Five hours of sitting on a chair in the sky. Like some sort of miracle. Plenty of time to dwell. On the past, but I was trying to do less of that. I even wrote it down. “Stop dwelling on the past.” Things felt different on paper. More sure of themselves. I was doing pretty well so far. A nap before takeoff. A few movies to numb the brain. But the first one made me cry. Like the tears had been waiting for someplace to run for hours. Maybe days. Something like the opposite of going numb. A few songs about Los Angeles right away. All they had to do was romanticize it. I was an easy target. Most things seem to cut deeper once we’ve hit 35,000 feet. Something about peeling away. Something about disconnection. There were storms over Iowa this time. Maybe it was one of the other middle states. The “midwest.” I stopped listening. The seatbelt sign lit up like it makes a difference. My palms create friction with the edges of my seat. Like maybe if they hold on tight enough I’ll be able to reclaim an ounce of the control. But we never really know when the turbulence might begin. And maybe it’s better that way. The not knowing.
