Unexpected Turbulence

Unexpected Turbulence 

I catch myself staring into the bright blue space of nothingness as I instinctively prepare another cup of tea. Balancing myself with a wide stance, the tea swoops up around the cup teasing a spill as I manage to place it down for the woman in 12D. Her legs stretch out in front of her as she makes the most of the emergency exit row. I move down the next few rows, filling plastic cups with water and stale coffee. My mind is once again invaded with their final words to me, “You're just asking for it now being another glorified air waitress.”

“What are you doing tonight, Soph?” Christa asks, rearranging her white blouse and smoothing down her skirt as I start packing down the drinks cart.

“Just the usual I guess.” 

“Wow, look at you spicing things up!” She mocks adjusting the pink scarf around her neck with perfectly manicured hands.

“The usual” means I will be performing the same overnight trip routine of gym, jog around the city, order in cheap hotel food and read a book. I once defied my better judgement and went out with Christa but ended up having a panic attack in the bathroom. One of the guys at the bar had slipped an arm around my waist and the touch of a stranger set off every warning sign in my body. I opted to get the next round of margaritas after pulling myself together and my head didn’t hit the hotel pillow until 3am before my alarm woke me up an hour later. The sunlight at this altitude is unforgiving on hungover eyes.

“So who are you planning on staying up with all night?” I tease. 

“Okay, so you remember how I told you about Matt?” I hardly remember any of her friend’s names but I nod anyway. “So he’s in town and has invited over a couple of his friends from work. We are going to start at Gin Palace. You remember that cute place right? Hidden door in the alleyway a few lanes down from the hotel? Bookcases on the wall, house music and those huge wine glasses I like but with all different types of fancy gin and tonics?”  

With my back to her as I stow away the trolley, I realise she’s waiting for my confirmation. “Oh yeah, I remember. Nice place.” 

Unbothered by my obvious lack of interest, she continues. “Anyway, we are starting there and then we’re trying a new spot nearby. Apparently one of his friends knows a club that is all completely glow in the dark and..” she's cut off by the sound of the seatbelt light turning on as the captain announces we are likely to experience turbulence. Our cabin manager signals us to make our way down the aisle to ensure everyone follows the instructions.  

Stopping to help a mother of two buckle up her sticky looking toddlers, I think about Christa and how she is so open to new experiences and people. I can already imagine how her night is going to go. She will greet her friends with a big smile and they’ll cheers to having a fun night ahead. They'll share laughs, gossip, travel experiences and talk like they’ve known each other for years. She has that effect on people, myself included.

A commotion seems to be happening down the back of the plane but it doesn’t sound unusual. It’s probably another disgruntled passenger complaining about being restrained by the seatbelt sign. 

“Sounds like another safety rebellion happening.” I joke quietly as I meet Christa in the centre of the cabin.

“Actually it’s some fancy businessman with an accent complaining he was assigned the wrong seat.” She rolls her eyes. “I think he’s European. But not the sexy, swoony kind.” 

My stomach drops from the mention of an accented businessman. I swallow the wave of anxiety and force a sarcastic smile, “If only more swoony European tourists came here for holidays, hey?”

“Well I wouldn’t be hanging out with Matt and his friends tonight, I’ll tell you that.” She quips. 

We’re about thirty minutes from touch down and about to prepare the cabin for landing. It has been a relatively easy flight. Everyone in my section seems content and the disgruntled man appears to have quietened down. 

Our cabin manager approaches Christa and I. She asks us to continue scanning the rows further down while she checks in with the captain. The turbulence is almost unnoticeable as I walk toward the back of the plane but I sense a few nervous flyers and reassure them it’s okay. We’re not far from our destination. 

Then I see him. 

Sitting in the aisle seat, second row from the back. Cold grey eyes stare right through me. His mouth curls into a tight malicious grin. 

A sudden drop of the aircraft challenges my balance and I grab onto the nearest head rest to steady myself. Apologising to no one in particular I turn around in disbelief. Looking over my shoulder I check if it’s just a cruel trick of my subconscious.

The seat is empty.

Terror begins to smother my body and I feel my hands tremble. His face has haunted me before. I’ve seen him in train stations, in busy restaurants and on crowded flights like today. I’m almost used to his memory penetrating my reality. I remind myself again that it won’t be real and my mind is playing tricks. A few confused faces bring me back and I straighten up before retreating to the front of the plane. 

Pulling the curtain across behind me, I start to feel my throat close up.

It’s not real. He’s not here. I was just imagining it.

