**WATTYS 2022 WINNER** Seventeen-year-old Evelyn Werth is on an endless flight from hell. She's the only person onboard Aloha Airways Flight 1333 who's caught in a 28-minute time loop.
During each cycle, four things happen:
1. The Internet goes out...
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Loop 287
I'm seated in 25D beside my therapist. Okay, officially, she's not my therapist. But unofficially, she kind of is.
The plane continues to bounce as Dr. Sheryl Blick listens to me. She steadies her black-rimmed glasses against her nose while her eyebrows creep up her forehead.
"I spent my whole life trying to get my father's approval, but then he died before I could ever get it." My voice grows soft. "I wanted him to see me – to really see me, you know? I wanted him to be proud of me."
It took me many failed attempts to figure out how to start these sessions. Then I learned of a client of hers who moved to Florida and continued meeting over the phone for years. So I pretend to be her, some girl named Chrissy. It's entirely unethical but it's my fastest way in, which is critical since these free therapy sessions are only four minutes long on a good loop.
Sometimes Dr. Sheryl isn't open to chatting, even if I start with the exact words that worked other times. It's a strange alchemy I'll never understand. Some combo of precise timing, the sincerity of my facial expressions, the warmth in my tone. And something else, something untenable. If these loops have taught me anything, it's that the smallest of moments can spin life in countless directions.
But this time, Dr. Sheryl is game to play.
"That's certainly hard, Chrissy." Her brows crease. "I'm so sorry to hear that he passed."
I swallow, thinking of the red backpack under my seat. Then I remember the last conversation I had with my father, and regret stings my eyes.
"Unfortunately, sometimes people aren't always able to give us what we need from them. No matter how much we want them to." Dr. Sheryl says, tilting her head. "We have to find that assurance inside ourselves."
I'm still as her words hang in the chilled air, the white noise swirling around us.
These are the moments I love. When Dr. Sheryl drops a truth bomb. Something I can think about for loops to come.
I've always shied away from therapy, even when my mom suggested it. There was something so intimidating about letting a stranger into the darkest crevices of my life. But when that person won't remember a single thing I tell them, it makes the whole process a lot more appealing.
We're almost out of the turbulence and then Dr. Sheryl will want to resume her Sudoku puzzle, so I press on. "What do I do now?" My question comes out as a whisper. "What do I do with all the leftover regret? All the resentment?"
Dr. Sheryl smiles softly. "You do what we all must do. Feel it, experience it. Make it yours. Wear it like a shawl. And then when you're ready – and you'll know when you're ready – let it go. Hold onto the good, and let yourself move on from the rest."
