Chapter Five Claire
Chapter Five
Claire
Flying dreams mean that you’re doing the right thing with your life.
—ATTRIBUTED TO DOUGLAS COUPLAND
My fears of potential flying disasters keep me from sleeping peacefully.
More than the plane crashing, I’m afraid of accidentally tucking the back of my skirt into my nylons before standing up in front of the passengers to perform the safety demonstration.
Nobody would die, but a video of me would surely end up trending on social media.
I try prayer, but it’s been a while since I called on God for help, and it’s like He isn’t answering because He doesn’t recognize my number. New phone. Who dis?
It’s after 2:00 a.m. when I drift off, only to be awakened from a nightmare where I’d been flying a couch instead of an airplane, and I didn’t know how to land. That’s almost as bad as the fear of tucking my skirt into my nylons.
My heartbeat throbs in my chest, and I’m relieved to find myself in a dark and quiet room. Well, mostly quiet. Angel’s snoring should have been expected, with as much as she burps.
I sigh with relief, allowing my pulse to slow.
But then adrenaline shoots through my veins again as I panic that I slept through my alarm.
I flail an arm toward the spot between the bed frame and mattress of my top bunk, where I stashed my phone to keep it from getting knocked five feet to the floor.
My fingers connect with smooth glass, and I grasp the device, pressing a side button to light up the screen.
It’s barely past four, and my alarm isn’t supposed to sound until four thirty. I relax into my pillow, but now what? There’s no way I’m going back to sleep after that.
Do I just lie here and stress? Do I climb down to pee, then climb back up, knowing full well it will probably wake Angel? Do I scroll social media to take my mind off myself?
I glance at my phone screen again to see if I missed anything while I slept. My instant messaging app displays one new message. I smile and tap on the icon. Only Wyatt would have texted after 2:00 a.m., which is when I last checked my phone.
Finally. I missed his call last night because Angel was going over my trip sheet and telling me how lucky I am to have San Luis Obispo as my very first overnight.
On her first trip, she’d been sent to Fargo and got stuck there in a blizzard for two days—still better than the fear of tucking my skirt into my nylons.
Wyatt had gone to bed early, like he normally does for work. So I’d just typed out my every thought to keep him updated—including, but not limited to, my struggles with Angel’s snoring. I open the message to read his response.
I told you to take melatonin. And buy some earplugs.
I scrunch my nose. He’s right, as always. At least he’s up early for his commute, so I can get his reassurance that I’m not going to have any unruly passengers try to open an exit door while in flight or any hijackers crash our plane into the ocean.
Will melatonin help with nightmares? I dreamed I was flying a couch through a coffee shop and crashed into an espresso machine.
Dreams are weird, but that’s the best way I can sum up what jolted me awake. I’m not positive it was an espresso machine. It could have been a frozen yogurt dispenser. However, I was definitely flying a couch. Or was it a futon?
It doesn’t matter. My main takeaway is the crash.
. . .
The dots indicate he’s not sure how to respond, and I don’t blame him. My dream does sound a little insane. At least I can laugh about it now.
I’m just going to get up early and head to the airport. At least I’m packed already.
Let me know when you arrive safely at your hotel.
It’s nice to know someone would notice if I went missing. I recently read a news story about a flight attendant who didn’t show up for her assigned trip, and her body wasn’t found in her hotel room until three days later.
Such crimes are probably a bigger danger for flight attendants than plane crashes. Which is why I should always carry a sock and soda everywhere I go. Thankfully, I also had that short self-defense course yesterday from my new pilot friend.
Will do. We have a layover in SFO. You could come see me there.
I’m surprised I didn’t think of it until just now.
I wish I could, but you know I’ve got work, babe. I’m already taking time off to come up for your birthday next week.
I smile at the vision of the two of us taking a ferry to Bainbridge Island and eating a candlelit dinner from atop the Space Needle. I can wait.
I should probably be focused on working my first trip anyway.
Though it’s not raining this morning, I’m afraid of walking to the airport in the dark, so I take the shuttle again. My brain may be on high alert, but my body already aches from lack of sleep. At least I make it to my plane with time to spare, and I won’t be rushed through my preflight inspection.
