World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

1.0

THE FLIGHT

“Tomlinson, Mr. Louis Tomlinson,”some girl repeats non-stop through the airport’s speakers as I rush to my boarding gate, “Last call to board the Oceanic Airlines flight number 2202 heading to Rio de Janeiro.”

I arrive at my destination and I handle my boarding pass to the lady at the counter, “Is this person going to delay our flight?”

“Tomlinson, Mr. Louis Tomlinson,” they keep repeating, “Oceanic Airlines flight number 2202 passenger, Mr. Louis Tomlinson.”

“Where is this dude?”

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Styles,” she says with the same excess of kindness every other member of an airline crew uses when they speak, “It’s all under control.”

“I hope so,” I put on my sunglasses, trying to hide my annoyance, “What’s my seat number again?”

“Just a second, Mr. Styles,” she talks to me as she stares at her screen, “I was just checking something and,” she keeps typing really fast, “Now it’s official.”

“What is?”

“There’s an upgrade available if you would like to transfer to executive class.”

“I’m not willing to spend any miles on this,” I answer with no emotion.

“You are a valuable costumer for us, Mr. Styles. No need to use your miles. The upgrade is on behalf of the airline. Would you be interested?”

“Sure.”

“Perfect,” she handles me the new boarding pass, “Seat 3C. Have a nice flight, Mr. Styles,” I don’t think I’ve ever heard my last name so many times.

I walk to board the plane and I feel the same stupid rush I feel every time I’m about to fly. It’s a mix of fear and emotion. I can’t actually explain it, it just happens to me. I trust planes but you know. I wish there were strings attached to it from the clouds or something, just to make it impossible for us to fall.

Exactly that, those are the thoughts that come to my mind whenever I’m about to board a plane and I hate them.

Once I’m inside, I find my spot and I can’t help but feel happy about the size of those seats. Looks like it’s going to be a great trip. I turn around to see if I can spot any babies or young children around but I don’t see any, which makes me happy. I hate flying with crying babies around me.

My mood suddenly changes when I check all the fanciness surrounding me and I can’t make up my mind. Will I sleep or will I watch one of these movies? Well, there are twelve hours of flight ahead of me so I’ll probably end up doing both.

Almost fifteen minutes had passed and I am still the last person who boarded the plane. I wonder what’s keeping us from taking off already.

A few minutes later, another passenger walks in. Blue eyes but really short. Twinky looking, which is kind of interesting but probably a queer. He has a backpack, a few bags from the duty free and a huge jacket. We are going to Rio de Janeiro, there’s no need to bring a coat, for God’s sake.

I hate tourists. Don’t people know you are supposed to fly looking as cool as possible? All you should have with you is a small carry on and sunglasses. Nothing else. Just like me.

The guy struggles to walk through the corridor without bumping someone’s head with his luggage. He is wearing the England squad jersey underneath his jeans jacket and luckily, he heads to the coach area so that means the seat next to me will be free. Finally, we are about to takeoff.