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Turbulence, CDG, and Valentine’s Day
Two years ago, I had never even seen an airplane in person. When I made the decision to go abroad for university, though, they became a constant part of my life. I’ve run to six different gates in the space of an hour in Dublin, escaped a crowd of protesters with the help of a French military policeman to almost miss my flight at CDG, and set off more metal detectors with 1 pound coins than a Saudi arms dealer at Logan. Despite these, and much more mundane, experiences, I have a little ritual every time that I board an airplane.
Rationally, I know that air travel is quite safe, and am by no means a nervous flier. I’m perfectly happy to peruse my Bernard Lewis book, or allow a 6’3″, 250-pound Swedish man fall asleep in my lap, in peace. But life is hardly predictable, as dinner in Paris after a lifetime of living hours from any skyscraper testifies. So, each time I’ve settled down into my seat, I take a picture out of the nearest window, and send the same text to my friend:
“Taking off in a few minutes. The pilot says there may be quite a bit of turbulence.
If anything happens, I love you, and tell everyone (I trust you to know who)
that I loved them.”
I’m in no doubt that he doesn’t like that text; we’ve known each other from the age of five, and consider each other siblings with different surnames. He hates acknowledging the chance I’m taking, and the others that I take in traveling alone to such far-flung places. I never doubt, though, that if something ever does happen the ebullient art major that we shared too many bad English classes with, the crotchety AP teacher who we both have an abundance of fondness for, and the Benedictine monk who laughs with him at my ability to knock over statuary when nervous will have comfort.
It was Valentine’s Day, with its bubbly pink hearts and extortions to positivity, that put me in mind of all of this. We (rightfully) celebrate the joys of romantic love today, but on this feast day for the patron saint of lovers, epileptics, and bee keepers, we should also keep in mind those that we love enough to trust them with our family and friends when we are gone. Philip Larkin, hardly the most sentimental bard of this island nation, wished that “what will survive of us is love.” He came to the conclusion that this was almost true; I think it is the exact and beautiful truth. If I fall from the sky, what will trail in my wake, more than anything else, is the thing that I felt fitting to be my last words, that I loved and did so in return, in every possible iteration.
I hope, this cloudy February 14th, that you have someone that you trust deeply enough to preserve what remains too.
Published in General
Beautiful.
And welcome to Ricochet, KW; I don’t recall seeing you here before and note that your membership is relatively new. Lovely post to get started.
Second that. Well done.
Lovely post and Amen to that. I’d add only that we should tell those we trust and love that we trust and love them as often as we can, even if we’re not about to take off in the face of gale force 8.
This post is better than the attention it’s been getting would indicate. I’d help, but I ain’t got nutin’ constructive to contribute.
I was introduced to my wife while I was at war for Operation Enduring Freedom. I flew B-52s out of Diego Garcia. While we corresponded, she was very concerned about my well being for the 24 hours each mission took. (It was 24 hours door to door back then.) So I decided I would send her a short message after I got back. “OTGSAS” (On the ground, safe and sound).
Over the past 17 years, whenever I fly I send the same message when I land.
This post is killer. It is 100% spot-on.
Really gorgeous writing.
I remain curious as to what is inside the photo. It looks like a wing of a plane, but some amorphous something is trying to clamber on? Please explain when you have a moment.
@caroljoy Thank you. It is a photo of the wing of a plane that I took on a red eye from Paris to Boston; I’m not entirely sure what that is (you’re much better than me, having spotted it), but my guess is that it was something to do with the bitterly cold, humid weather reacting to the heat of the plane or a reflection from the window to something behind me.