Window Seat


"You're welcome to sleep. We just ask that you fasten your seatbelt in a way that it is visible to the crew. We will not wake you. Also, please close your window shade, as we will be flying into the sun."

Whoa. Seriously? Phrasing. Smh.

But she was right, we were flying into something. I was looking out the window like a kid on christmas, and the stars look very different today…

I hate sleeping on planes. Even on the red eye, when you should try to sleep through. I'm a bit of a control freak, I NEED to know whats going on. You know, in case I need to "take action"…

Grabs imaginary radio,"This is Major Carmen to ground control. Flying through a large gas cloud from the passenger in front of me. Guy's farts have put him and the other passengers to sleep." #ToxicAF

Once we passed the gaseous expanse, I loosened my seatbelt just far enough where I could lean forward in my seat, without disobeying crew member instructions. I peered out the window, awkwardly placed slightly closer to the passenger in front of me. Technically, I really only have 1 and a half windows, but since it's behind his arms reach, I'm in charge of opening and closing procedures.

I had never seen so many stars. I arched my neck and peered up and gasped in my mind. My eyes blurred, zooming in and out, focusing, trying to see te big picture. I saw stars; shapes began to appear. I watched a star slowly move past another and out of sight, or my sight.

I chased a light on the far horizon, another plane. Jet setting somewhere?

Even as I type this I have to lock the screen for the stars to creep out of the darkness.

At first I only see one. Out of the bottom corner of my eye a distant dim light, that plane? But if I look directly at it, it vanishes.

As I stare longer at that first star, my vision clears and more specks appear. The little dipper?

I can see the layer of dark grey clouds wisping away below and behind us.

I wish they would turn off the seatbelt sign so the orange glare wouldn't reflect on the window.

It's so beautiful and peaceful.

What's out there? Who? Existential AF, right?

I know the lady behind me thinks I'm crazy for jamming my head between my seat and the wall of the cabin, but I need to look up.

Must. See. More!

The city lights below form constelations of their own, but my heads in the clouds.

It must be a planet, that "plane" in the distance, and we're chasing it. Bright as a ball from a pinball machine.

I remember an app my sister uses, Night Sky. Instantly, it maps out the lights, bringing names to the bright spheres.

Polaris…The north star… NOT a plane, or planet.

Only about 434 light years away…

It's called The Little Bear, and not just the Little Dipper? My life is a lie.

A bit distracted now, the stewardess is nuking cookies.

Yassss.

Space Oddity.

Seat belt signs off!

I've lowered the brigtness on my screen as low as it'll go, Night Shift: On.

Here am I floating on a tin can, contemplating what everybody does when they look up at the great expanse above… well, really around.

Oh Bowie.

How high, was he?

"The terror of knowing what this world is about…."

I cant even count all of them.

The lights below…

Are they homes?

People?

Lives?

My ipad took a crap, but thank you iCloud; my notes are safe.

Finally, we are away from the cities, and the darkness gives way to lights again.

A storm looms far ahead of us, charging up pink and grey clouds.

Dawn is approaching.

It advances. We waltz.

Let's dance.

Lighting continues and grays turn to burnt orange and indigo, like water at the edge of the shoreline, the day and night sky meet seamlessly.

The clouds a giant wave, and the night begins to recede.

See you later Polaris.

One thought on “Window Seat

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s