By Jay Scott Kanes
DESPITE squirming constantly, Peter couldn’t find comfort. Fifteen hours in an airplane seat, even a cushioned one, for his journey from Toronto to Hong Kong resembled an eternity.
A glance at the window showed blue sky above fluffy clouds. Wearily, Peter wondered when the ordeal would end. On cue, his seatback video-screen showed an answer. Time to Destination: 2 hours, 44 minutes.
All this to visit a few business suppliers, Frank thought. Forty-three years old and with receding blonde hair, he considered himself a go-getter, nearly a workaholic. Jamming an index finger into the loop of his necktie, he again loosened its knot. Then he leaned forward, using both hands to massage his aching calves. His buttocks felt numb, his legs stiff and his mind dull.
The people up front in first-class enjoyed vastly more space for their elbows and knees, Peter knew. They rode in cushy seats, the lucky bastards!
An elderly Cantonese man beside Frank slurped at soup noodles. In the aisle seat, a teenager stared at a video-game, evidently mahjong.
Suddenly, the plane lurched. The old man’s cup of noodles bounced onto Peter’s lap. “What the blazes?” Peter yelled, staring at his stained trousers.
“This is the co-captain speaking,” said a male voice on the intercom. “We’ve encountered turbulence. Please stay in your seats. Fasten your seatbelts.”
The broadcast from the cockpit lasted a few seconds longer. “God damn!” whispered another man. Was that the captain?
“What’s going on?” bellowed a bulky brunette wedged into a seat in front of Peter. The overweight woman rose as if to barge forward, bang on the cockpit door and demand answers. But the plane tilted and she tipped head-first into the aisle, flopping like a fish out of water.
Oxygen masks descended from the ceiling. Seeing his fellow passengers reach for them, Peter did likewise.
For a few seconds, the plane righted itself. Then its nose dipped, and the sensation of falling fast couldn’t be denied.
People screamed and cursed, but Peter heard only his own thoughts: We’re going down. We’ll die. Why this plane? Why today? Why me?
The aircraft plunged through clouds and emerged. Peter’s seatbelt held him in place. The fallen brunette lost her grip on a seat-leg and slid forward, headed toward the cockpit after all.
Peter prayed for his wife and baby daughter back home in Niagara Falls. He hoped they’d have good lives.
Then a catastrophic impact halted the descent. Water splashed against the windows and submerged them.
PETER’S eyelids flipped open. He didn’t remember losing consciousness or falling asleep, but he must have.
What a terrible dream, he thought. Sitting up, he expected to see the old man eating noodles and the teenager playing video mahjong.
Where was everyone? And where’d the plane go? On all sides, he saw nothing but white fluff, like a silent, snowy landscape. Bits of it floated nearby. He slapped himself on the noggin. Why couldn’t he jolt himself back to reality?
Suddenly, he sensed his whereabouts. “Good grief!” He crawled to a gap in the fluff. The stuff wasn’t cold and seemed to lack proper substance. Exactly like a cloud!
Peering through the opening, Peter looked down, seeing choppy water and only the jetliner’s tilted tail poking above the ocean. Wow! The plane really did plunge out of the sky into the Pacific soup. And there he was, floating on a cloud high above the carnage.
Curiously, Peter gawked left, then right. Maybe the other passengers had perched on nearby clouds. If so, he didn’t see them.
Careful not to fall through the gap, Peter flipped onto his back and stretched. The spacious fluff cushioned him, like a mattress softer than any on earth. Pleased, he bounced a few times as if testing a new bed in a furniture store.
“Fantastic.” He sat up. All his aches, discomforts and stresses had vanished.
“Now I’m riding in a soft seat,” he whispered.
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