My hand is gripping my chest as if to stop my heart from bursting out of me. The lavatory door is opened then locked on the other side of the thin material separating the passengers oblivious to my silent distress. 

Calming my breaths to a steadier rhythm, I squeeze my elbows onto the small bench space in front of me and let my head fall into my hands. 

I sense I am no longer alone.

“The uniform suits you.” 

Now I’m hearing things.

My insides turn and I feel vomit fighting its way up.

“You don’t have to be shy. I know it’s been awhile.” His words are thick with Syrah and an accent I haven’t heard in over a year.

My nose twitches as his cologne inches closer, infiltrating my airways with unbearable familiarity. Definitely real.

“I’ve missed you.” He says casually as if we are two old friends.

I desperately will for Christa or another attendant to interrupt the reunion but I remain compromised. He’s dangerous, I know this. A plane full of bystanders and a small crew of staff, what is he willing to risk? 

Before I am able to answer my own thoughts, I feel a cool touch to my lower back and I stiffen. The hairs on my neck snap out like razor blades and my blood turns to ice. 

“Why won’t you look at me, my dear?” As his hand slides further up my back.

I’m screaming for help but no sound is leaving my mouth. I’m launching my knee into his ribs but my legs are stuck in place. I’m reaching for the intercom but my hands are locked together on my chest. 

A jolt knocks us both off our balance and I’m able to swing out of his touch only to find us face to face. He’s shorter than I remember. Silver flecks scatter the sides of his thinning hair. He’s even uglier than I remember. 

“Sir you can’t be back here.” Christa drifts past the curtain and pauses in between us. “Get back to your seat now, please.” 

“Of course, my dear.” Pausing to smirk before he exits.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a dead body.” Christa’s face is filled with concern.

I bite my tongue before responding with “I wish I had” and let her know I’m fine, just a little shaken from the bumpy ride. 

“Oh really? I can hardly feel a thing.” She moves over to the CIDS system and sets the lavatory lights to red. We’ll be descending soon. 

I straighten up my blouse and pat under my eyes to make sure any signs of horror are blurred into my smooth professional mask.

“So did Mr Fancy pants think he’d find his seat up here?” 

“What?” I can hardly hear her over the ringing in my eardrums.

“The European guy with the accent. Was he pestering you about his seat?”

“Oh.” I force an eye roll. “He just came too far up looking for the bathroom.” 

“Well you’d think he’s a regular flyer with that attitude. Wouldn’t he know where the lavatories are on these planes by now?”

I shrug and move past her, pretending to be busy conducting final checks on the food and beverage lockers. 

Christa announces the instructions for our descent across the cabin intercom then turns to me, “I’m just going to do a final rubbish collection and seat check. You want to just wait here? You look a little pale.”

“Yeah if you don’t mind. Thanks.” I move to open up the jump seat and begin to strap myself in.

“Damn” I mutter, I forgot to pull back the curtain. My hands are still shaky from the monster behind it. I begin to release the seat belt and stand up taking a deep breath in before I reach up for a handful of fabric. 

But a hand grabs mine first. 

My weight is suddenly whipped out from underneath me and I’m falling. A wicked crack erupts from behind my ears. I can feel something warm and wet trickle down my back.

“You thought you could run away, and I would forget about you?”

He’s hovering over me. Did anyone hear me fall? 

Bringing his slimy fingers to my face, he strokes my cheek. Paralyzed. I’m trying to run in a bad dream but my legs won’t move faster than a walk. I’m being chased but my body has no sense of urgency. My mind is fighting to control a faulty vessel.

His hand on my thigh makes me feel eighteen.

“Oh my god!” I hear someone shriek. 

“She fell. I was just checking on her.”

“Sophie, are you okay? What happened?” Christa bends down next to him and I struggle to focus on which one of her swirling faces is real.

I want to tell her to call for an emergency but I can’t seem to gather the words. 

“She’s an old friend. I can keep an eye on her if you get a first aid kit.” He says maintaining his cool composure next to me.

Looking directly at him, she says “Sir, you need to leave right now...”

Before she can say more, he thrusts his hand around her throat and she is backed against the jump seat I was sitting on just a minute before. 

Awful screeches escape from her mouth as the veins grow by her temples. Her eyes search desperately.

Watching my friend struggle for her life suddenly releases all the tightly wound ropes holding me anchored to the floor. My hand reaches for the nearest cupboard and a coffee pot extends from my arm and cracks down on his skull.

I hit him again. 

And again.

And again.

“Soph!” She croaks. “Sophie!” Christa pleads, struggling to pull herself up from the ground.

He is silent. 

