from last year

I wrote this on a folder in an airplane during the holiday season of 2004. I can't remember if I was going home for Thanksgiving or Christmas.


The lights on the tips of the wings flash brightly in the black, black night. Little dashes of white blaze across my view out the tiny window, like static on a television or something electronic. I realize that it is raining.
We pull through the clouds and I see the points of light that comprize a city. too small to be Huntsville.



So many times I am near the wing of a plane. Now I am on top of it. The Exit Row. Can I understand and speak English and assist in the case of an emergency? I wonder what kind of emergency would leave me alive and this part of the plane available for exit. The sign on the wall/door/window says that the emergency door weighs 31 lbs. Even I could move that in an emergency. Right?

Turbulence. Lurches. My stomach protests.

It's been a long time since those tacos at lunch and the chips in the car.