Timothy was holding my hand. I think he was trying to give me support for the ordeal, but I was suddenly glued to the window, watching the ground as we sped along and then lifted up into the sky. It wasn’t that bad, not like floating in air or jumping off a bridge or something, because we were sitting in our comfy seats and nicely safety belted in, which made me feel kind of protected.
I was doing all right until I heard an even louder noise underneath us. I knew it couldn’t be cargo still being loaded since we were already up in the air. I glanced at Timothy, not wanting to show my panic, but really, really uncertain about how things were going.
“Are we okay?” I asked, biting my lip.
“They’re retracting the wheels, Penelope. Everything is normal.”
But then the wings started making noise like they were about to fall off. That was even more worrisome. Timothy told me that the wings were doing what they were supposed to be doing. He seemed extraordinarily calm about it.
That’s when it hit me that I was turning into what my grandmother used to call a Nervous Nelly. I should just close my eyes and ignore everything. It wasn’t like I could save the plane if something went wrong.
I suddenly wished that I could pray for our safety, but that ship had long ago sailed with my parents’ death and years later, my grandmother’s cancer, followed by her death. Any faith I’d ever had evaporated like puddled water when the sun comes out.
I suppose I could excuse my fear by repeating that it was my first time on a plane and the fact that there were so many alarming noises, but who would listen to such excuses? The other passengers looked relaxed. Timothy was calm. The guys behind us were chatting about things to see in San Diego. No worry there.