A soft and constant humming sound calms me down. The lights in the airplane dim from orange-yellow to light blue, and eventually to darkness. Only the “no smoking” and “fasten seatbelt” signs are still glowing like little rows of stars. I’m sitting in the aisle seat, so I have no idea what’s happening outside the plane. I’m hanging somewhere in the air above the Netherlands on a Tuesday evening. While people are relaxed with their feet up and watching television, I’m floating past above them like a bird. A big metal bird with wings that never flap. And yet I manage to stay all the way up here. Softly gliding towards my destination.
Because of my mild nerves, I’ve already eaten so many salty licorice candies that my tongue feels like it’s slightly on fire. I wonder when the lights will come back on so I can start reading the book that I brought. My last book was quite intense; it was about young gay men who did little more than use drugs every day and have sex with each other. A sad existence, especially since it was set during the AIDS crisis of the 1980s. Was I ever one of those boys? I’ve been reckless, that’s for sure. But I’ve never danced on the edge of a ravine. I once almost fell out of a third-floor window, but fortunately my body decided instead to collapse next to the radiator. An unlit cigarette still perfectly balanced between my fingers.
The lights in the airplane come back on like a lit cigarette. Everyone looks slightly surprised. Maybe a few passengers had already fallen asleep. The arrival of a small snack trolley is announced in broken English, after which a flight attendant makes certain passengers pay. Did I miss something? I immediately grow curious about what exactly they paid for. An in-flight magazine eau de parfum purchase? A special vegan option for a hot meal? I’m not sure if I’ll find out, but I sure hope that I do. The trolley passes by, and at the last minute I decide not to take a small can of cola after all. I’ll probably regret that in an hour. And I saw a video one day about things you should not drink on a plane. But was it a coke or coffee? I think it was actually the latter.
What I first thought was a pattern in the floor turns out to be just debris. The floor is scattered with crumbs and dirt. I can’t even tell whether they’re food remnants or something else, perhaps it’s time to put on my glasses again. Those thirties are rushing by faster than my twenties did. As I lean over my armrest to inspect the floor, a flight attendant nudges me back into my seat so he can pass. It happened so smoothly that it makes me chuckle. He hands a small bag of food to a passenger who has paid for it in advance. So it is a special meal after all. I’m a detective solving a mystery up here, high in the air. I’m quite proud of myself for paying attention long enough to figure it out. It wasn’t that hard, I just like to give myself some credit.
I try to keep myself occupied while my backside slowly begins to ache in these cheap seats. A pair of glasses is not going to solve this problem. I can’t complain, though — I’m flying. And not everyone can just fly whenever they want. The thought of it still freaks me out, being all the way up here with all these strangers. We are just humans all traveling somewhere. To see friends or to just be completely alone. This plane is just a means to an end. I just hope it’s not my end.
Martijn Winkel 