Clouds

Clouds

Robert Ellerbruch

I am just settled into my window seat when a woman walks down the aisle wearing a leopard print dress. She eases into the seat next to mine. I’m bemused.

“Don’t worry, dear, it is not real.” She says.

Of course it isn’t, I think, even I can tell it is made from polyester and is as far from real as is possible. I start to point out that I never doubted that she was wearing an actual leopard skin, but she is staring into a small compact mirror putting on lipstick, apparently having forgotten the brief comment.

I can’t help but look closer as she has an elegant beauty that is out of place on the early morning flight. Her makeup is subtle and flattering, without needing the touch up she is applying. Her dark brunette hair is pulled back in a tight braid. I catch the slight scent of wood and spices that makes me nostalgic for fall in Montana. I’m smitten.

I must have been staring, because she turns slightly towards me and gives me a quarter smile with her red lips. She brushes back an imaginary strand of hair. I’m embarrassed at being caught, and am relieved by the distraction of a man banging down the aisle.

He looks to be a business man, wearing a pinstripe charcoal gray suit. He juggle’s both a leather briefcase and a garment bag with little success as each is banging into one side of chairs while the other hits the poor person opposite.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, “last minute trip, didn’t have time to prepare.”

He is not speaking to anybody in particular that his bags have specifically offended, but the plane as a whole. Which does make sense, as he has the full plane’s attention. And it is a full plane, I realize, as I look around. All seats are taken except for the one he is angling into across the aisle.

“Sorry, sorry ma’am.”

My row mate is leaning into me to avoid the rogue garment bag swinging from the gentleman’s shoulder. The aroma of autumn is mingled with the heady fruity shampoo embedded in her braid. I inhale deeply, subconsciously wanting to hold the scent in memory.

“I guess this is how it began.” She is not in a hurry to straighten up.

“I’m sure the rest of the trip will be smoother.” I say this reassuringly, but I’m not sure if that is my hope. “I’m Roger by the way.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, but we’ll be together for it.” My heart skips a beat when she says that, even though there are no open seats available for either of us to move to. “I’m Cheryl, obviously.”

The suited man has wrangled his suitcase and garment bag into the remarkably empty overhead bin. He collapses into his seat with a sigh.

With her seat space now open, Cheryl presses her hand onto my knee to lever herself back up. She gives my leg a quick squeeze that brings a large smile to my face. Her return smile seems melancholy.

“This is your captain speaking. We are ready to pull back from the gate, so lean back, relax, and enjoy the journey. Because, the journey is more important than the destination.” He chuckles, like he has told that joke many times before, but it hasn’t gotten old yet.

The person in front of me reclines his seat until he thuds against the stop. I surprisingly look down and see my knees still have six inches of room to move.

My seat back starts bucking uncomfortably. I look outside, and see runway followed by open fields of corn.

“He’s a little restless, it is his first flight.”

“Well, would he like a bit of orange juice?” I turn to look, and the flight attendant is pouring orange juice into a cup, she holds up a bottle of vodka with a questioning look. “This often helps with the first flight jitters.”

“Please.”

She pours the drink into the juice and passes it to the child.

“Once we are up in the air, if you want, you can go up into the cockpit and try your hand at flying.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” and I see his eyes focus on mine, “sorry sir.”

The attendant moves up a row. “Can I get you anything sir?”

“I could use a smoke and a drink desperately.” The suited gentleman states.

A tequila bottle is placed on his tray with a slight of hand. The attendant then hands him a cigarette from a packet in her front pocket. She looks around, shrugs, and pulls another out. A quick flick lights both.

With a puff, she asks, “So, where are you from?”

Cheryl pulls two cans out of her bag. An audible pop is followed by a fizzing, she passes the first to me. The second, similarly opens. The attendant underhands Cheryl two bottles of rum without taking her eyes off the suited gentleman.

I take a drink, surprised by this familiarity. It is a perfectly cold Dr. Pepper. All, 23 flavors roll down my tongue. Only one thing would make this better…

Cheryl pours the first bottle of rum into my can, and the second in hers.

“Cheers, to the past.” She raises her can.

“Cheers, to the future.” I raise mine in salute.

“To always.” We touch cans, and take a deep drink.

The takeoff would have seemed smooth, had I noticed it. The altitude gain could not mask the soaring in my chest.

The view out the window is magnificent. I try to find my house. It may be on the edge of the wheat fields, but everything looks so different from up here.

A puff of smoke clouds my vision. The attendant presses her hand on the suited gentleman’s shoulder. She turns to walk up the aisle. A quick smack on the butt is met with a shake and a glance back that is not a rejection. She disappears into the galley.

The plane rises into the clouds. There is nothing visible outside the window. The reflection, though, shows an old man. Wrinkles attest to a long life. A bald spot has long given up the fight for coverage. Eyes that are too tired to stay open.

A hand clasps mine. My heart rises as the plane drops. The drop is arrested, and I look at Cheryl.

She is beautiful and elegant. Short gray hair swept back from a face that has more laugh lines than worry wrinkles. Her hand is strong and familiar in mine. I pull it to my face and kiss her ring.

Another drop, unarrested. We leave the clouds. The Rocky Mountains loom on all sides.

More pressure on my hand.

“Don’t worry, dear, it was real.”