Airplane Food

Considerably depressing, or is it?

The man next to me has a straggled mane of grey hair and a suit so worn the thread and stiches are bare on his chest and arms: his glasses are steamed with meat sweat and perspiration; his hand shakes as he raises another spoon of airplane food to his mouth. His yellow shirt �" I presume it was once white �" is stained with sauce and the rest slops over the side of the bowl like an edible �" or rather, inedible, considering the circumstances �" waterfall. He is oblivious to my disgust and I bury my brow deep into the in-flight magazine, feigning interest in the overpriced and useless selection of ties and alcohol.

“You know it’s all rubbish, right?” asks the old lady next to me through a set of fake teeth and cracked lips. There’s something insane about the elderly: it’s like they are always drunk and their inhibitions are off cowering in the hills; they’ll talk to anyone.

“Oh yes, I know” I reply, somewhat awkwardly �" I have nothing else to say. The man’s chewing acts as background noise for the few seconds of silence before the inevitable storm of rambling from the old lady. With a small inward sigh I slump in my seat, crushed between words and food: neither of which, unfortunately, I was keen on.

At the end of the aisle, the safety talk rattles on. The slick flight attendant does her dance like the world is watching, but arrogance and confidence prevails over humans: no one pays attention except for the quivering gentleman to my right who has paused eating to grasp the arms of his chair like a disposable limpet.

“You know, they always tell you to put your own oxygen masks on before helping your children �" do you think anyone has ever actually done that?” asks the old lady, eyes fixed on the screen in the back of the seat.

My brain pauses in quiet contemplation. A child screams and shouts behind me: she has a fair point.

“I’d hope not” I half-laugh. Her statement quickly becomes lost in the tide of anecdotes about her grandson’s trip to Taiwan. The plane takes off with a deep roar and suit-man clenches his teeth as I suck my gums; when the plane levels out I order a small glass of white wine. The man to my right continues to eat.

Halfway between the stories of an arguably insane old lady and the scents of a curry eaten on a plane flying not even within a 1000 mile radius of India, I fall asleep.

I wake up to the rattling and rumbling of turbulence and a dribbling woman on my left shoulder: through the window, over the elderly ladies slumped figure, I watch stars and clouds float past and the faint peals of lightning in the distance illuminate the sky in overwhelming flashes. Overhead, the seat-belt lights turn on and I tighten mine with my free right hand around an ashamedly large gut. At the front, flight attendants secure goods before securing people. I shake my head.

The stained man to my right is undergoing what can only be described as a severe panic attack: his hands are so aggressively clutched at his sides he looks like he’s about to be executed. Sweat pours from his forehead and down his cheeks: his eyes are firmly shut and his entire body shakes and quivers. His panic is infectious and as attendants hurriedly return to their seats and strap themselves in, I have a growing feeling of unrest in my stomach. If the attendants hurry, you know something is wrong: when experts panic, it is recipe for disaster.

The old lady sleeps on.

The crackle of the captain’s voice sings songs across the tannoy in the calm and reassuring tone that only pilots and dentists can achieve before explaining away a filling or possible death: “Hello this is your captain speaking; we are currently experiencing severe turbulence. Please remain in your seats with your belts fastened” The word severe sends a violent tingle down my spine; behind me, the child screams. In the next row of seats, visible only over the lady’s slumped shoulder, I watch as a couple fasten their hands together in a tight embrace. That makes me sadder than imposing doom.

Planes don’t crash, do they? Asks my brain as I watch the wings shake and the panic stricken faces of others around me; no, of course they don’t, I convince myself.

But as the turbulence grows, so does my fear: I am pretty sure that the man has passed out from straining so hard and now lies slumped on my right shoulder. I feel claustrophobic and the plane shakes more violently than ever before: behind, people scream. The couple have their eyes closed; the seatbelts are loose around their waists so that they can be closer together, more willing to sacrifice their safety than be apart.

There is a crack and a loud noise from the front of the plane: the tannoy begins, but fizzles out like a dying robot’s final sparks. Red lights flash above screaming “Warning, Warning, Warning” and people huddle in their seats, vaguely remembering the safety procedures they’ve barely paid attention to. I’d give anything to be old, or afraid, my brain screams: the old lady hasn’t stirred and the man has slumped even further in his seat: they’d wake up in the future, surrounded by loved ones and dead pets.

The plane jolts violently and my organs rise in my body like slowly poured beer; above, oxygen masks fall down from their compartments and dangle uselessly. My right arm is trapped underneath the form of the eating man, but I tug my left arm free from the old lady’s frail figure: with a single hand disabled with pins and needles, I fumble with the mask: where is my mother to fix it around my face? The thought is crippling and I feel tears welling. As the plane dips again in flight, I raise myself in the seat and look behind me: I watch, as, with tender hands and a beautiful smile, a mother attaches a mask to her youngest son. Her eyes are full of pain, but she strokes his face like she’d just finished a bed time story. 

Her own mask is still swinging.

That was all I needed to see: I needed to see evidence of the beauty of humanity before I died, crushed between a sweaty, curry-stained man and an old lady with such little sense left, she made better conversation asleep on my shoulder. I told her everything: my life, my family, where I lived, what I did. I knew she couldn’t hear a word I was saying, but I hoped, somewhere, someone was listening.

