Work Text:
Unplanned Flight
Turbulent brain, I move blank. There’s nothing. I feel nothing. I’m thinking nothing. Blank. Empty. Everything is too much. Everything is crashing. The plane is falling, dropping through my stomach from the weight of the thing I can’t even think about. Shoot a quick text- We’re at the airport. Text you when I’m on the plane. They reply. We move forward. Someone helping me get through. I can’t think. I feel sick. I don’t want to be doing this.
I’m not scared of flying. I like flying. I’ve flown for as long as I can remember. The flying is the calm. I like airports. I’m used to them. I know what this feels like, being here is like a second skin. But there’s none of that here. Not now. Now there is nothing here to calm me. Airports are about the Place. Where you are going. They have nothing to do with where you are. I don’t really know where I am. I’m at the Place. I’m not even there yet. I haven’t quite managed to arrive. I can’t keep going.
I stop. I’m overwhelmed. My heart is racing, I feel sick. I’m gonna be sick. We’re not even going anywhere yet. We haven’t stepped outside into the world yet. I’m at the airport. We haven’t even boarded the plane.
They make sure I keep moving. I have to go. We can’t be late. It’s time. We have to go. We can stop when we’re outside the gate.
I keep moving. I’m still not a person yet.
Flights are fine. Flights are great. I love the flight. The plane itself can be the destination.
For right now, the plane has to be the destination.
I can’t think about where we’re going.
I can’t think.
We reach the gate. There’s not enough time to pull out my games. Shoot out a quick text- Boarding soon. Receive a response. Numb. I’m numb. My throat is aching. I had nothing to do with this flight. Planned for me. Help. Support. Something to make sure I arrive-
I have to arrive.
I can’t do this.
But I’m numb still. For now I’m numb. Numb. Empty. Knowing everything that is going on, having every thought, yet somehow that doesn’t stop my mind from being blank. I do feel blank.
Boarding. Give the flight attendants back the wheelchair. Think for a little bit. Don’t think too hard. Reach the seats. “Window or aisle?” Window I think. I don’t want to think. I sit down.
I feel sick to my stomach. “Do you have any Dramamine?” She doesn’t. She pulls out something that dissolves under my tongue. It’s sweet. It almost helps. That’s not why I’m sick. In 20 minutes, I ask for another.
The flight isn’t long. I wish it was long. I wish it was longer. The pilot announces we’re landing. It’s not for 30 minutes. I don’t understand. I’ve never been on a short trip before. We were barely up before we’re going down. We’re going down already. I don’t want to start landing. I don’t want it to start. I don’t want any of this to start.
It hurts. Everything aches. I’m numb. I feel nothing. I feel everything. I’m empty. Everything is blank. I feel sick. I ask for another.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re landing.
I want to stay on the plane.
I’m empty, I’m ushered off. I don’t have any hesitation, I look like every other passenger. No one would know. I shoot a text- Just landed.
We move through the airport. I can’t do this. We’re moving. I’m fine. I like airports. I have to shift to a bus. I didn’t prepare for this. I’m overwhelmed. I can’t do this. People are calling and talking and I can’t figure this out. They do it for me. I do it for them. It’s too much. I did too much. I need them to stop. I need everything to stop.
I need everything to stop.
I’m so tired.
I get off the bus. Look for the hotel. Overwhelmed. Text. Hey, I’m here.
I’ve never seen him before, not really. I don’t want to be meeting him like this. It’s too much for us to be awkward. I wish we were awkward. We hug. Immediately. We don’t even say hi. I’ve never met him before. This was it. I don’t know if lump in my throat is quite the right word. Pressure and an ache that’s pulling me down, wishing I’d sob. It’s our first hug.
“I’m so sorry.”
I wish we were late.