The Plane

The dimmed lights are not that dim. I tried to sleep, but whoever keeps farting near me is keeping me awake via olfactory goodness.

The plane is much smaller than I had imagined. Three seats on either side of a tiny aisle makes for one squishy ride. John, the oldest brother of the Canadian Gill clan, says the model is a 737, but I really don't care.

The wait for the boarding to begin seemed endless. After a tortorous one hour wait for the air link in Brantford, we waited several times more and finally boarded many hours later at 11:15pm. Seven hours of waiting to be exact. Loretta mentioned that we spend half of our lives waiting; waiting at stop signs, waiting in line, waiting to wait. Right now, I am waiting to land, waiting to reach the next page of my journal, waiting for Loretta to wake up, and waiting to wait for my job to start in three weeks, but let's try not to think about that.

Once I look past all the stress of the continuous wait, I realize I'm on a flight going to Barbados, so I concentrate on that. The tropicale locale is somehting I've done anything but experience, so it (the moment I step off the plane and see said locale) will be one I will surely treasure.

The kind black-haired man in the seat in front of me kindly moved his seat back further so I have about seven square inches of room to live and breathe for the next three hours. So very kind. However, I still do believe that a "ride" in an airplane is extremely exciting, which shows how very boring I may be. The little travel rum, the overly-multicultural stewartesses, the *bing* of some finicky person wanting another blanket for their upper-left thigh (as opposed to their lower-left thigh lol), the tiny, awkwardly placed windows that show me nothing but the wing, the captain (whose name eludes me.. lousy captain) who has the hottest caribbean accent I could have ever stormed up, the very bright light that beckons the people below to behold the chariot to the heavens that I may soar alongside; it all excites me.

The majority of the plane is fast asleep. I enjoy these moments where all others depend on me and the dream-sober incase anything should occur. "Listen, everyone! While you were all asleep, we, the strong and very helpful, learned how to save our lives. Too groggy to understand? Never fear! We shall assist you and be true international heroes!" It'll happen someday.

Loretta keeps twitching. She sits, draped under John's jacket, between him and I. Jeff, the father and only actual Bajan in our stunning brood, stares towards the front of the plane and yawns slightly and eventually rolls over in his seat and shuts his eyes to ignore the fact that he is terrified of his current position above Earth (35,000 feet above the Caribbean).

As I close my first entry, I realize I forgot my charity bracelets that I always wear to clubs. I also am reminded that I hate the smell of feet. Kitty, mom of the trip, smiles at me from the other side of the plane as the adorable flight attendant, that I am appropriately naming Frizz, asks me and every other person in the exact same phrasing, "Would you like a glass of water?"

Why yes. I would.

--Jam