Chapter Twenty-Five Claire
Chapter Twenty-Five
Claire
When you fly high, people will throw stones at you. Don’t look down. Just fly higher so the stones won’t reach you.
—CHETAN BHAGAT
My roommate Brittany is working my flight home to San Francisco, though I’m not sure I’d call what she’s doing work.
She sits in an empty seat next to me in the last row of the airplane, which she’s not supposed to do, and though she did offer a quick beverage service to passengers, she’s been gabbing with me ever since.
At one point I ask if I should let her do a trash run or something so she doesn’t get in trouble, but she just laughs.
“I don’t care what that senior mama up front wants. She keeps turning the lights back on when I ask her not to. Like, let the passengers fall asleep already.”
Senior mamas are flight attendants who have been around a long time and appreciate things being done a certain way, even if that’s not how the company runs anymore.
They usually clash with us newbies, who obsess about doing everything exactly the way we’ve been trained.
Then there are the Brittanys, who charm passengers without actually doing anything and thus receive accolades the rest of us slave for.
But as I’m a passenger of this flight, I’m being charmed.
“Have you ever forgotten to secure your galley?” Brittany whispers conspiratorially.
Upon takeoff and landing, it’s the flight attendant’s responsibility to make sure all latches are secured on every cart and bin. If they’re not, they can pop open, and the released flying objects can injure someone. It’s probably the most broken FAA regulation.
“No. Have you?” I peek over the seats to make sure the other flight attendant isn’t spying to report Brittany’s response.
The coast is clear. Or more accurately, the other flight attendant frowns at us from where she’s knitting in her jump seat at the front of the airplane.
That’s something I haven’t seen before, but at least she can’t hear us from there.
“On our last flight, I thought I’d closed the top door, but it didn’t latch securely, and as soon as the wheels hit the runway, it flew open. Stacks of plastic cups shot out like arrows. It was hilarious.”
I can’t help chuckling at the image, though I have a feeling the other flight attendant wasn’t laughing. “You self-reported, right?”
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Or Miss Senior Mama would have. Have you had to work with any awful people yet?”
I doubt her senior mama is that awful, but I think I’ve been lucky.
“My last trip was pretty fun. The other flight attendant was a yoga instructor, so between flights she’d practice yoga in the aisle.
” I pat my armrests. “She taught me how to do a handstand on the arms of the chairs and close the bins with my feet.”
“No way. Show me after we land.”
By the time we touch down, I’ve forgotten about her request. But since I’m at the back of the plane, I’m the last one off.
“Come on.” She grabs my arm and drags me to the front. “You guys,” she calls to the pilots exiting the flight deck, “this is my roommate. She’s going to show us how she closes the overhead bins with her feet.”
The pilots are both young too. I can see why the senior mama might feel as if she’s babysitting.
“Whoa. Seriously?” The captain sounds more like a surfer dude.
“In a walking boot?” The first officer had turned the edges of his mustache up in curlicues, reminding me of an old-timey boxer. It’s not an attractive look, but it’s definitely memorable.
Before my walking boot, I could do much more impressive stunts than handstands, but I’ll let them think I’m cool for this. Planting my palms on the armrests, I push upside down, hook my heels over the tops of the bins, and flex my hamstrings to bend my knees, slamming the bin shut.
The pilots clap.
“Yay,” Brittany cheers. “Hey, we’re staying overnight here, but I’ve never been to San Francisco before. We’ll walk out with you, and you can give us some ideas for exploring.”
The next crew is already waiting on the jet bridge.
I do a double take when I recognize a flight attendant.
Ha-Yoon has her hair up in space buns this time.
She must not understand that the reason she got in trouble for her braids was because there were two of them.
The rule is that when our hair is up, it has to all be gathered together.
Airlines are strict that way. No visible tattoos bigger than our badges, no septum piercings, no chewing gum in uniform, etcetera.
“Claire! Brittany!” Ha-Yoon reaches to hug us.
Maybe she’s not as contrary as I’d first believed, or maybe she only comes across that way when she doesn’t feel as if anyone is on her side. It’s definitely nice to see friendly faces.
