The Flight Home

My intentions were good. I took my lap-top with me on the flight from Kuwait to DC, thinking that twelve-plus hours would be an ideal time to write. Did not work out. I was in Row 37, Seat C, on the aisle. The seats surrounding Row 37 are so close together that I was barely able to put my little computer bag under the seat in front of me. When the lady in front of me reclined her seat, I almost lost two front teeth. Unable to reach down, I gave up trying to retrieve the computer until the plane landed at Dulles. I did manage to take off my shoes before settling into my seat Arriving in DC, I found one under Row 40 and the other half way to the lavatory. And, somehow, I lost my blanket. The mysteries of flight.

I have developed a strategy for arduous flights. Always take a book. Something German – ponderous and insufferable – a piece of writing that embraces qualifying clauses and laborious definitions. When the drink cart comes along, order as many Scotch minis as the flight attendant will permit you. Drink them all. If food is served, eat it. Eat everything. Put the pretend butter on the pretend dinner roll. Eat the pretend main course, even if it is curry surprise. Eat the pretend dessert. When pretend dinner is complete – and here is the heart of this strategy – pop two Tylenol PMs. At this point, you are ready to read. Within minutes, either the Scotch, the food, the Tylenol or the German will knock you out faster than what grandma did to the cat she caught in the milk bucket. When following this procedure to the letter, I fall asleep before the plane enters Turkish air space and sleep until we reach Newfoundland. From that point, it is about three hours into Washington..

As uncomfortable as the flight from Kuwait to Washington was, the fact is that I am on American soil now. I won’t be leaving the States for the rest of my life, although I’ve learned not to think in absolutes.