I leave my mask hanging: what is the point, anyway? I don’t squat in my seat either. I just sit, with my eyes closed, wishing I had longer to think of all the things I’ve never thought about, or think more about things I have.

And with that, there was darkness.

Reviews

[de_maruf]

fine

[Baby Ricochet]

Great story. If my add a*s made it to the end it's a shame sign of genius.

[Becca Bishop]

Sometimes I read something so scarily real that it kind of knocks me off my feet. Good thing I was sitting down for this one. Wow. Part of me wants to just sit here and say wow over and over again, but that wouldn't get us anywhere, plus it might annoy some people and I really don't want another angry mob coming after me in the middle of the night again. What was I saying?
Oh, yes. Scarily beautiful. Beautifully scary. Your strongest part was, without a doubt, the mother and child scene. Don't you find it odd that sometimes to most tragic things that happen are also the most beautiful? Here's a mother that cares nothing for herself. Knowing she's going to die, she comforts her child one last time. Man, I just imagine what the mother must've been thinking....
This is such a great story because it really makes you think, you know? Think about how easily something like this could happen to someone we know or love. To us even. It makes you think about humanity. About a ton of other stuff that I for some reason can't explain right now.
I don't think this is a depressing piece at all. It's solemn and sad and bittersweet. It's real.

Storywise, I think your main character could've used a bit of work. Fleshing him out and letting him show more emotion - who wouldn't be at least a little scared faced with final death? - would endear him more to readers. As it was, the strongest point in your story was the mother and child because that's what got our hearts. We're still anguished when we see the mc go, but it's just another sad death. I might advise you to check out your punctuation again. There's a few small mistakes. But maybe you should just ignore me. It's easier that way.
This is a truly touching story. Amazing job :) :) :)

[Harry Alston]

Wow, possibly one of the best comments I've ever received...I can't thank you enough. There have been different interpretations of his character and yours is a valid one, but I suppose I didn't want it to sink into the cliches of horror and instead let the character take his death calmly. But honestly, thank you so much for your comment, it will stick by me for years, aha.

[Lyndsay Hall]

First of all, the part with the mask and the mom/child is absolutely beautiful. My favorite part, hands down. Others have described the piece as depressing, but I am not certain it is. It is nice: the way the panicked man and old lady sleep through doom, the way he finds kindness in humanity, the way he tells someone his story, the way he enters death calm. When you see it as that, it isn't quite depressing at all. Nice job.

[Harry Alston]

Thank you so much, aha. Very very appreciated. Glad it had an effect on you :)

[Lover Of Words]

Nice story

[DrD]

Kim has a valid point . . . . food is not served until sometimes a half hour into a flight, depending on distance, of course. I've noticed a stark improvement in your descriptive writing, Harry, and this is an example. I would ask if this is the ending you had envisioned all along? But it's about writing, right? And you have presented the scene and development of the protagonist very well.

[Harry Alston]

Haha yes, I failed to see it in my hurry to write this. And hm, I'll be honest when I say I envisioned no ending at all: I do not plan my writing, ever: I put pen to paper and what comes out, comes out. He could have grown wings and flown away for all I knew as I was writing it: I know that my best works will come when I plan these stories out, but right now, I am writing, and I am enjoying it. More importantly, others seem to be enjoying it too - like you said, it's all about writing, right? :) Thank you so much for your consistent kind comments, you are one of the main reasons I post my stories here, along with Kim and Marie.

[DrD]

You're most welcome and I encourage you to yes, continue.

[KAOlmsted]

I was thinking, what airline lets you eat while the plane is taking off? Every flight I've ever been on, they hoard the food until we're all the way up, and then it's the drinks cart first...*sigh*...I am so looking forward to flying British Air when we visit England next year ;-)

I think this would have been a different piece entirely had you not included the mother and the boy...that just made me gulp...and my skin pricked with gooseflesh...thinking of that poor mother and child, facing certain death...oh I may never forgive you for that, Harry Alston! ;-)

Every time I fly I look around at the ordinary, mundane business of it all. We're sitting here, a businessman is sitting there, an old lady, a young couple, a baby or two...and I think: This is how it is just before tragedy strikes. Calm. Mundane. Luckily, I've never been in a plane crash...but I always imagine it. Every single time.

This was really well done, as usual. Thank you so much for posting it for us.

-kimmer

[Harry Alston]

Haha, you picked out the vital flaw! My imagination covers up those sorts of mistakes and I get a bit carried away. The mother and son was hard to write about, because I knew that if it wasn't done just right it'd seem like I was just throwing it in, but the idea about the oxygen masks begged to be written about...so I did. And no, thank you for taking the time to comment, and such a long one too. It is appreciated, as always :)

[KAOlmsted]

It was done right...I'm still mourning their loss. And, it is always my pleasure, Harry.

[Adam Whitworth]

well done

[Aella.lives]

Your description is so on key that I can see everything so clearly... I had shivers with this. And I don't get that often. Yes, it was a bit depressing, but it was so stunning and beautiful too.

[Harry Alston]

Wow, thank you :)

[Marie]

Yes, it's somewhat depressing, but quite good. There's a certain rightness to the end--as if a circle closed.
I caught one mistake:

"The man next to me has a straggled mane of grey hair and a suit so worn the thread and stiches(stitches) are..."

[Harry Alston]

Haha such a silly mistake, gotta hate it when I do that. And thank you as always, Marie :)