“Ha-Yoon is one of our roommates,” Brittany tells the pilots.
“Hi, Ha-Yoon.” I hug her back and whisper, “If you get audited, make sure to put your hair in one bun instead of two. I don’t want you to get written up again.”
She pats my back. “You’re too good, Claire.”
I’m feeling good. A lot better than when I first showed up in Seattle and gave bad directions to a passenger. Since I know my way around the SFO airport, I lead the crew through the remodeled terminal toward baggage claim. We nod to another passing crew.
“Claire. Brittany,” a sultry female voice calls. Vivienne nods haughtily from the back of another group but stops for more hugs, also happy to see us.
“More roommates?” Senior Mama deadpans.
“Yep.” My roommates are starting to feel like sorority sisters. I’ll miss them when I get transferred back here, but I’m sure I’ll make new friends.
We finally emerge into the outside pickup area that more closely resembles a freeway traffic jam.
Brittany’s crew will have to play Frogger to cross to an island for their shuttle while I wait at this curb for Wyatt.
The air is warmer than back in Seattle, but even more importantly, the sun is shining.
I breathe deeply of engine exhaust and satisfaction.
Brittany squeezes my hand. “Bye, roomie. Text me any recommendations you have for our overnight.”
I point after her to keep her attention. “If you want lobster, there’s a good deal at The New England Lobster Company, not far from here.”
“I’ve never had lobster before.” She jogs after the rest of her crew to where another crew in uniform is already waiting for the shuttle.
One of them waves at us. She’s got darker skin and a sparkly red lanyard. Journey.
“Oh, hey, Journey,” I yell.
“Yo.”
The surfer-dude pilot grins back at me. “You girls have a lot of roommates.”
I drop my hand, sink back on my heels, and chuckle to myself. For the past year, I’d been left behind as all my old dance friends traveled the world without me. It feels good to fit in again.
A horn honks, jolting me from my reverie. “Claire.” This time the voice is male.
I look down to find Wyatt leaning toward the open passenger-side window of his slate-gray Infiniti sedan.
“Wyatt.” It’s so good to see him. I run to the trunk to stow my bags.
The trunk pops automatically. He meets me there, pulls me close, and kisses me breathless. Though to be fair, I was already a little bit out of breath from striding through the airport in a walking boot.
I smile up at him. This is how a girl likes to be greeted. “I missed you too.”
He frowns after Brittany’s crew. “Was that Nathan?”
“Where?” I follow his gaze with the hopes of introducing him to my favorite pilot.
But he’s actually looking at the crew I’d just left.
“Oh, no. I met them today. One of my roommates worked my flight, so I walked out with their crew. Then we ran into a bunch of other roommates on the way. The world is just smaller when you work for the airlines.”
“Huh.”
He lets me go, loads my bags, and heads back to the driver’s side. I take my place in the passenger’s seat. He gets stressed about traffic, so I let him focus on navigating out of this zoo. I’m still in a bit of a happy daze from that kiss. I wonder if he’s planned anything for our weekend.
“Oh, hey. You know how I attended church last week?”
He chuckles. “Where the homeless guy who scared you turned out to be a pastor?”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes at my needlessly broken toe. “It felt good to return to church. As if I’m a part of a bigger purpose. So I’m hoping to find a church here for when I transfer home. I was wondering if you might want to go with me this weekend.”
He’s silent for a moment, but that’s probably because he has to change lanes to get around this big bus in front of us. When he finally speaks again, it’s more of a growl. “Claire . . .”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, afraid his bite will be as bad as his bark. “Yeah?”
“You know why I quit going to church.”
“Oh.” His ex-girlfriend had left him for a youth pastor. That’s enough to make anyone want to avoid church. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Churches are full of hypocrites. I’m not going to get dressed up one day a week to go pretend I’ve got it all together in an effort to impress other people pretending they’ve got it all together.”
I ponder this perspective. Even if it’s a misperception, it’s based on his experience, so it’s not stupid.
