Flight

No one tells you when you’re underwater there’s an immense amount of pressure that you feel. It’s kind of like...being pushed down by a truck. Except you don’t see the truck and at the same time you feel like you’re floating. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I was drowning. My body is petrified but my eyes are able to move. Below me are the remnants of a plane. Slowly it falls deeper and deeper into the ocean’s flooring. The letters on the edge of the roofing show itself - A71070. Suddenly at the windshield, two hands pressed against the window. They fade out of frame and then appear again. In my line of vision a body falls almost angelically almost inches away from me. A woman with almost golden-like hair. A trace of blood faintly leaves her. I make out her nametag on her blazer. Sammie. More lifeless bodies were at the surface. Specks of sunlight trying to pass through. The pressure of the water becomes this insurmountable pain but my body could not react. Almost instantly my body is being pulled backwards without my permission; like someone is there. The front of the plane is fading faster and faster. The tugging feels faster and stronger. The surge of my heart is in my ears now and the vision is blurred. I reach the surface of the water and my body freezes in time. The cool air rushes onto my face and I can’t even breathe. My heartbeat slows and the world around me crumbles fast. I close my eyes and press them tight. 

I open them back and find myself in my bedroom, swimming in my own sweat. The box fan in my window is on the floor of my very small one bedroom apartment. My alarm clock is flashing at 6:00am. I’m not sure if it’s broken or my eyesight is failing me again. I bring my hands to my eyes and feel a sharp pain on my shoulder blade. I wince in reaction to it. My head feels heavy and as if it got off a very intense roller coaster ride at the fair. Was my bonnet too tight last night? 

I look over to the other side of the bed to see if Dana was there but her walking to work shoes and purse are nowhere to be found. So it must be at least 7:35. The bedroom is a culmination of my bubbly personality colors of pastel yellows and blues with splatters of cheetah skin and zebra prints that mirror the animal that is my girlfriend. Is animal a sexy way of referring to your partner? The jury is still out on it. 

We moved into the tiny apartment in Bayside so the commute for my work would be easier on me. Not sure if the commute is worth the small space that we share. I grew up on the far end of Long Island. In a neighborhood within the suburbs that seems a bit too perfect and too symmetrical. Then there’s Dana who was a Texas native. Growing up in Austin where the rent of her house was only ⅓ of what we’re paying now. I loved her little Austin home.. I’m missing the open floor plan and the large bathtub that could fit the both of us after a long day.

Dana found a job in Brooklyn. Working as the sous chef for this Korean-Mexican fusion restaurant. The owner was a long time friend of hers that she used to go clubbing with every time she was in a major city doing a food tour. When they told her about their new business, Dana was the first one to be hired on the spot. It was a cute little place with squishy black seating that kind of felt like (and smelled like) you were riding the Long Island Railroad at 2am after New Years. But only for a moment, because once the waiter came out with your Korean fried chicken smothered in spicy mango crema, your whole being would be fixated on that beautiful creation.

I throw my legs to meet the hard ruby red carpet and sigh at my aching joints that greet me every morning. I drag my phone off of the nightstand and unplug it from its power source. My phone awakens itself and my screen begins to pool with notifications. My 47th email from Blick Art, a voicemail that is most likely spam, a direct message on Instagram, and a ton of reaction notifications from Twitter. The battery percentage reads 2%. The time reads 8:47am. 

“Fuck me, I’m late.” I exhale, jolting my body forward and rushing into the bathroom. “Alexa,” I called out to my Echo Show that was sitting in the bathroom across from me. “What’s the weather like today?” 

No response from my personal cyborg. Shit, the power went out and is still out. I drench my body in the icy cold water that greets me in the shower. I’m humming my favorite Fleetwood Mac song as I squirt a hefty amount of conditioner into my hands. I lean my head back and have the water drench my shriveled up curls as I infiltrate them with the papaya smelling product. This wakes me up instantly. 

After quickly washing myself and putting on my very ratty green t-shirt, leggings and tennis shoes, I spill out of the front door with my duffle bag. I’m supposed to be catching a flight at 10:45 to Miami to meet my college friend, Lola, for her epic 25th birthday party extravaganza. She went all out for this. Dropping every major credit card she could get her hands on. There was going to be jet skis, clubs, drinking, brunches, everything and anything she wanted was hers. Lola invited me and Dana for this event even though the festivities would begin on a Wednesday. Dana had work this morning so she was going to meet me later on tonight for her flight. I hate flying alone. Probably one of the most unattractive things about me. The way I sweat and hyperventilate to the joyful sounds of a plane taking off. The dream that I had this morning wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to nightmares I have before traveling. But my body sensed something was off. Maybe it’s the nerves. 

As I leave out the front doors of our building, I weigh my options. Take the subway ride 45 minutes that will leave me at JFK or call an Uber. I can sense Dana rolling her eyes at me from another burrough as I use one full percent to call a ride to the airport.  

