What are the Chances?

I have now concluded three possible outcomes from boarding this flight: the plane explodes right after liftoff, the plane crashes mid-flight and everybody onboard dies, or the plane lands in Beijing and I spend the next five days cooped up in a hotel room that probably has a pungent Artemisia smell. I would have pointed all of this out to Alisa, my best friend who also happens to be a news reporter, but she is currently haggling the price of a t-shirt with the old woman running the airport clothing store. I instead choose to pick at my crimson and lime-colored nails, which I paid $60 to get done yesterday. I think I was trying to make myself look more festive for the Dragon Boat Festival, but I now have an obscure premonition that attending this festival will result in anything that ranges from chipping my nails to being blown up in the plane. Though the latter would probably be more traumatic, I spent almost a full day’s salary on my nails. The very nails that are now having fuzzy light-blue gloves shoved onto.

“So what do you think?” Alisa beams as she held up her own hands, which now appear to be matching mine. “The woman at the store agreed to throw in two extra pairs of gloves with the shirt! Two! Isn’t that crazy?”

“Sure,” I respond nonchalantly. “Just what we needed for the 80° weather.”

Alisa rolls her eyes as she releases a dramatic sigh, full breath and all. “I was thinking we could save the gloves for Iceland, if I get the green light, that is.”

“You will. And at least either way we’ll get to tour Beijing.”

“Always looking at the bright side,” Alisa snorts. “I hope they at least have gluten-free pretzels or something fresh on the plane.”

“They probably have a salad bar in the cockpit.”

Alisa narrows her vibrant eyes at me, her drugstore glossed lips pursing. “Why are you so sarcastic right now? We’re literally going to China! We’re finally leaving the muggy streets of Seattle!”

“You’ll laugh at me if I tell you,” I murmur, checking my cracked watch. Maybe the flight would be delayed until next week.

“I would never. I solemnly swear.”

This time I glare at her, scanning for any lingering humor. “I have a really bad feeling about this trip. Like....like a gut feeling almost.”

Alisa cocks her head at me, her expression inquisitive but entertained. 

“You probably think it’s stupid, don’t you?” 

“No, of course not. You know I’m really into that kind of stuff. I believe you.”

By that stuff, Alisa means karma and crystals. She thinks everything is somehow connected through the universe and has a Pisces tattoo on her left hip. She also drinks her special herbal tea every morning and writes her theories in a leather-bound notebook from the local thrift store. I’m more of an if-there’s-no-science-behind-it-then-it’s-fake kind of person. I drink two cups of black coffee in the morning and have been using the same tube of mascara for well over a year.

“I don’t know, isn’t this festival supposed to be unlucky anyways? Maybe we should just stay here and we can make our own rice sticky dumplings.”

“Sticky rice dumplings,” Alisa corrects. “And what’s the worst that could happen-”

“Our plane crashes.”

“Yes, but that’s like a one-in-eleven million chance that’ll happen. Besides, at least we’ll go out with a bang, right?” 

“Funny.”

Before Alisa can answer, the airport intercom crackles: “Flight B438 to Beijing is taking off in fifteen minutes. Once again, flight B438 to Beijing is taking off in fifteen minutes.”

People around us start to shake their companions awake, others fumbling through their carry-ons for their tickets. A little boy starts crying and screaming, his mom blushing as she rubs at her temple.

“Even he agrees with me,” I whisper to Alisa, who follows my gaze. “Nobody wants to go on a twelve-hour flight.”

“Well I do,” Alisa huffs back. “And you know how much this means to me. It’s going to be my first big story, and I need to actually experience the festival to write something impactful.”

“I know that but-”

“So are you coming or not? I’m not going to miss the flight and sleep on this floor.”

I pause for a second, before picking up my suitcase and leaving behind my unease. “No, I’m still coming. Who else is going to eat gluten-free pretzels with you?”

Alisa’s cheeks dimple as she smiles, her forehead visibly relaxing. “We should be off then. You can have the window seat if you want.”

“Of course I want it,” I reply as I hand the blonde-haired flight attendant my crinkled ticket. She studies it for a second, searching for anything out of the ordinary. For a moment I think she’s found something suspicious, but then she simply looks up with a nervous smile. “Enjoy your flight.”

“Thanks,” I say, chewing on my lip as Alisa hands over her own ticket. As expected, the flight attendant waves us by, already greeting other passengers.

“Let’s go!” Alisa squeals, her face flushing with elation. “Aren’t you excited? I brought some crosswords, and earbuds so we can watch a movie, and this book I saw on Google…”

I leave her trailing on as we walk onto the passenger terminal, the closed-in walls sealing in my worries. I try to keep my breathing even as the lights get dimmer and dimmer, and the air gets stiffer and stiffer. Or maybe it’s just me, as Alisa doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed as we cross through the tunnel. My footing starts to get uneven, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m falling.

We emerge in the airplane, where I see an older man struggling to lift his suitcase above his seat, and a couple taking photos of themselves. A little girl is seated by her father, a large iPad in her hand. She seems to be playing some sort of game; rings and bangs echoing from her screen.

“Are you alright?” Alisa murmurs into my ear. “You’re looking kind of pale.”

“Just tired.”

“Are you sure? Do you need water?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble back, my head clouding. 

Once we reach our seats, I immediately sit down, afraid of what’ll happen if I keep standing. Alisa shoves our bags in the compartment above us, but doesn’t sit down beside me. Instead, she looks at me quizzically, concern lining her face. 

“I think I should go get a flight attendant,” she says, visibly weighing the pros and cons.

“No, just sit down,” I snap. “I don’t want to cause a scene.”

Alisa furrows her neatly trimmed brows, but then sits down. I can tell she is hesitant, but I don’t want her to miss out on going to Beijing. Though she has never explicitly said it, this will be her first big story. Something beyond the shell-fish restaurants and constant rain of Seattle. Something that will hopefully jumpstart her career. How could I be anything but supportive? How could I potentially delay her success because of a gut feeling that probably isn't even real? And besides, what are the chances that the plane will actually crash?