The gate agent checks my badge, then punches in a door code to let me down the jet bridge. This is it. This is real. My first flight.
I roll my luggage behind me into the chilly walkway, which smells a bit like Grandpa’s mildewy basement. An unwelcome smell to many, maybe, but it soothes me. Aromatherapy.
I’m relieved to find the aircraft door open and lights on. During my initial training flight with an instructor, we’d used a flashlight for preflight. This plane is warm and whirring with power.
I fight the same kind of silly grin I felt the first time I danced as Clara in The Nutcracker. In fact, I kind of want to leap down the aisle.
My carry-on catches on the first row of seats, and I pause mid grand entrance to wrestle with luggage. Eventually we limp into the belly of the plane. I used to be much more graceful than this.
“Right here, baby.” A middle-aged Black woman waits at an overhead bin in the center of the small plane. Her deep tone is as strong as her large curves are soft. It’s a comforting combination.
Even though I do remember where my luggage is supposed to be stowed for proper weight and balance calculations, I appreciate her support. I’m sure there will be other things I forget. “Is it that obvious I’m new?”
She nods sagely before helping me angle my suitcase downward to fit inside the compact space. “Don’t worry. We’ve all been there.”
After slamming the bin shut, my arms fall by my sides and my shoulders sag with relief. “I had stress dreams last night. I flew a couch into an espresso machine.”
Her laughter practically drowns out the plane’s engine, alleviating my fears more than melatonin ever could. I get four days with this lady. This is going to be fun.
“No coffee? That’s not a stress dream—that’s a nightmare.” A male voice chimes in from behind.
I spin around to find the pilot I met yesterday sipping from a giant tumbler. What was his name again? “Nathan?”
He lifts his mug. “Claire.” His dark eyes don’t glint with surprise but with the enjoyment of surprising me.
“Are you working this flight?” Of all the crazy things I’d imagined happening today, this was not one of them. I’m reminded of how Angel suggested he might be interested in me. Thus, I determine to keep things professional between us.
Crooked smile. “Somebody has to keep you out of trouble.”
I gasp in mock offense. Okay, professional is out the window, but I’ll keep things light.
The other flight attendant plants her hands on her hips. “Wait. Aren’t you brand new, Claire? When did you two meet?”
My mind replays the embarrassing moments that brought Nathan and me together. To keep him from telling any of them, I rush to explain. “We met yesterday. He showed me how to take the hotel shuttle to my crash pad.”
Nathan’s eyes slide my way knowingly, but his lips keep my secrets.
“Hey.” Another deep voice calls from the front of the plane. “You guys havin’ the crew brief without your captain?”
I look past Nathan to find a tall Black man in a crisp white shirt, black tie, and black jacket bearing gold bars on the shoulders. His traditional pilot’s hat is emblazoned with gold wings.
“Morning, Cap.” Nathan scoots into a row and kneels on a seat so he’s still facing us while making room for the pilot-in-command.
As our PIC moves closer, I notice the man’s eyebrows are lightened by strands of gray.
From a distance I wouldn’t have taken him to be old enough for gray hair.
Maybe I judged wrong, or maybe he’s prematurely graying from the stress of the job.
He’s also bald, but he must have shaved his head.
He approaches, and I confirm his lack of wrinkles. Yes, he’s definitely not that old.
The other flight attendant waves him into our little huddle. “You’re the only one who hasn’t met Claire yet, baby. Though Nathan met her yesterday.”
Does she call everyone baby, or are they a couple?
Nathan looks at me and tips his head toward the captain. “Vincent and Desiree have three kids, and when the youngest took off for college last year, she became a flight attendant to travel with him.”
That is the best answer I could have gotten to my unasked question. Being away from Wyatt is definitely the hardest part of this job. I smile from wife to husband. “How sweet.”
Vincent extends his hand to shake mine while arching an eyebrow at Nathan. “You didn’t tell me you knew Claire.”
I slide my fingers around Vincent’s beefy palm, both appreciative that he doesn’t know the details of how I met his first officer and hoping to distract him from questioning us further. “Nice to meet you, Vincent. I hear I’m really lucky to be on such a great trip my first flight out.”
