Crash Positions
The men and women sitting near to him were strangely quiet, almost peaceful somehow. Rapidly dropping altitude altered the cabin pressure and oxygen masks clumped and swung from compartments overhead. He reached up and stretched the strap around the back of his neck. A woman in the adjoining row fainted and her elderly husband affixed her mask with shaky hands. The hills did not seem nearer yet. The cabin commenced to incline forward at a slight but perceptible degree. He wondered what led him an hour before to intone in a mock bass “That is the plane on which I shall die.” The girl he was leaving there looked at him aghast. He was just kidding, ridiculing fears of flying, half kidding. She did not find it amusing, left him at the gate with a smile, a kiss, and a caution.
They were over a beautiful lake shaped like a swimming Nautilus, its tendrils penetrated deep into the countryside. Sand and mist blanketed the soon-to-be resting place of the craft and themselves. Sand covered heads of hills turned to snow-capped mountain peaks pierced with basins of shining lakes and streams webbed with dust roadways. Which way would he prefer to go, he wondered. A mountain expedition finding torn wings and shining spikes of safety glass or a brilliant lake finish: skipping across the water like a rock thrown. “The wreckage was scattered for miles.” Sitting next to a convenient exit window for extra legroom he examined laboriously the pictorial instructions to open the hatch. Two representations were available: one in the “FOR YOUR SAFETY” manual in the seatback before him, one on the hatch itself. Apparently all there was to be done was to pull a latch and remove the window. Simplicity itself. He undid his seat buckle, then thought better of it. The incline was less comfortable. Little sense in risking a bump on the head and missing the whole show. He brushed the blue seatback before him and rose to use the facilities. It was a bit of a climb. He needed to vault between through each pair of seats. The bathroom was empty and he locked the door. The light came on and he leaned against the wall to keep his balance. He returned to his seat carefully, edging row by row. Most of his traveling companions were assuming crash positions. Their heads were between their knees, backs braced against the seats in front of them, trembling somewhat melodramatically. Looking out his own window he saw they had passed through the strands of cirrus clouds and were skimming cheerfully thick cumulus puffs. Contrary to expectations, with the ground obscured he felt some comfort. We’ll deal with that later, he thought. He wished vaguely with a smirk that he had finished the cookie dough ice cream with her the night before. Ah. Clearing the bank of clouds the ground was closer, like the hour-hand on a clock you can’t see moving but has moved when you look away and back. A premonition of alarm winged overhead, etching its shadow on the landscape.
They passed over plains now, and the clouds below them left sharp shadows on the ground. He envisioned the shadow of the plane growing larger and larger, or rather smaller and sharper as it neared the earth. His ears itched from the pressure changes but he decided to enjoy it. He checked his watch; it was a quarter to twelve. Their motion felt less intentionally propelled, more like floating or coasting, many of the hummings and whirrings had stopped. The predominant sound was wind.
Feeling a trifle informal he unbuttoned his oxford blue and unhooked his pocket watch from a belt loop. He wrapped the watch in the shirt and stuffed it into the back of the vacant seat to his left. Then he removed his wallet and found all the photo identifications: his driving license, an outdated Student ID card, photographs with names on the back, his father’s business card, a library card, credit cards, blood donor card and video membership cards. He divided them up and placed a pile into each of the pockets in his pants and shirt. He wrapped his passport in with the pocket watch, adding the $85 left in the wallet. He glanced casually at the pictures then put one in each of the seat backs before him, thankful to have the aisle to himself, and replaced the wallet.
He released the phone attached to the seatback in front of him and turned it on. It beeped at him and he swiped his credit card. He dialed his parents and waited. During subsequent rings remembered they were leaving town for the weekend. He was supposed to meet them in three days for fishing. They may have brought their cellular with them.
“Hi guys, it’s me, I’m going down somewhere in California, sure you’ll hear about it. I’m going to try you on the cell phone and if you’re not there I’ll try my sister but you know she’s never in. If I don’t catch her, tell her I don’t think this plane is taking me to Kilimanjaro. And say to Laura, “Tell Laura I love her.” I mean, we’re just good friends but she’ll get the joke. Ummm...I’ll try the car phone. Love you both, love you all, bye.”
He tried the car phone but it wasn’t hooked up or they may have been outside the calling area.
At his sister’s the machine picked up, “I just talked to Mom and Dad’s machine. Sorry I’m not going to get to visit but I’ve been unforeseeably detained. I love ya, good luck in school, don’t become a housewife, you can have all my money and that ring Aunt Marjorie gave me and all that. I have some stuff on the computer at home; maybe you could print it up and try to get it published, that would be nice. It’s the way it usually goes, no? I put my pocket watch in the seat in front of me and to the left. I’m in row 15.”
He paused
“I don’t know how much more time I have on this phone so let me say that I love you all and I’m a donor and I’d rather be buried than cremated if there turns out to be a choice. In Mount Hope if there is room.”
>you have fifteen seconds remaining for this message<
“Your damn machine just told me I only have fifteen seconds so I gotta go. I’ll maybe try Grandma and Grandpa in Massachusetts-”
>the message is ended, please hang up now<
He dialed his grandparents, no answer, no machine. He tried a friend.
“Hello?”
This was a mistake, “Hey, it’s me.”
“Hi how’s it going, are you calling from a car?”
“No, I’m in an airplane. It’s going down. Nobody was home so I left a message at my parents’. I felt like I should probably call somebody.”
“Wow. What flight are you on?”
“American, 702, out of Seattle.”
“Do they know for sure it’s going down?”
“Looks that way.”
“Can’t you land in a field or something?”
“Guess we’ll find out. I really don’t know the problem, they say it’s electrical, and the landing gear is stuck most of the way up but we’re getting closer to the ground. I don’t know how long until they realize the phones are still working either, just thought I should call someone I know and say hello. Goodbye, rather.”
“Well, thanks for calling me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I’ll call the airline and see if there’s anything they can do about it.”
“Thanks for the thought, maybe try a big trampoline.”
“Sure. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Well, bye.”
He turned off the phone and returned it to its cradle. He looked out the window for a minute, then brought out a book and read.