MythOfHappiness - Short Story Collection - 2. Shift

She looks out the window at the endless, many-shaded blue of the sky and the ocean. Or maybe I should say gazes, the way her eyes look you can tell she’s not really seeing what’s in front of her. There’s a magazine in her lap and it’s open to some article about some turmoil in some country that’s all sun and sand, does it really matter which one? The man in the aisle seat next to her waves at the flight attendant

“Bloody Mary… hey, you want anything?”

He turns to the woman. She doesn’t respond.

“I guess not.” he says.

The brunette nods and takes the offered credit card with a brisque gesture. She thinks she doesn’t have time for this. She’s right. She gives back the card and goes off to the front of the cabin to make him his drink. He watches her go. Just before she makes it all the way the cabin of the plane gives a mighty shake and she just about falls onto the lap of one of the other passengers. Too bad, the man thinks, I was really hoping I would have time for that Bloody Mary. There’s a sudden moment of total quiet, and that’s wrong because this is a plane, there should never be complete silence on a plane.

The pilot comes on the intercom, he says “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Oh my god, I’m sorry” and every person there can feel their stomach drop as they start the suddenly too-quick journey from thirty thousand feet to sea level. That’s when the screaming starts. The man turns to the woman next to him. Her heart is stone, is ice. She will never see her kids again. He looks in her eyes and she sees something odd there. It’s almost like he knew this was going to happen. He knows, she thinks, he knows.

“Who are you?”

He smiles. “That doesn’t matter.”

“What are you here for?”

“For you.” He takes her hand. “You really should have taken that drink” He says. “Hold your breath”.

And then they slice into the ocean like an olympic diver, clean and precise and with minimal splash. She thinks of a row of judges lined up, each holding up the number ten on a piece of cardboard stock and barks a hysterical laugh. Then she wonders how she could possibly be seeing this. Isn’t she in that plane? But no, she’s on the outside now. She tries to suck in a breath, but she can’t, there’s no air.

The world shifts, the image of the plane sinking into the water bends and stretches and suddenly it’s gone. Now she sees it again, except it’s in the air again and her view pulls in, further and further until she’s looking at herself, staring out the window but how is that possible? It’s not, she decides. She’s still pulling in and now she’s inside the plane again, looking out the window.

There’s a rush of cold, like she just won the Superbowl and somebody thought it would be a good idea to waste a whole bucket of Gatorade on her head. She gasps from the cold and then she realizes she can gasp, the air is back. She looks around. Everything is as it was. Except maybe not. She’s sitting in the left row now, instead of the right. The seat to her right is empty. She is alone. And alive. Someone touches her shoulder and she jumps nearly clean out of her seat. It’s the flight attendant.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask if you would like a drink.” She brushes a strand of blonde hair away from her face, having knocked it out of her tight bun in surprise at the woman’s sudden jump.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Whiskey and coke. Strong, please.” She sits for a moment, assuring herself that the area around her is real. It must have been a dream. A strange one for sure, but a dream nonetheless.