Departure

Departure

A tall, manicured blonde gestures
left,        center,         right,
the mimes a puff into a life vest
pulled from under a seat.

Loud movement below
throws me back:
hands clutching velvet armrests,
eyes closed,
not from fear but
satisfied exhaustion.

I feel light.

Suspended above the chaos,
no boundaries, no borders,
no pull of a ticking clock.

Silence sets in
as the cabin lights dim.
My novel calls to me
from an overhead bag,
but I don't disturb
the shaggy head beside me,
sleeping peacefully
tray table stowed
like a good boy

The wind changes
with a violent shake
and my stomach drops;
a skydiver
whose parachute won't open,
just for a moment.

My boots feel tight
against my calves
which have swollen
to double their size.

The cabin air is as stale as
the microwave meal
that sits in front of me untouched,
and as dry as the plastic cup
of white wine.

Yet still I scowl
when a tap on my shoulder and
a set of pearly whites
instruct me to please
remove my headphones.
"We're preparing for landing."

Home; a smoggy reality
of familiar faces
lies below me
as my blood slows,
thickened
into dread.

Alison Millington is a fourth year student in Honours Media, Information and Technoculture with a Minor in Creative Writing who is graduating this June.  She has written for the student-led magazine The London Underground and has been published in the Barrie Advance newspaper.  She is pursuing her MA in International Journalism in the fall at City University, London, England.