Knowing You're There

Chapter 2

When the rest of the pre-boarding group was lined up, we were allowed to move forward.  I heard Emmit hand the man our boarding passes and left my head down as I walked through the silent tunnel.  The plane’s engines hummed softly at the end.  Right before I stepped onto what I called the F-TOT (flying tube of torment), one of the female flight attendants said, “Watch your step, dear.” 

It was pointless to argue.  I smiled and let go of Star’s harness since the aisle wasn’t large enough for her to walk by my side.  With my arms out, I moved forward. 

“Do you want any help to you seat, Miss?” the flight attendant asked. 

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” I said. 

I followed the sound of Emmit’s sneakers as he took a seat on the left side of the F-TOT.  As usual, the spot by the window was mine.  Star followed behind and sat at my feet as I fiddled around with the seatbelt. 

More passengers started filing on.  I listened and chuckled as nearly every passenger asked the flight attendant, “Where is my seat?  I have no idea what this means.”  I mean, it only said online when they got the boarding pass that the plane had open seating, not to mention that the guy announced the same thing at the gate nearly three times.  I reached into my purse and pulled out my headphones, then dug for my phone.  Once I found the blinged-out case, I plugged the headphones in and held down the home screen button. 

“Play country playlist,” I said. 

It let out a low ping in response, and soon my ears were filled with the sweet sounds of acoustic guitars and southern drawls.  A good country song was the best solution for F-TOT anxiety.  I opened a bag of gummy bears as I listened.  At the end of the first song, there was a nasty smell of the snotty woman’s overly-flowered perfume as she clotted down the aisle.  It faded as she headed to the back of the tube. 

When the last round of people started to board, it appeared to be a normal flight.  The post-Thanksgiving, full flight where everyone put their bags on the seat next to them, thinking that maybe, somehow, the seat would stay open.  Mom and Dad would be taking a nice, quiet car ride back home to Williamsburg since they both had an abnormal fear of flying. 

I paused my song and shook my head as flight attendants tried to squeeze the last sardined passengers into middle seats and told mothers with young children who missed the special family boarding group that no; they would not be sitting next to their kids. 

I groaned and leaned my head back, long awaiting the day when I’d be famous enough to have my own private plane and never have to ride on an F-TOT again.  After four days away from my drum set in the basement, I was dying to get back and start playing.  The few days away from school cleared my head enough to finally think of some new song ideas. 

Then, just as I was starting to daydream, Emmit nudged me in the arm.  Were we actually leaving now?  I put my headphones down and listened to the flight attendants explain the same evacuation procedures.  Once they were done, I resumed the music and began my two-hour long array of daydreams. 

Since I was little and started drumming, that time was spent thinking about fame.  Now that I was approaching my late teens and still single, my fantasies revolved around what every one of my friends already had: guys.  And then there was me: lonely Lia.  Since it was hard not to eavesdrop on everyone else’s hallway conversations with my super-hearing, I knew how much drama relationships caused.  Somehow, my friends couldn’t shut up about how great it was. 

After all, there were benefits: having someone to hold hands and dance with, to go out and have a nice dinner.  I’d been wishing meet someone for years.  Since it was almost December, I still hoped that someone would come along who would be my date for the school’s biggest event of the year: February Ball.  To make it harder on everyone who was single, of course it was Valentine-themed: hearts and roses, things like that.