Terror at 20,000 Feet

[Muffit]

We wade into life’s pool of emotions like stepping into dark and unknown waters, dipping into pain as we dip into joy, with all the trepidation the inexperience of our youth engenders. And though we tremble at times with fear’s clammy grasp, it is surprisingly the surmounting of the pain of that emotion that yields us a pleasant one, relief, that beckons our tiny neck hairs made frail and bent by the recent storm, to ease and with that easing tingle us as gently as a lover’s touch.

Just as strange as distant now, I was once a young one in love, trembling of thought and anxious of dream, months away from that dearest moment in our lives, our marriage day. But one precipice lay in the way, a long plane trip and several weeks away from my fiancé, with the nery spoken fear only the mist in our eyes at parting gave silently away.

The flight back east was like some crawling caravan of ages past, the tedium broken only by Herbert’s desert tale. And as the markless blue terrain sped by, I dreamt of spice-tinted lips that dripped with wisdom, mined by fearless explorers brought galaxies away by bending space. All seemed well, if lonely.

But the last leg meant transfer to a small twin-engine plane, and walking out to it did not inspire me at all. And this is where my story truly begins. For you see, only 20 minutes after departing on this shaky little relic, a woman across from me on the other wing gave out a yelp. Fire! The starboard engine was in flames! The pilot came on, the voice of palpable calm, that all was well; we would simply fly with the port engine. Our anxious glances shared across the aisle spoke much of what confidence, if any, these words meant to us, as a cloud of smoke sped by the rearward windows at the engine’s shutting down.

I must tell you, lest you miss the gravity of my position, that I was seated right beside the port wing; being this close to those across from me made me much more nervous than most. But fear was to soon turn to terror. For as I looked beside me, the port engine erupted in smoke and flames. I did not need to say anything, people everywhere were shouting. Again, the pilot’s “soothing” voice reassured us, although he did not say what, if anything, inspired that confidence, seeing as we had no engines left.

We fell thousands of feet in moments. I am not sure if we opted for a closer destination as all was confusion, however minutes later we were heading quickly toward a runway on the ground. On pins of imminence and needles of fear we struck the runway, once twice, many times; and to many sighs and much applause we came to rest at last. But to our disbelief, we were not allowed to disembark; instead, a pair of mechanics came aboard and walked wide eyed down the aisle. Moments later, to our unbelieving ears, the pilot announced we would be continuing our journey – on the same plane! I need not tell you, no bouncer in New York could have stopped any of us from getting off in the rush that ensued.

I boarded the BSG revival years ago in the hope of reaching our destination, the continuation we all dreamed of. But almost immediately one engine gave out and we thought all was lost. Again, we trudged on, only to have the second engine, the port DeSanto if you will, go out in silent flames. How we reached our destination I do not know; perhaps the mini landed us, shaking, somewhere near where we had hoped to be. But the people I expected to meet were not there, and the familiar sights and sounds were cities and memories away.

I still hold a boarding pass for BSG, the original and loved, coach and yes, movie please. There may be stops that you my friends like along the way, and for that I am thankful to see you smile; but I will only disembark when the pilot says, we are /finally/ there.

Affectionately and respectfully,
Muffit