“Yeah. I flew for two years before getting San Luis Obispo.” The man pumps my arm and gives a hearty chuckle. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s going to ruin you for all other trips.”
Nathan shrugs a shoulder. “Actually, working with these two is going to ruin you for all other trips. I try to work with them as often as I can because they’re the best.”
Vincent releases my hand to cross his arms and challenges his friend with a smirk. “So that’s why you picked up this trip?”
Nathan sips from the straw. “That, and I didn’t want you to have to work with another first officer. Since I’ve ruined you for all other trips.”
The man’s laughter grows even heartier.
“Are you ready to board passengers?” A voice comes from up front, where a scrawny Asian man wearing a navy vest sticks his head inside the main cabin door.
My heartbeat jumps. I haven’t even started my preflight inspection.
“Give us five minutes, baby.” Evidently Desiree does call everyone baby.
The man disappears.
“Gate agents.” Desiree grunts. “You could be just arriving at the plane and they’ll ask if you’re ready to board.”
“She used to be a gate agent,” Nathan stage-whispers.
Desiree swats his arm. “And that’s how I know when to stand up to them.”
“Well, I’d better get ready then.” I jolt into action, checking to make sure the back of each seat holds a passenger safety card on my way up to the front galley.
Vincent follows and picks up the PA. The rest of his brief echoes through the speakers overhead.
“An hour-and-forty-minute flight to Los Angeles. Thirty-two thousand feet. Only call us in Emergency Mode if there’s an actual emergency, like smoke in the cabin.
If someone gets up to use the john while we’re taxiing, just call us in regular mode so we don’t freak out. ”
I chuckle at that last word of advice, trying to retain the rest of the info as I check to make sure the fire extinguishers are operational and the oxygen tank full. What else?
Vincent heads into the cockpit, but Nathan picks up the PA. His voice isn’t as deep as the captain’s, but it’s just as loud over the speakers. “And have those sodas in socks ready to defend us from terrorists.”
I pause in loading a filter packet of coffee grounds into the coffee maker to scrunch my nose at him. I suspect he’s teasing.
“Say what?” Desiree’s voice echoes over the loudspeaker this time, as she’s picked up the PA in the back of the plane. Didn’t she learn the soda-in-sock trick at training too?
Before I can answer or ask my own questions, the first passenger shows up in a wheelchair. Nathan moves out of the way so I can retrieve the woman’s luggage.
We’re a regional airline and don’t fly any farther than Hawaii, so our planes are smaller than a lot of the bigger aircraft, but the woman still moves slowly enough that by the time we reach seat 7A, other passengers have boarded.
I have to fight the current to get back up front, and this is how the rest of boarding goes.
Finally, seat belts are buckled, doors are closed, and I’m in my jump seat, trying not to make awkward eye contact with the passenger directly in front of me.
I especially don’t want him to be weirded out by this proud smile taking over my face.
This is how I felt when dancing onto the stage for the first time as a ballerina.
I’m doing what I’ve been training for. I’m an actual flight attendant now.
The loudspeaker buzzes. “We’re next in line for takeoff. Flight attendants, secure the cabin for departure.” Nathan. He sounds so professional when he’s not making jokes at my expense.
The interphone chimes, signaling an incoming call.
I twist to grab the receiver on the wall. “Hello?”
“Hi.” I can hear the smile in Nathan’s tone. Is he calling just to talk? That’s not professional. Shouldn’t he focus on flying the plane? Taxi, take-off, and landing are the most technical part of a pilot’s job, and we’re not allowed to call them during those phases unless it’s an emergency.
I cringe all the way to my toes. I don’t want my first trip to get awkward.
“Is the cabin secure?” Nathan prompts.
Oh yeah. Standard procedure. Once again, I’m worrying about nothing. “Cabin secure.”
“See you in California.”
I hang up with a smile of both relief and satisfaction.
I did it. I survived training. I moved to a crash pad. And I’m currently working a new career. After retiring from dance early, I’d been so lost. Now I’m finally going somewhere.
My first flight feels like coming home.