Not to die, just to dance, she said to herself. This was the seed from which her desire to jump out of the airplane germinated. To dance amongst the clouds.
“Would you like anything to drink, ma’am?”
She shook her head no. The man next to her ordered a club soda and with it they gave him a pack of Biscoff cookies. I never said I didn’t want Biscoff cookies. She didn’t want any Biscoff cookies, but that wasn’t the point.
The sound of cookies crunching was bothersome. She placed herself in his body imagining being the only one in the row eating—no—crunching complimentary airplane Biscoff cookies. If I were him, all I would be able to CRUNCH think about was CRUNCH how CRUNCH if I were him I CRUNCH all I CRUNCH I would feel CRUNCH oh my God.
She got up to go to the bathroom.
Her eyes found each other in the mirror. Why did that bother me so much? Sigh, blink, blink, left hand tucks hair behind left ear, blink again, sniffle. Crack neck but it only works on one side, the second side, try the first side again, nope. Eyes find each other once more. Get closer. My pores are so clogged. Ew.
She thought about masturbating simply to decide whether doing so made her feel mile-high-club-adjacent. Having sex on an airplane sounds pretty unpleasant, actually. And plus, it’s not like masturbating in bed would make someone not-a-virgin-adjacent… or would it? Whatever. She was only creating another fantasy to plant a safer fantasy than one that involves jumping out of the airplane. Plus, she was seated right by the emergency exit, so it would be quite easy.
“You’re in the very back row,” the man at the desk at the gate said to her after calling her name over the intercom. “Seat 36A.”
“Okay.”
“Would you like to move to seat 17A? It’s also a window seat, but there’s extra leg room.”
She thought why are you offering me this but she said “okay.”
“But it’s an emergency exit row, so you would need to be willing and able to help out in case of an emergency,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“Okay.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great. Can I see your passport?”
After he looked at her passport he made the computer keyboard go CLACK CLACK CLACK for a little bit and she pondered whether by ‘help’ he meant ‘risk your own life’ which made her think about the Yale Library. Because before going into the Yale Library you must sign a waiver saying that, in the case of a fire, you are willing to die for the sake of the valuable old documents that are there, because you see, in the case of a fire, they don’t try to evacuate anybody at all. They simply activate vents that push a bunch of nitrogen into the room, pushing out all of the oxygen. It extinguishes the fire, but also the people.
Walking back from the bathroom she was seeing not the airplane cabin but the Yale Library, watching bodies go DROP DROP DROP to Strauss’ The Blue Danube. It’s easy to see something else in your head while walking down an aisle whether in an airplane or it’s your wedding day because you’re just walking in a straight line. The music made the dropping bodies feel like a scene from a tragicomedy.
When she got back to row 17 and saw the empty Biscoff cookie pouch on his extended tray table she said a silent thank you to God as he stepped into the aisle to let her back to her window seat. She put her head against the wall and stared out the window watching bodies drop from the sky to The Blue Danube—no—they’re not dropping. They’re dancing. She would have played the song had she not forgotten her headphones, which she didn’t really mind except for when the Biscoff cookie man was eating Biscoff cookies.
She wanted so badly to join them in their dance. And plus, we’re flying above the ocean. I would surely survive DING—the Biscoff cookie man had hit the flight attendant call button—survive the fall. The sky was so blue and the clouds were so white just like in the cartoons and she imagined hitting the glassy surface of the ocean which is “hello sir how may I help you” touched by the sun.
“Can I get another pack of Biscoff cookies?”
Jesus Christ. I must go dance. This was a sign, was it not? It had to be. She grabbed the trifold safety pamphlet that nobody ever reads and she read it, no, not the whole thing, she skipped to the chapter about opening the emergency exit. Okay so you grab here and… the latch goes like… and then you… okay. She re-folded the trifold pamphlet and slid it back into the pouch on the seat in front of her, then turned to the Biscoff cookie man.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Depends on the favor.”
“I’m going outside to dance amongst the clouds. Would you mind closing the exit behind me once I’m out?”
“Sure thing, ma’am!”
So she followed the directions from the trifold pamphlet, the ones she had just studied, then hoisted herself up to the open emergency exit feet-first. Sitting on the ledge, she looked back at the man and thanked him while her feet flirted with the sky. “Don’t mention it.” She grabbed the side of the exit and swung herself around, waving on the plane like a flag. “Enjoy your Biscoff cookies!” She let go, and was carried so far so fast that although he responded instantly, his response sounded a million miles away. “I sure will!” CRUNCH.
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