Chapter 18: Control Freak
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Max let his pen twirl around his fingers as he stared off into space. He yawned and sighed, readjusted in his seat, stretched, scratched, and shut his eyes.
The golden light that poured from the windows warmed his face and made him feel very groggy.
His eyes grew heavy and he tried to concentrate on the cloudy world that they flew over. On his tray table, the little cup of water formed a moat around its bottom and his uneaten food grew slowly colder by the minute. He knew it would probably be good to eat it, but his stomach stung and threatened to come up in his throat. Better not chance it, he thought.
Why flying bothered him so much escaped him. Back home he would climb and repel off mountains, bungee jump, and do all sorts of crazy things. He even jumped off a waterfall once, but flying always made him shutter. Max would rather suffer countless hours in the back of a small car on a hot summer day with no air conditioning than have to ride in a plane. Over the years his fear had eased some. He could at least get on a plane without passing out now, but at a younger age no one would have dared to suggest flying to him. His mother could not even get him in the car to go the airport. She had taken him on one flight where he hyperventilated until he passed out before the plane had even left the ground.
She never took him on another plane again.
When she would ask him if he wanted to fly instead of drive he would cry and shake until she promised they would drive. His mother got so worried about him that she took him to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist suggested that his fear was caused by a need for control, that all the other daring things he did made him feel somewhat more resolute, but flying did not.
As he entered high school, however, the fear of flying dissipated with his desire for acceptance. He knew kids would tease him and so he started training himself to fly. It had not been easy, but soon he could do it. Still, in the back of his mind a voice constantly whispered to him, telling him that he had reason to be afraid.
The plane quivered a little and Max dropped his pencil to grip the arms of his seat. Ryan nudged him in the ribs with his elbow and gave him a goofy grin. "You okay Max?"
Max let out his air slowly and readjusted his cowboy hat. "I will be when we land on solid ground."
"We'll be home in about ten minutes," Ryan said. "Don't sweat it. After today the next time you have to fly will be in the X-Jet."
"Yeah, that's a whole lot safer." Max looked down at his steak and his stomach growled.
For the first time he realized his hunger.
Maybe just a little won't hurt, he thought.
But just as he brought his fork to his mouth the stewardess' voice echoed through the room telling them to put their try tables back in their upright and locked positions. Max dumped his steak in the trash can sadly and put his tray table back up and prepared for the frightening decent.