Buckle Up, Kids

CW: This story contains violence, self-harm, and sexual themes.

Will isn’t upset that he’s sitting in the very last row of the plane. He’s read that in the event of a crash, the people in the tail section usually survive.

He isn’t upset that he’s in an aisle seat. With his nervous stomach and a prostate the size of New York, it’s better that he doesn’t have to climb over people to get to the bathroom.

What’s upsetting him is the couple next to him making out like hormone-crazed teenagers. The gangly man with a porn mustache and the pneumatic blonde seldom come up for air.

When their lips finally disengage, the young man gives Will a neighborly smile.

“I’m Cole Cloud.”

“Will Land.”

“Let’s hope so! This is Wendy. We’re going to Las Vegas for our honeymoon.”

“Yep. We’ve been married five hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty seconds,” Wendy adds in a sunny tone.

The couple share a sloppy kiss.

“Excuse our show of affection. We can’t keep our hands off each other,” Cole says. “It’s been like that since we met six days ago.”

“Well, that’s a whirlwind romance. How’d you meet?” Will asks.

“In a strip club. Wendy was the main attraction.”

“I used to be known as Sasha Sunshine,” Wendy says proudly.

“So why are you headed to Sin City?” Cole asks.

“Business. I’m going to the Theater Owner’s Convention.”

Wendy’s crystal blue eyes widen. “You own a theater?”

“Relax. Wendy’s looking for a career change. She wants to be a singer.”

Wendy warbles a few off-key lines of “Feelin’ Alright” that leave Will feeling anything but all right.

“I own the Loew’s Theater in Thornwood, New York. I’m going to check out the latest innovations in popcorn machines, candy, seating, etcetera. I used to send my manager, but I thought I’d see things for myself for a change. I’m a little bit nervous. I’m forty-one, but I’ve never been on a plane before.”

“Wow, that might make you eligible for the Guinness Book of World Records,” Cole teases. “There’s nothing to air travel. Thousands of people do it every day.”

“How often do planes crash?”

“Just once!” Wendy replies.

“It’s not the flight you have to worry about. It’s the landing,” Cole adds. “Take off is the most fun. It’s like surfing. But big jets like this get the best crews, so it should be smooth sailing. Unless we encounter the ghost.”

“Did you say ghost?”

“Yeah. The Ghost of Flight 454. A United Airlines plane crashed two years ago, killing all 150 people on board. Since then, passengers and crews on other planes have reported seeing the ghost of the pilot. Sometimes, he even warns the crew about faulty systems on their aircraft.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“That’s scary!” Wendy says, clutching at Cole for support.

He gives her a long, affectionate kiss.

“You rascal. You told us that story so you could get another kiss from me,” Wendy says.

“Sorry, Cole. I’m not kissing you. We just met.”

Their conversation is interrupted when they hear one of the flight attendants in the kitchen say to another, “Is that thing still broken? Maintenance told me they were going to fix it!”

Abject terror crosses Will and Wendy’s features.

“Lucky for us, they don’t pilot the plane from the kitchen,” Cole says, chuckling nervously.

“Still, it’s not something you want to hear when you’re about to take off,” Cole says.

A child seated in front of them begins hopping in his seat.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Exasperated, his mother says, “Sit still and be a good boy, or the plane will crash. We’ll end up dying, and it’ll all be your fault.”

Bug-eyed, the child goes stone silent. He remains quiet for the next five hours.

“Ugh. Remind me never to have kids,” Wendy comments.

Colt jerks upright in his seat as if struck by the thunderbolt of truth.

“You don’t want kids?”

“Or cats, or dogs, or hamsters. It should be just us.”

Cole gives Wendy a look that says, “We need to rethink our future together.”

A statuesque flight attendant makes the safety speech.

“Welcome aboard United Airlines Flight 666 to Las Vegas. I’m your senior flight attendant, Sunny Skye. If you haven’t already done it, buckle up, kids…There may be fifty ways to leave your lover, but there are only four ways to get out of this airplane… Our attendant, Marne, will point them out… Should our flight become an ocean cruise, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device. Since we’re traveling mostly overland, it can also be used as a hat…Oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling in the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure... Grab the mask and pull it over your nose and mouth. If you are traveling with a small child, secure your mask, then assist them with theirs. If you are traveling with more than one small child, pick your favorite…Be careful when opening overhead luggage compartments because items may have moved while in flight. In other words…Shift happens.”

“You strapped in, hon?” Cole asks Wendy, tickling her. “Here we go!”

Will grabs the armrest as the plane vibrates and rumbles down the runway, picking up speed.

He crosses himself. “This goes against the laws of nature.”

The plane's front end begins to go airborne, and Will can feel the tail lifting.

“Just like surfing,” Cole says.

“I can’t swim,” Will replies.

“Then you can forget about using your cushion as a floatation device.”

Will feels the plane level off.

“See? Nothing to it. Let’s celebrate our honeymoon and your trip with a few drinks.”

                                               ***

The flight goes smoothly for the first half an hour. Then, a large, hairy man in a Black Sabbath T-shirt blocks the aisle.

“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Flight attendant Sunny Skye politely asks him to take his seat. He elbows her, knocking her off her feet.

“He’s been overserved,” Wendy notes.

Cole sighs. “There’s one nutbag on every flight. Probably been drinking before he got on board and never stopped.”

“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Looking down at a trembling, slight man in a blue suit, Black Sabbath adds, “And you’re first!”

He begins choking the passenger with his massive hands.