Snapping back to my sense of self I realise what I’ve done. The coffee pot drops from my hand and a few wet drops slide off my face with it.

“We need a doctor! Is anyone a doctor?” I yell and hear the gasps echo down the aircraft.

***

I was fresh out of high school and approaching my move out date assigned by my parents when I started working. It was said to be the best restaurant in town. We had regular guests from all over the world who stayed in the hotel above. 

I didn’t notice it at first, how I was always rostered on the section of mostly dinner-for-ones. I received generous tips and learned about the different places they were all from. I enjoyed being praised for my efforts and attentiveness during the meal. 

The mostly male and outspoken staff generally left me alone which suited me just fine. Though occasionally they’d comment on my appearance, telling me I needed more makeup if I had tired eyes or to put on a smile when I was clearing tables. The manager would joke about my tight ass and even grabbed it once “to check” the merchandise in front of the kitchen crew. 

Mr Akkerman would arrive every night at 5pm and order a glass of Syrah when he was in town. He’d sink into the couch at the bar and chat to the staff about life in Europe and his work in the oil business. I caught his eyes scanning my movements a few times but we didn’t speak until I was placing the napkin at his table and asking “The usual again, sir?”

“Make sure you take good care of him.” I was frequently reminded by my manager, Colin.

At the mandatory Christmas work party, we had dinner at a local pub and Colin insisted we joined him for drinks after. Once a girl refused these nights out drinking and she shortly had her hours cut and tips reduced until she had no choice but to quit. At the bar we ran into some of our regulars. Mr Akkerman seemed pleased to see us and eyed my black dress thoroughly before delivering a sharp wink.

“You should go chat with him. Keep up the good service, you know.” My manager instructed with a pat on the ass.

A glass of wine in hand, courtesy of the man next to me, I sat there struggling to answer the questions over the blasting music. I noticed how misplaced Mr Akkerman was in his business casual attire surrounded by partying patrons, ten or twenty years his junior.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you!” I leaned into his side ever so slightly, struggling to keep any distance between us.

His hand slid around my thigh in response, “I’ll miss seeing you when I go back home.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

There were flowers in my locker the following week and a note saying he looked forward to seeing me again. I tried talking to Colin about how it made me uncomfortable and thought it was unprofessional. “Sophie, this is professional. You’re making connections and bringing in regular money. Keep up the excellent work!”

He checked in a month later and greeted me with three kisses on the cheek during a busy service. I wanted to run. I wanted to wash his touch off in a scorching shower. Instead I smiled and continued serving overpriced glasses of champagne.

Then came dinner. Colin called me before my shift asking me to wear the same black dress from the Christmas party. “It’s ehh, a formal kind of occasion tonight. We need to be on an extra level.” Too afraid to disobey, I reluctantly arrived with black kitten heels to match, only to find I was to be served that night instead of serving. Promised my pay as usual plus a tip from the foreign businessmen, I followed orders.

We sat at the candlelit table and discussed his travels and work in the private dining room. I actively avoided any conversation directed back to me. A package with a silver bow was placed between us when the plates were cleared.

“For you, my dear.” I carefully unwrapped it to find an expensive looking perfume. “Only the best for my favourite girl.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Forcing a smile which ached my entire face.

“Say nothing.” he whispered, pulling my hand toward him before placing his lips on my skin. I resisted every urge to whip it away and smack his jaw. But I felt another pair of eyes on me. I glanced over to the room door to find my manager peering in, nodding in approval. 

Everyone knew. They all played a part in it. They helped print letters, deliver flowers and even gave him my phone number. I was a pawn in their game. Mr Akkerman must have offered more money than I could’ve imagined to the entire hotel staff. What other motive did they have? Or was it just a funny joke to them?

What followed in the months after will stay with me for the rest of my life.

I eventually cracked the morning after being requested to join Mr Akkerman in his room for the night. I burst through the lobby and headed straight to the manager's office. I’d saved enough of my generous tips to book a flight to the other side of the world with an approved visa and an interview with an airline. I could finally escape. 

Colin laughed in disbelief of my resignation and career change. “You're just asking for it now being another glorified air waitress.” I dropped my apron on his desk and left without another word, going over the interaction in my head, making sure I didn’t let it slip where the airline was based.

***

The thud of the wheels touching down sends excruciating pain up my scalp as I continue applying pressure to my wound. Christa is sitting opposite me with her face slowly returning to colour, squeezing my hand. 

The emergency services are waiting at the gate and I brace myself for the chaos about to erupt when we open the doors. 

I don’t know what is going to happen. All I know is that my chest feels lighter and I can breathe again.