The pillowing beige cushion of her first class seat cradles her body on her six hour flight back to LAX from New York. Her ballet flat flops off of her heel as she mindlessly wiggles her foot. She feels a gust of air stream down from the ceiling onto her bare skin, exposed by the slippery cashmere sweater falling off of one shoulder. The flight attendant sets a tightly-wrapped ham sandwich and a black, ceramic mug down on the tray in front of her, next to an unopened script. A steady stream of heat shoots up from the center of the dark liquid in a white, smoky line, missed by Sandra, who is staring out the window at the small specks on the ground below. She watches brightly colored hues of red, orange, and yellow as they pass over the heartland of the country. Autumn is in full bloom.
The flight attendant asks if there's anything else she can get for her, waiting expectantly for dismissal. "Miss?" she repeats after several minutes of silence.
She's wandering through her thoughts as she replays the trip: from the brusque way Nathan responded to the sprinkling of fans that would pop up wherever they went, to her most recent interview with David Letterman, who pronounced her name correctly for the first time since her initial appearance a couple years ago. Her face is blank, frozen in a neutral position. Leaving each other on location has been the most painful part of her, now, four-year relationship with Nathan. She never considered herself the "marrying kind", but she'd grown accustomed to his companionship over the years. She is used to his presence and misses him when he is gone. However, the best way to describe her current emotional state is numb. Nonchalant. Hollow.
"Miss? Is there anything else you need?"
The voice is garbled in her ears, but this time she does hear something. She subtly shakes her head, bangs jiggling over her freshly waxed brows. She automatically apologizes before she even understood what the woman had asked. She's never flown first class before. This is part of her new life experience with Speed continuing to amaze and delight audiences everywhere. She isn't used to the attentiveness of a first class flight attendant.
"I'm sorry. No, I'm fine. Thank you," she mumbles, reaching for her wallet.
The flight attendant holds up her hand with a polite smile. "It's complimentary here, miss. No payment necessary."
I will never get used to this, she thinks, putting her wallet away and returning to the window.
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Relieved to be on the ground, she slings her carry-on bag over her shoulder and makes her way down the long, metallic hallway toward baggage claim. She turns the corner and is blinded with flashes and voices shouting her name.
"Miss Bullock, where are you traveling from?"
"Sandra! Who are you with? Is Nathan with you today?"
"Sandra Bullock! Over here, please! Is it true you're having an affair with Bill Pullman?"
"What?!?" She breathes. "No! Of course not."
Her words ignite an explosion of more questions as strangers encircle her, closing in. Her heart catches in her throat as she frantically searches her bag for a pair of dark glasses that she quickly presses against the bridge of her nose. Shielding her face, she mutters a few weak "excuse mes", threading her way through the oppressive bodies surrounding her. Angry tears well in her eyes, but she fights to keep them behind the dark glass, more forcefully making her way to grab her luggage off the carousel and escape to the streets outside. The mob follows her like a river of lava, its heat leaving her sticky and breathless.
She hails the first cab she sees and dives in, not bothering to hand her luggage over to the driver, but instead pitching it onto the seat with her. She winces with each pounding fist on her window. The kindly, middle-aged man behind the wheel says nothing, weaving them away from the curb, away from the crowd, and away from the panic that was needling into Sandra's chest. He waited until her breathing rhythm stabilized before uttering his first words to her.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning
Fanfiction"Come here," his voice is gentle again. She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
