbling and raise my eyes to his. He starts laughing. It’s an easy, comfortable sound. He must have forgotten he’s inside a flying metal tube. “What?” I ask.

“Your face,” he says. “I can tell exactly what you’re thinking.”

I close the book and cross my arms. “And what exactly am I thinking?”

His laughter gives way to a grin. “‘Why is he still talking to me?’”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Yes, that’s pretty much what I was thinking.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I’m viewing this as something of a challenge. You can’t tell me that you never have conversations with strangers and
not
expect me to try and keep you talking for the whole flight.”

I raise my eyebrows. Did he say
whole flight
? Because that is definitely not happening.

“So tell me, Sarah. Why are you so afraid of talking to new people?”

“Why are you so afraid of flying?” I ask, finding my voice.

He hesitates for a beat, the smile lines disappearing from around his eyes, then says, “I have a paralysing fear of heights.”

“Well, clearly I have a paralysing fear of new people.”

“Why?” he asks, looking as though he’d genuinely like to know the answer.

“What is this, a therapy session?” I demand. “
I don’t know why!
I guess that’s just the way God made me.” Why am I shouting? What is
wrong
with me?

“Well, if I were you, and if God were real, I’d ask him what he was thinking.”

“God
is
real, and perhaps He made me this way so that I wouldn’t annoy strangers who don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

He pretends to look wounded. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say?”

“No.” I wave my book in his face. “I’d rather find out what happens to Jacinda and Max.” Wrong. I’d rather listen to Aiden’s delicious accent for the next several hours. But the thought of having to engage intelligently is too terrifying for me to indulge in that fantasy.

“That frivolous stuff?” He gestures to the hot pink cover of my book. “You’ve probably predicted the entire storyline already.”

“That’s not the point. I still like to read to the end to make sure I’m right. And to answer your question, no. I don’t use bookmarks. I remember the last page I was on.”

“That seems like a waste of brain space.”

“Maybe for you. I, on the other hand, have plenty of brain space.”

He watches me, and I get the feeling he’s trying not to laugh. He looks at his watch. “Ten minutes in,” he says. “You’re doing well. Only six hours and thirty-five minutes left.”

“No.” I hold up a hand. “That’s not happening.”

“It’s already happening, Sarah.” He takes the book off my lap and stuffs it into the pocket in front of him.

“Give that back.” My heart starts pounding at double speed. I reach across the empty seat to retrieve my safety blanket.

“Sarah, please.” He touches my arm, and as the floor shudders slightly beneath our feet, I see the uneasiness in his eyes. He isn’t making me talk simply to force me out of my comfort zone. He’s making me talk to distract himself from the flight.

I realise I’m being ridiculous. After one last glance at the book I don’t really want to read anyway, I pull my arm back slowly. I can do this. After all, Aiden already knows about my stupid fear, so if I blank in the middle of a conversation, he won’t think any worse of me than he already does.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Um ...”
Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, just be normal.

From the corner of my eye, I see the Fasten Seatbelt light blink off. Before I know it, I’m unclipping the straps across my lap. “I need to go to the toilet,” I blurt out, even though I went just before we boarded.