Five minutes in the air, and she knew, just knew, that this time it would crash. It hadn't felt like this before. The wings had never been this close to perpendicular to the ground. And when it revved, the engine had a burr in it. An irregular burr. Usually the burr was a purr, soft and smooth, soothing. But this was a stutter. Quiet, but then, she was sitting in an engine and wing seat. She felt her back stiffen and her thighs clench voluntarily. Her hands went tighter. She could veritably feel the shudder of the arm of the hard-cushioned chair, and watched as the fog blew past her window, thinking, Wow, but the water's choppy today. Her head lifted from its stiff, tilted position. But the water was choppy. Choppy. Therefore, it's windy, and her mind worked furiously. Though she didn't want to, she knew it was inevitable that her mind would come up with the worst-case scenario. There shouldn't be fog if it's windy.
It wasn't fog.
She didn't want to think about it. Turning back to face the cabin, she noticed the hazy scent that wafted faintly around her from near the pilot's cabin. Must be serving some sort of smoked meat. But then why would she smell it? Oh, well. She closed her eyes to soothe them. They seemed to be getting dry. I'm probably on my period again. Her eyes tended to dry when she was at that time of the month, so she tried to breathe evenly to calm what was sure to be her nauseated stomach.
She nearly shrieked when the turbulence started, but clamped her mouth tight, snapping the window shut, and satisfied herself with constricting all of the muscles in her body, including the ones in her face and in places she didn't know she had muscles. God, God, God, God I hate turbulence when it's turning. Her passionate thoughts must have been heard by the very gods, because the turmoil stopped almost immediately, as did the turning.
She settled back into her seat, trying to stay in one place. But as she tried not to think about all the unrest in her mind, she settled her thoughts on the fact that the seat was suddenly slippery. Tilted, her mind told her. She lunged for the window shade, shoving it up and catching her balance. Horrified at what she saw, she slid back into her seat and nudged the man next to her, who was immersed in a book.
"Um, sir, excuse me, but, um . . ."
As the young man looked up, she pointed out the widow, looking at him and feeling her heart sink as she watched his expression change from polite disinterest to sheer horror as he murmured, "Oh, my God."
They both looked up as one of the flight attendants struggled to run down the aisle in her stiletto heels, fear blatant in her eyes. She caught her younger flight mate coming up the aisle, muttered something in her ear, and didn't apparently give the other woman time to digest the new information, because she stumbled as she turned around to follow. They were now all but racing to the pilot's cabin, making sure their plastic-surgery smiles were glued prominently on their faces.
"Oh, oh, oh, I knew it. God, but I knew it. I . . . just knew, and I should have said something. But I didn't, on no, not now, no, no, God, please--"
She only realized she had been sobbing into her hands when the guy sitting next to her shook her shoulders. "This is why they do that little talk at the beginning of the flight." His voice was kind, but firm, and she caught anxiety revealing its ugly tremors.
She shuddered, and couldn't seem to stop shaking. Looking at her hands, she thought, Those aren't mine. I can't feel my hands moving, let alone spasming. She was numb with terror.