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sleep. I close my eyes and lean my head back on the headrest. Crush squeezes my hand gently and I squeeze back, but I keep my eyes shut. He squeezes my hand again and my eyelids flash open.
‘What?’
‘Thank you for saving me, too.’
A rush of euphoria sweeps through me as I realize this is what it’s like to be normal. Going outside and doing stuff like catching a flight with your boyfriend to L.A. so he can record a demo for a hot record producer. Is that normal? Now that I think of it, it does not sound normal. And I can’t even ask myself if it feels normal because I’m not sure I know what normal feels like. Well, if this isn’t normal, then I don’t want to know what is.
Suddenly, I’m pushed back into my seat by a powerful unseen force as the plane speeds down the runway. I close my eyes, thinking it has to end soon. Please let it end soon. And it does. I get a strange whooping sensation in my belly and I open my eyes to see the airport and the rest of Boston falling away like a jagged, gray dream.
After a couple of minutes of steady climb in altitude, the plane begins to bank to the right and I quickly look away from the window, as the movement is making me want to vomit.
‘Are you okay?’
Before I can answer Crush’s question, two loud banging noises, almost like gunshots, come from somewhere near the left wing. The aircraft dips sharply and the collective gasp of more than one hundred passengers is almost as unsettling.
‘What was that?’ I shriek as the plane begins to climb altitude again.
‘It’s fine.’ Crush’s thumb rubs the top of my hand as he attempts to reassure me. ‘Takeoff is always a little rough.’
‘Just a little turbulence, folks.’ The flight attendant sounds bored as she makes her announcement. ‘Nothing to be alarmed about, but please do remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the pilot has turned off the seatbelt sign.’
How can anyone endure this level of anxiety on a daily basis?
The plane begins to bank to the right again, steeper this time. I turn to Crush to see his reaction, but he’s staring out the window with a worried look on his face.
I squeeze his hand to get his attention. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know. It looks like we’re heading back to the airport.’
But the steepness of the turn is interrupted by another loud bang, then stillness. I’m no expert in airline safety or aerodynamics, but it sounds as if the engine has stalled. Then the lights go out.
The eerie gray light of the storm clouds that pierces through the oval windows is not enough. Panic sets in throughout the cabin and this time the pilot attempts to ease our anxiety.
‘We’re experiencing some electrical trouble, which has caused an engine stall. We’re pulling back for an emergency landing. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened.’
Just when I’m beginning to think everything is fine, they’re getting us off this rickshaw, I begin to feel lightheaded. Then the engine that seemed to stall earlier is suddenly screaming back to life as the pilot attempts to get the plane horizontal.
Crush turns to me and says something I can barely hear. ‘I didn’t hear the landing gear deploy. Did you?’
I don’t even know what it’s supposed to sound like when the landing gear is deployed. Or maybe I’m just feeling too sick to think right now. The deafening whine of the engine combined with the turbulence is making my insides crawl. Then my ears pop and everything sounds even louder.
The lights flicker again and the cabin temperature begins to plummet as a majority of the overhead bins open, their contents tumbling into the aisle. Something is wrong, but, suddenly, everything feels right. We’re going to die and I’m . . . euphoric.
The moment you realize you’re going to die is nothing like I imagined it would be. I imagined a deep internal struggle coupled with a visceral, physical response – fight or flight. But there’s no fighting this. I’m going to die.
It’s possible that everyone on this plane is going to die. I wonder if they feel this overwhelming sense of peace, or if the squeal of the plane engine has drowned out all their thoughts.
He grabs the oxygen mask as it drops from the compartment and he’s yelling something as he puts the elastic band over my head. He pulls his own mask over his head then he grabs my hand and looks me in the eye. There’s no panic in his eyes. Maybe he feels this same calm I’m feeling. Or maybe he just wants me to know that he loves me.
He loves me.
Or maybe the look in his eyes is his way of telling me he trusts that whatever happens to us in the next few seconds is just one of those things that was meant to be.
Fate.
I used to think fate was for religious nuts and people who were too afraid to take their fate into their own hands. Now I know the truth.
Fate is death. No one escapes it. But if you stick around long enough, you might find someone to help you cheat fate for a while. And when you can’t cheat anymore, and fate finally catches up to you, maybe it won’t seem so scary with that someone by your side.
