I haven't seen Sandy in 6 months. She called the break. We’ve hardly talked. How is this going to work?
I find my seat, 32B, which means I'm in the middle. Shit! I squeeze into my seat. I'm a big guy, but all my body parts stay between the armrests; not so with the Michelin Man in C. And the lady in A is oozing into my space too.
Since Sandy and I split, my attention span is zero, so I pass the time with the in-flight shopping magazine. The Chia garden sculptures and the rocks where you hide your house keys look interesting.
What’s gonna happen with Sandy? Why did she call the break?
Ok, the Uni-Phone-Omni-Continent Outlet-Adaptor-Charger looks great. If I was going to Singapore, I'd buy this sucker.
Man, I have to pee. The three Jack Daniels wouldn't have done it, but I had all that coffee this morning. There’s a line in back, but first class is open. Fuck them, they won't let you go up there, but I’m pretty sure that there’s rule that says I can pee anywhere.
Anyway, I won’t make a fuss; they arrest your ass for less than that these days. I'm standing in line. I know that bathroom is small, but I'd do the mile high club with Sandy in a heartbeat.
Good, we’re landing. I need to get away from the drifting mud slide and grab a smoke. Now we’re driving to the gate, seems like about 100 miles. I feel like, fuck, it’d be quicker if I’d just taken my F-150 the whole way!
Walk outside. No Sandy. Ok, I can have my smoke.
There's Sandy’s van. I get in. I get a kiss. She's acting like nothing ever happened.
I wrote this for the Trifecta Week 37 Writing Challenge, where we are to write a 33-333 word piece using the word "flight".
Your comments are always welcome.