Just as Timothy was about to respond, the pilot announced that we were approaching our destination. “Welcome to San Diego. We are right on schedule, despite that little bit of turbulence. We will be setting down at the local time of 5:15 pm. The weather in San Diego is a pleasant 73 degrees, so if you speed through baggage claim, you may be able to catch one of our lovely ocean sunsets.
“The seat belt sign has been turned on. We ask that you return to your seats, fasten your safety belt, and place your seat in the upright position. Please remain seated until the all clear is announced. Your safety is our first priority,” he chanted with a smoothness that told me he gave this same rehearsed speech daily.
I hope safety is your first priority, I thought, remembering how landings were the most dangerous part of airflight. Why would anyone take off their safety belt, anyway? It wasn’t like we could do somersaults in the aisles. I scoffed at the pilot’s message, but then I saw people refastening their safety belts. Amazing.
Through the window, I could see the ocean and patches of houses and roads. We were flying over a major freeway. The buildings got taller, then we passed those by and were suddenly over the runway. My stomach churned. The wings flapped. A stewardess came over the loudspeaker, reminding us to remain seated. Dull noises were rumbling from beneath us.
“The wheels are dropping.” Timothy said.
That was a good thing. Without wheels, we wouldn’t do well. I knew that.
I felt it the moment we touched down. It wasn’t smooth, but the fact that we’d made a touchdown was a big relief, because it meant we were back on land. The plane was still coasting along, probably moving faster than a car on a freeway, but I could feel the plane braking.
“We made it!” I said, which made Timothy chortle.