It’s also not what I experienced last Sunday.
Pastor Liam talked about finding purpose in serving.
Since some people refer to flight attendants as glorified waitresses, serving is basically my new profession.
“I don’t want to pretend I’ve got it all together either.
I want to go somewhere that serves. Maybe a church for the homeless. ”
He smirks. “You going to google churches in the Tenderloin District?”
I hadn’t considered such an idea before, and with my fear of getting my retinas scratched, it should be the last place I want to go. But you know what? “Maybe.”
I pull out my phone and google. Does the Tenderloin even have churches? Talk about hypocrites—the area gets its name from the way criminals used to bribe police officers with tenderloin steaks. But if ever an area needed to be served . . .
“Come on, Claire. I’m joking.”
I relent. “We don’t have to go to church this weekend since I’m here to see you, but I do want to find a place to attend once I move back.
” I twist my lips in compassion. “I know you were hurt by a pastor, but not everyone is like that. I learned this the hard way, because I literally ran away from one who I thought was going to mug me.”
Wyatt gives me the side-eye. “How are you supposed to know the difference?”
I set my phone in my lap to search for answers out the window. Our world is a dangerous place, while at the same time, the people in it need to be loved. There are no simple solutions.
As Vivienne pointed out, we can’t ignore our instincts. But we also shouldn’t live out of fear. So how do we know where to draw the line?
Pastor Liam had said something about wanting to offer the homeless in his community a hand up rather than a handout. He’s loving with boundaries. “Maybe it’s the difference between inviting someone into the light rather than joining them in darkness.”
“And you think the light is at church?”
“No . . .” We both know bad stuff can happen at church too.
“I think maybe God is the light, and we have to draw close to Him to see the difference between our false judgments and our true discernments.” Yeah.
Perhaps if I’d taken time to pray when I was scared of Liam, God would have given me discernment to head into the 7-Eleven for a safe interaction, rather than panic and run the opposite direction.
“I’m new at this. I need all the help I can get, and I found help at church last week. ”
Clarifying my feelings this way brings a sense of peace. I need to write these things down. Maybe even start a journal for such unexpected insights.
Wyatt grunts noncommittally.
I turn from him to the search engine on my phone. “Will you give it a try once I move back?”
“I’m not going to the Tenderloin.”
The moment he says this, my search pulls up a couple listings for churches in the impoverished area. I’m relieved to find there are places of worship there, but would I dare visit them if Wyatt doesn’t join me? I’ve avoided the Tenderloin my whole life. “I might take an Uber just to try it.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “What’s gotten into you lately?”
I look up in surprise. I know my life has been different since I started this job, but for the first time, I’m not changing to conform so much as daring to be real.
“Nathan goes to church, doesn’t he?”
I blink, surprised that Wyatt knows this, and not catching his connection. “Yeah. He invited Angel during their first date, and she invited me.”
“Is he still dating Angel?”
Wyatt asks this as if he doesn’t think Nathan’s interested in my roommate, while I think she hurt him. He wasn’t himself when he dropped me off at my condo last Sunday, and it has to be because she doesn’t want a family.
“No. Turns out she’s not interested in marriage, while he is,” I explain, though I’m pretty sure I’d already told him this.
Wyatt pulls up to a stoplight, then faces me. “Tell me you’re not wanting to attend a homeless church to impress him.”
Laughter bursts from my lips, and I rush to keep Wyatt from thinking I’m laughing at him.
“Planning to attend church in a sketchy area of town is not about trying to win anyone’s approval.
It’s more about overcoming past fears and prejudice.
It’s finding meaning outside the limelight.
It’s the beauty of serving.” His assumption is ridiculous, but so was mine when I ran from the homeless pastor.
Rather than hurt Wyatt like I got hurt, I want to show him what he’s missing.
My words definitely speak to me. Emotion wells in my chest, and I’d love to be able to share it with my boyfriend.
“No, I’m not trying to impress Nathan. He just got me thinking. ”
The light turns green. Wyatt focuses back on the road. “Me too.”