Two flight attendants latch onto Black Sabbath’s back, but he tosses them aside like annoying gnats.

Two male passengers tackle Black Sabbath, pulling him to the carpet.

Cole practically jumps over Will to get out.

“Yo! We’d better help!”

Will and Cole join the melee. Black Sabbath punches out one of the men holding him down, but the crowd is determined to restrain him and is too large for him to fight off. Sunny applies the coup de gras, kicking him in the groin.

A roll of gaffer’s tape is produced, and Black Sabbath is taped into his seat like a mummy, unable to move. Extra tape is applied to his mouth.

“And you’ve only got four more hours to go. Enjoy your flight!” Sunny chirps.

                                               ***

Overtaken by their cocktails, Will, Cole, and Wendy nap their way through part of the flight.

A sharp pain in his arm awakens Will. The pain persists as if someone is jabbing him with a needle.

Will’s bleary eyes open, and he jumps back in his seat.

A turkey gobbles at him.

A grizzled man in a Texas Rangers baseball cap gives Will a gap-toothed grin.

“This here’s Chester, my therapy turkey.”

Gobble, gobble.

The man waves Chester’s leash at Will. “You think you can watch Chester for me while I use the latrine?”

Sunny swiftly takes the leash.

“Go ahead, Mister Chevre. I’ll watch Chester.”

“Much obliged, hon.”

Will and Chester stare at one another.

“I guess if being a therapy turkey doesn't work out, Mister Chevre can always eat him.”

                                               ***

“It’s a long flight. Afraid I’ve got to use the ladies' room,” Wendy announces.

Cole’s eyes brighten. “Let me go with you, hon,” he says lasciviously.

The Clouds enter the bathroom. A line begins to form. Fifteen minutes pass, and they still haven’t come out.

The redheaded woman at the head of the line bangs on the door with her expensive pocketbook. “C’mon! I can’t hold it forever!”

The man behind her nervously adjusts his tie. “Note to self. Never gorge on Mexican food before a five-hour flight… Wait… Did you hear a banging noise? You don’t think they’re fighting, do you?”

“Oh, they’re tussling all right.”

A young, petite brunette with bushy hair standing next to Will’s seat turns to him. “Do you mind if I sit down for a sec while I wait for the bathroom?”

Will slides over, introducing himself.

“I’m Cathy Heathcliff. I grew up in Bedford Hills, New York. I went to college this past year in Fredonia… What a hell hole. It snowed all year long. I couldn’t take it, so I quit. I was home for two weeks when a drunk driver killed my father and mother. I went home because I was lonely. Now I’m lonely again. Figured I’d go to Las Vegas, gamble and party away my considerable inheritance, and kill myself.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“You don’t know me, Will. I don’t joke. Don’t worry. The pain will be over soon. Nice meeting you.”

Smiling wanly, Cathy returns to the line for the bathroom.

The bathroom door opens. Cole shouts, “We just joined the mile-high club!”

“Is that what I waited so long for? I should knock you a mile high!” the redhead snaps, smashing Cole over the head with her pocketbook.

                                               ***

“Whoa… Did you tell the flight attendant about her?” Cole asks.

“Yeah. She said they’d have a psychiatric team waiting at the airport.”

“Poor little rich girl,” Wendy says. “If I inherited a hefty sum of money, sure, I’d party some, but kill myself? Nah. Why is it that the weak-minded always wind up with the cash?”

Cole gives Wendy another “We need to rethink this relationship” look.

Sunny softly walks up the aisle, carrying a blanket. Unfurling the blanket, she covers the heavyset bald man sitting alone in the aisle across from them.

The trio looks at Sunny as if question marks loom over their heads.

She puts her forefinger over her lips. “Sssh.”

“I thought he was sleeping,” Cole whispers.

“He is,” Sunny replies. “Permanently.”

                                               ***

The plane begins its descent. Will puts a death grip on the armrest.

“Just like surfing,” Cole jokes.

The plane's tires bounce onto the tarmac, then bounce again, shimmying to the left.

“That was unusual,” Cole notes. “We don’t usually jerk like that.”

The plane taxis toward the terminal.

An omnipotent voice comes over the intercom.

“This is your pilot, Hy Wingman. We hope you had a pleasant flight on United Airlines Flight 666. Let me be the first to welcome you to Las Vegas. We ask that you keep your seat belts on and stay seated a little longer until the exit lights come on. You may have felt a slight bump as we were landing. Not to worry. A deer jumped the fence and ran onto the runway. Unfortunately for the deer, he learned that taking on a 400,000-pound jet airliner is a bad idea. Thank you for flying United Airlines.”

                                               ***

Will takes his seat in the plane's last row, anxious to return to New York.

A familiar voice calls out his name.

Cole greets him with a mischievous wink.

“Where’s your wife?”

“I guess you could say what happened in Vegas will stay in Vegas. We went to the Treasure Island show and snuck backstage afterward. Never introduce a woman to a pirate. How was the convention?”

“Enjoyable, except for the hangovers.”

Cole leans toward Will, pointing at the seat across the aisle.

“Did you ever see the TV show ‘Lost’?”

“About the people who crash on a weird island? Yeah, it was one of my favorites,” Will replies.

“That’s the guy with the perfect eyelashes…Nestor Carbonell. He played Richard, the guy stuck on the island for four hundred years.”

“I’m not superstitious,” Will says. “But this isn’t a good sign.”

“Then I suggest we drink heavily. Because it’s going to be a long, eventful flight home.”