I boarded flight 815 to LAX wearing a pair of medium brown Bermuda shorts, a camisole under a short kurti top and a pair of flat gladiator sandals. Although I checked my bag my carry-on, a large leather hobo bag, was stuffed with books, my ipod, a self-filtering water bottle (brought through security empty and filled up near the terminal), tons of granola bars and snacks to eat before clearing customs, my essential travel bag of toiletries and of course my trusty travel socks that always keep my feet warm in the cold recycled air of the jet. My hair was pulled into a braid; my skin was free of makeup (I was saving that for an airport bathroom when we landed) and I opted not to wear jewelry to streamline going through security. I had a middle seat, which didn't bother me much; I'm the size of your average tween-ager, so squeezing between two armrests has never been much of a problem. I had the vegetarian option of the in-flight meal, a kind of curry dish and fruit salad which wasn't terrible, but opted out of having a complementary cocktail.
As I pulled my yellow oxygen mask on it occurred to me I should have had the cocktail.
The next thing I remember was a deep ache all over, a pounding in my ears and what felt like the sun beating down on me. I cracked open my eyes and immediately regretted it. The warmth was the sun and its light was not doing my head any favors. I flung my hand over my eyes and eased myself into a seated position. With my hand as a sunshade the view in front of me was even more surreal. Pieces of the Boeing 777 littered the beach like confetti, people and luggage scattered everywhere. It seemed everyone had blood on them somewhere and I feared as much for the woman being administered CPR to as the young woman screaming her head off in front of a wing.
I took a moment to do a mental inventory of my body. While everything hurt, nothing was particularly worse than anything else and I slowly managed to stand. Laying about 15 feet away was my carry-on and after securing it across my body I somehow felt reassured enough to make my way to the pretty blonde girl who by the sound of it had started to go hoarse.
"Hey you!" I tried making myself heard over the intermittent engine roar. "Come with me- we've got to get away from this." I pulled her arm towards the trees.
Her legs started to buckle. "Boone! Boone where are you?"
I ducked under her arm in an attempt to support her. "We'll find Boone, just come up here and sit okay?" Staggering we made our way to the tree line and I let her collapse in a near heap. She had gone silent for a moment but when a man was sucked into the engine she let out a loud scream and started to sob. "Don't worry- I'll go find Boone and bring him back to you. Just stay here and I'll be back."
She nodded quickly and took a deep uneven breath in through her nose. "He's got dark brown hair, blue eyes, medium height. He's wearing a blue shirt and those stupid pinstriped pants" she broke into fresh cries.
I patted her shoulder awkwardly and hurried down to the shoreline, eyes peeled for pinstripes. "Boone?" I yelled experimentally. It suddenly hit me I had no idea what the girls name was. "Boone?" I tried again louder, trying to project like my high school drama teacher had taught me. I spotted a brunet head of hair wearing a blue shirt over a chunk of wing and squeezed an extra ounce of energy to jog over to it. "Are you Boone?"
He turned and I was momentarily disarmed by his intense blue eyes. "Do I know you?"
God I hope she's his sister. I surprised myself with the thought. "Your um- there's a girl, asking for you," I suddenly felt shy, "Tall, blonde hair-"
"Shannon!" He looked relieved. "You found my sister? Where is she?" His eyes danced along the scenery behind me.
I turned to look back towards the girl-Shannon. She was sitting with her arms around her knees, staring blankly into the horizon. "She's up by the trees," I pointed, "see there between those two trees? Right behind that broken beam."
His eyes lit up and he raced towards her. "Shannon! I'm coming! Hey thanks!" He yelled over his shoulder.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. "You're welcome!"
An anguished cry made me whip my head around too fast, causing the beach to spin for a moment. A very pregnant blonde girl about my size without the belly was curled into a fetal position on the beach 30 feet from where part of the plane had fallen and created another explosion. She let out another shriek and I stumbled my way to her. "Are you hurt?" I clasped a hand over each wrist and attempted to get her to look me in the eye.
"Ohhhhh…" She moaned and tucked her head to her chest. "I think the baby's coming" she whimpered, eyes tightly shut.
"What's your name?" I gently pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to determine how deep the cut on her chin was.
She put her elbows under her and pushed into a seated position. "Claire, who are you?"
"I'm Emma." I stood and offered her a hand. "Let's get up where it's safer okay?"