By the time I finished up with TSA my phone was completely dead. And the shitty thing about this was my boarding pass was on my phone. I prayed to the airport gods that someone is kind enough to lend me their charger. The airport was bustling, even for a Wednesday. Children running rampantly in between seating arrangements. A Starbucks employee clumsily tosses a very tall iced coffee to the customer and misses their hand completely. I’ve always been fascinated by the chaos inside the airport. How everyone is just constantly in a rush or constantly frustrated with the world that they are in. Such a complex universe the airport is indeed.

I find one of those massive screens with all of the gates and begin to search for any resemblance of the numbers from my boarding pass. My wet curls are beginning to coil up into my skull, I can still smell the fruitiness. I don’t get too far when a woman in a navy blue blazer with golden hair passes by me. It’s almost like a movie when my whole brain watches everything in slow motion. I know that hair. She walks into the bathroom to the left of the screens and without any other sense, I follow her. The woman is gliding a small luggage bag behind her. The bag is monogrammed with the letters SJM.

My shoulders are tense and my body is feeling that pressure again like my dream. She’s tying her hair up in front of the sink and watching herself do this task. I’m peering at her from around the corner. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating. Without even thinking, my throat and voice are out of my control. 

“Are you Sammie?” 

Sammie completes pinning her hair up and looks at me. Not with excitement or surprise but just a subtle amount of intrigue. “Yes,” she replies almost slowly but with kindness. “How can I help you?”

“I…” my brain doesn’t know what to say next. Almost instantly a mother with a large baby on her waist is crying. The loud stench of poop is following both of them. Sammie and myself watch this woman and politely move out of her way so she can get into one of the stalls. I look back at Sammie trying to figure out my next comment. “Do you...work here?” 

She smiles cooly. She seems like she was one of the most popular girls in her high school. “Did the blazer and nametag not tip you off?” She taps lightly on the silver name tag that’s on her collar. And a sense of dread fills my lungs and I am now terrified. I inhale deeply. 

“You don’t know me but I just need to tell you something…”I swallow the lump that I’m feeling at the front of my throat. “I think I had a dream about you.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise, and her face oddly softens with intrigue. “Have we met?” 

“No, I don’t think so. But I-I had this dream that there was a plane crash and I remember your nametag and I swear--” 

“Did Luke put you up to this?” Sammie said with a chuckle. “I swear this boy is always up to something. Tell him I said ‘very funny.’” She checks her hair one more time in the mirror, and pulls on her luggage. 

“I’m not sure who Luke is but I’m serious. Something is wrong.” I say this with more conviction than fear. Sammie ignores and passes me by, pushing my shoulder which is feeling more rigid and elevated than usual. “You have to believe me.” 

Sammie continues on her way out of the bathroom and my body responds by following. In a way, my body feels like it’s working on it’s own. 

“Wait!” 

“It’s not funny anymore,” Sammie vocalizes, her back towards me still. She’s picking up the pace to get away but I keep up. 

“Sammie, wait!” Too late do I realize that my tennis shoe laces have come undone and I tumble onto Sammie’s luggage, bringing her down with me. She screams dramatically, silencing the patrons of this very large airport. My head is throbbing and my eyesight begins to wander and drift into nothingness. 

“Ms. Samuels?” 

I wake up slowly in a dimly lit corridor. It’s humid and the smell of jet fuel is looming. I lift my head from off a flat hard cot to see a Black man in a security uniform sitting in a metal chair. His eyebrows are pressed within concern. “Ms. Samuels?” 

I try to get up and he rests his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get up too quickly. There’s a knot on your forehead from the fall. You might have a concussion.” 

“Where’s my phone?” I utter, almost like a whispered mumble. 

The security guard turns behind him to retrieve my phone from the metal table behind him. “I charged it for you.” He exhaled. 

Once he hands it to me, it comes to life with two more voicemails waiting for me. I unlock it and begin to listen.

Message One: Hey baby, You were tossing so much in your sleep last night that I wanted to let you rest before your flight. I hope you’re feeling alright. I love you..Talk to you soon. 

Message Two: Hey! Good news! Remy didn’t need me for work today so I was able to switch my flight to yours. I’ll probably meet you at the gate since you’re probably on the way. You better have taken the subway. Say it with me: No. More. Ubers. 

Message Three: Not sure if you’re on your way still but we’re boarding the flight. I’m in my seat but I don’t see you. I’ll try to have them wait for you. 

Suddenly, above us, the sound of an airplane bursting like the fourth of July. A trembling breath leaves me. 

My eyes are ringing from fear and then they begin to water. In the distance, I hear the cries of people writhing in pain. Bodies sinking deep into Jamaica Bay with no hope of being found.