The voice that comes over the speaker is largely drowned out by the noise in the plane, but I recognize it as the pilot. ‘Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain . . . your oxygen masks tightly secured. The landing gear . . . Repeat: . . . without full deployment of the landing gear. We will attempt to circle . . . dump fuel then . . . come in on our belly. Emergency crews are standing by.’
A flash of white light engulfs the forward cabin as something explodes in the center of the floor, right next to the bulkhead. A large silver cylinder shoots up, hits the ceiling of the plane and drops back down through the new hole in the floor. The bulkhead wall on the other side of the aisle has splintered and is coming down on top of the two passengers in the first row.
All I hear is screaming. All I feel is freezing-cold air rushing into the cabin through the gaping hole in the floor. And Crush’s hand. I feel Crush’s hand gripping mine. And it’s as if all my senses return to me at once. I don’t want to die on this plane.
Then, the impact.
The force of the belly landing jolts me upward and my mask slides off as my head hits the bottom of the compartment above me. I hear a brief flash of screeching metal on asphalt as the plane skids down the runway on its belly before I lose consciousness.
My brain claws its way back to reality and I can hear the screaming wail of sirens approaching – and the panic. Passengers are fighting to get off the plane as quickly as possible. The stench of burned metal and some sort of chemical is toxic in the air.
The male flight attendant is looking down at me. ‘Ma’am? Can you hear me?’
I can taste blood in my mouth.
‘Your head is bleeding.’ I don’t know who said this.
Instinctively, I look to my left and I can’t breathe. My vision blurs . . . there’s blood trickling from Crush’s head onto the curved ledge of the window. His head. His beautiful head that holds all the most gorgeous words I’ve ever heard.
I scream words that even I can’t understand as I attempt to tear off my seatbelt, but this simple movement makes the entire plane sway beneath me. I clutch desperately to the armrests to stop the motion, but I can feel my consciousness slipping away, pulsing at the edges of my vision, until the blackness closes in on me.
Voices . . . There are so many voices . . . There’s blood all over my right hand . . . ‘Wake up!’ . . . ‘Ma’am, stop shaking him!’ . . . ‘Crush! Look at me!’
The hands are everywhere . . . grabbing me, pinching my arms, holding my waist, yanking me away . . . I’m floating across the seat and into the aisle, vision pulsing with the beat of my heart . . . bodies press against me, pushing me toward the back of the plane . . . I can’t see through the blood and tears.
All I know is that Crush is gone and the darkness is edging toward me again. This is what it must feel like to die.
The bumpy movement startles me awake and I’m certain I’m going to open my eyes and find I’m
still on that plane and we haven’t taken off yet. But I’m not. I’m in the back of some sort of emergency vehicle. I try to turn my head to get a better look at the medic on my left, but my head and chin are strapped to two cushioned blocks positioned on either side of my head.
‘What’s going on?’ My hands struggle against the restraints that cross my chest and abdomen. ‘I’m not the one who’s hurt.’
The medic leans forward into my field of vision so I can see his face. He has kind eyes that seem to be filled with genuine concern, but his words don’t match his eyes.
‘Ma’am, a couple of the passengers said you hit your head upon landing and that may be why you were upset. We’re trying to minimize any possible injury to your head and neck. The restraints will be removed as soon as we’ve verified there is no cervical or cerebral damage.’
‘Cerebral damage? You mean, brain damage?’
‘Ma’am, please calm down.’
‘Calm down! I was just in a fucking plane crash!’
The kindness in his eyes disappears and he sits up straight so I can’t see his face. I can feel him moving on my left, but I can’t see what he’s doing.
He leans forward again and this time I can see the corner of a clipboard in his lap. ‘Ma’am, I need you to answer a few questions. Can you please state your full name?’
Crush’s bloody head flashes in my mind and the tears rush forth, a guttural sob building inside my belly, mangling my insides, until it stops at my throat, choking me.
‘Are you in pain?’ he asks.
I can’t breathe, I want to say, but the words are stuck somewhere between my lips and my broken heart.
*****
The medic lets me grieve in peace for the rest of the ride to the hospital. But as soon as he wheels me through the sliding doors of the emergency room at Mass General, it becomes clear that the hospital staff is not going to let me off so easy. A nurse with ash-blonde curls wheels me into a trauma bay then hovers over me firing off questions. I just keep hoping that the faster I answer, the faster I’ll get to see Crush.
‘On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being the worst pain you could imagine, how severe is the pain in your head?’
