Night before arrival

It’s dark now. I, and the plane I am inside of, are flying through the part of the earth that is not nightly illuminated, except by the stars, which provide the only measure of difference between the sky and the wine-dark sea that undoubtedly churns below us. They shut the lights off after the dinner meal, during which I had some excellent chicken and potato purée. The attendant handed me a mini glass of white wine without a thought, and I quickly (probably rudely) pushed it back to her. All signs, instructions, pamphlets, and menus are written in French first with an English translation in small font below. I am relieved to find that I can read most everything.

Living where I do, in a rural area far from populated towns, I believe that I have a firm grasp on what we mean by “the middle of nowhere.” I lived there all my life. And I’ve been on the ocean at night, and been able to look over boat balconies and see nothing after nothing after nothing, but flying above it is something different. There are no shuddering trees or muffled animal sounds, no whitecaps illuminated on the edge of the metal hull, no grassy ground for your feet and no tons of pressure holding your sea level. This is real nothing, a view of antimatter out the airplane window.

Wherever you are, if you take off your shoes, you can feel it. Out on the ocean, you can feel the rock and swell. In Limestone, Tennessee, you can feel the miles of earth. Above the North Atlantic, you can feel the shaky empty. What a weird and stupid thing I’m doing.

My greatest fears remain these: my sleep schedule will not straighten out in time for classes. My roommates in Knoxville will not take down the Christmas decorations and replace them with spring ones. My niece will age in the hyperfast way children do and be driving by the time I get home.

One fear I have is very recent and is more immediately pressing than the others. The “occupied” light on the bathroom door of this airplane has been illuminated since dinner. Who is in there? What are they doing? What sort of international air laws might govern the impending riot for toilet access? Can I perform a citizen’s arrest midair? Are flight attendants legally the cops of the sky?

When will I next use the bathroom? Not, I fear, very soon.

Cordialement,

Allison

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