“Do you think I’m a moron, Stevens? Is that it?”
"A moron?” he asked. “No, not that. A stick in the mud prick? Maybe that. I'm not sure yet, but I'm getting that vibe off of you."
“You’re drunk, man. Okay? Do you understand things a little better now? You’re drunk in the middle of a goddamned flight.”
“Bullshit I am,” Stevens answered, trying to sound powerful, but barely managing something above a whisper. “You don’t have any right to make an accusation like that.”
"Don't I?” I asked. “You left in the middle of a flight to drink, and it could have gotten people killed."
"Don't be so fucking dramatic, Drew. Nobody got killed. Like I said, you were here, and it was nothing you couldn't handle. Even if I had been drunk, and I'm not saying that I was or am, you had it all handled."
“But what if I hadn’t?” I exploded, slamming my fist onto the side of my chair so hard it drew blood. “You don’t know me! You’ve never flown with me before! What if I had been some wet behind the ears kid who didn’t have a clue what I was doing? Do you realize how bad things could have gotten? And all because you needed a fucking drink.”
“Stop it! Stop saying that, will ya? I haven’t been drinking.”
“Oh yeah? So tell me about the fact that you’re still woozy, Stevens. Why don’t you tell me about why you hit your head in the first place, or why you were in that fucking bathroom for so long? Why don’t you tell me about why you’re fucking speech is slurred?”
"Because I hit my head, Drew. If my speech sounds off, that's got to be why. As for the amount of time I spent in the bathroom, that's none of your goddamned business. I'm a grown man, and I can take all of the time I need in the john. And I hit my head because of the turbulence. Any jackass could figure that out on his own."
“So then tell me about the smell,” I demanded. “You’ve got a perfect answer for everything, right? So then tell me about the smell.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I can smell the alcohol on your breath. I can smell it all over you, Stevens. And something tells me I’m not the only one. I bet if I were to ask any of those flight attendants, they would say the same thing. Whiskey has a pretty distinct smell, Stevens. It’s pretty hard to blame it on anything other than what it is.”
For the first time since this shitty conversation had begun, Stevens remained silent. That should have made me feel better, but instead, the urge to punch him in the face only grew stronger. The whole thing was disgusting, the worst kind of abuse of power, and the fact that it wasn't an uncommon thing didn't make me feel any better. This man was at least ten years older than me, and he had made a selfish decision because he had thought it would feel good. Men like him were the worst kind of people there were, and that was something I believed with all of my heart. It was something I understood better than I wanted to, too.
“I’ve had about enough of your shit, do you understand me?” Fred said forcefully, his voice steadily rising. “Last time I checked, you aren’t my boss.”
“So this is the part where you get all pissed off and indignant? Because that’s textbook, Stevens. You’re behaving like every other man who fucks up and does what you did would behave. It’s not helping your case.”
“There is no fucking case! That’s enough! Everything is fine! If there hadn’t been a storm, everything would have been fucking fine!”
"No," I answered quietly, his yelling somehow making me feel calmer. "It's not fine. The answer is pretty simple, too, although I promise you that you aren't going to like it."
“So what, you’re threatening me now?”
“Nope, no threat,” I said. “Just the facts. You’re going to turn yourself in, Stevens. You’re going to fess up to exactly what you’ve done.”
“Bullshit, I am,” he whispered. “There’s no way. Who the hell do you think you are?”
"Okay, then how about this. Either you're going to turn yourself in, or I'm going to report you. And before we go through the part where you make a big scene and say I wouldn't do it, you need to know that I will. I don't know whether you have a real problem, or if you just don't give a shit, but either way, this can't go on. We can't have drunk pilots in the air. We can't have people like you out there risking people's lives the way you did tonight."
“What makes you think you can ruin people’s lives this way? You know that’s what you’re doing, right? You don’t strike me as an idiot so you must. So what makes you think it’s okay for you to do that to people?”
"What makes you think it's okay?" I asked. “Because you almost ruined the lives of every person on this plane. And not just them, but their families and loved ones.”
Stevens unleashed a long string of curse words before exiting the cockpit with a bang. I could hear him run into several of the stragglers who were still on the plane, then heard those passengers exclaim to each other that they had never encountered such a rude pilot. I shut my eyes, willing it all to go away.
I didn't want to think about what could have happened if I hadn't been the one to navigate us through that storm. I didn't want to think about what would happen if one of those now unhappy passengers smelled the booze on Stevens and decided to tell the wrong people about it. Most of all, I didn't want my mind to go wandering back to the place it always seemed to want to go.
But the past was exactly where my thoughts went. Even after years of trying to do my best, trying to atone for my sins, I could still hear the woman yelling at me on a different plane in a different time. I could still hear myself telling that woman that it was okay. Everything was okay. I had everything under control. Everything was going to be okay.
I heard myself saying that, all of those years ago, and shook my head with disgust. I hadn't had a whole lot of expectations about what this new flight and crew would be, but I sure as shit hadn't expected anything like this.
Chapter 7: Jess
It was a nice room, as far as hotel rooms went. There had been a time when I had been in love with hotels, the same way that I was still in love with planes and flights themselves. I had loved the anonymity of hotels and the fact that they were only stopping off points between the many spots on a person's travels. I had loved the possibilities they had represented and what they might mean for me some day.