My luck had to run out eventually. Bad fortunes followed me across state lines, stowed away in my luggage through an unfastened zipper, hidden under balled socks and suntan lotion. On my departing trip, as we descended into Salt Lake City to catch a connecting flight to St. George, the pilot tried and failed to land the plane, twice. Third time was the charm. I'd never seen people become so alarmed on a plane before, myself included. At first, I thought perishing in a plane crash wouldn't be so bad, that we'd be dead on impact, but further rumination on the threat of ruination proved my initial theory wrong. I vividly imagined the crash; the tearing away of the fuselage, ripped apart like a Christmas present, seats dislodged and twisted at sharp angles, dismembered bodies and severed limbs, the smell of burning flesh, the cries of dying children. The mind can be hideously imaginative at times.
Last night though, on my returning flight, shortly after takeoff I could tell something was wrong. The plane was small, two seats on each side; smaller than a city bus. I was seated on the left wing. It seemed to be struggling, groaning, making sounds that gave my stomach goosebumps. They were the kind of sounds that, if a car had made them, the driver would've immediately pulled over. So we did. After a sense of stalling in mid-air, a feeling that is always accompanied by leaping terror, quickening your heart's gait, the ring of the intercom came on. The pilot alerted us there was something wrong, to remain calm. These are words which, when paired with unusual mechanical sounds and a sense of falling, create a fantastically frantic sense of doom and dread. My hands got shaky as the adrenaline flash flooded in my veins. In the adjacent aisle, to my right, a mentally handicapped man began rocking wildly back and forth, humming, imitating the sound of a bee trying to achieve an octave.
They say when you're about to die your life flashes before your eyes. Mine didn't. I felt many different shades of horror, helplessness, and disbelief. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from, one that was insistent on being endured. We hit the ground fast and hard. We bounced and screeched to a halt and it was over. After hours of waiting while they tried to repair the plane, they gave up and booked me a hotel.
Okay, I'm about to board. Let's give this another try.
Third time's the charm, right?
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