Mister Weston

“Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain, speaking,” I said over the speakers, once boarding was complete. “On behalf of the flight crew, we’d like to welcome you aboard Elite Airways Flight 1543 to Paris. Our flight duration is around eight hours and twenty minutes and we are expecting a fairly smooth flight today. Thank you for choosing to fly with us. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.” I ended the message and waited for our turn to take off on the runway.

“Um, sir?” Ryan tapped my shoulder.

“Yes, Ryan?”

“No disrespect or anything, but you forgot like four whole sentences of the mandatory greeting. That’s like a write-up worthy offense.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the greeting: I really love flying for Elite! It’s the best job and the most exciting airline in the world! And then you’re supposed to say something witty, or tell a funny joke to make all the passengers feel comfortable.”

I blinked. “Do you feel comfortable, Ryan?”

“You want an honest answer?”

“I would love an honest answer.”

“Well, I might feel more comfortable if you’d told a joke. Might have convinced me that you’re an actual human being and not a robot outside of the simulator sessions, and might’ve even made me more comfortable flying an Airbus321 for only the fourth time.”

Jesus Christ... “Elite one five four three ready for take-off.” I called to control. “Runway two-niner.”

“Copy. Cleared for takeoff. Elite one five four three, runway two niner.”

I pushed the throttle forward, propelling the plane down the runway at maximum speed. The lights on the ground glowed brightly through Atlanta’s dark blue nightfall, and the yellow signs that lined the side of the tarmac gleamed brightly as the plane’s lights shone over them.

We ascended into the air, and faint hints of adrenaline I used to live for rushed through my veins.

Ryan remained in contact with control, shocking me with his sudden professionalism, and as we cleared our cruising altitude of thirty-three thousand feet, I turned off the seatbelt sign.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” Gillian’s voice came over the speakers, rendering me still. “The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. You are now free to move about the cabin. However, we always recommend to keep your seat belt fastened while you're seated.”

I’ll be damn if she doesn’t talk to me on this flight...

“So,” Ryan said, clearing his throat. “You’re not going to tell me that joke? It actually would help.”

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes and turned to face him. “Knock. Knock.”

He smiled. “Who’s there?”

“Mr. Shut the Fuck Up.” I motioned for him to hand me a clipboard. “Let me test you on some stuff while we’re here so I can feel safe whenever I need to leave and go the restroom.”

Whenever I need to leave and go find Gillian...

IT TOOK ME FOUR HOURS to convince myself that Ryan was actually a good pilot; he just needed to learn how to take things seriously. When he assured me that he would be okay for five minutes, I left the cockpit and spotted Gillian standing in the closest galley.

“Hello,” I said, walking over to her. “Can we talk?”

She said nothing.

“Gillian.” I stepped next to her. “Gillian, I know you hear me talking to you.”

She didn’t look up. She continued preparing dessert cups, and as I leaned close, I noticed tears falling down her face.

“Gillian, please talk to me. Let me make this right.”

“I’ll have someone bring you your Coke in a minute, Captain.” She picked up her tray and moved past me.

I watched as she served every passenger in first class, as she avoided my gaze and took her time pouring extra wine. I waited for her to return so I could force her to listen to me, but she never did. Instead, she moved to the galley near the middle of the aircraft and finished serving her desserts from there.

Angry, I returned to the cockpit—killing time by thinking of other ways I could get her attention. I lasted all of thirty minutes before deciding I would let everyone on this plane hear what I had to say to her if need be.

I walked through the first class cabin, then the business and the economy, looking for her. I reached the back of the plane, finding myself next to the lavatories with no luck.

Annoyed, I knocked on the door of the lavatory on the left and a male voice answered. I knocked on the right one and immediately heard her distinctive voice.

“Someone’s in here,” she said. “The occupied light is on.”

I knocked again, even harder. I heard her groan and toss something to the floor.

“The occupied light is clearly—” The door swung open and she gasped, looking me up and down. Her eyes were filled with tears and her face was flushed red, yet she still looked absolutely stunning.

Behind her, in the lavatory, crumpled Kleenex littered the small sink and her phone sat still on the ledge.