Something broke. The engine to my right whirred, but didn’t stop. We were close to the ground anyway. Less distance to fall if we fell, but there wasn’t a voice or anything to explain that perhaps we could crash. Could I have died last night? Could I have died the day before? Could you have died last night? Could you have died the day before?
I wonder how close we all come to near misses? How oblivious we are to it most times. A step in front of it or perhaps behind. And we aren’t hit until we die, until we actually intercept it.
The sky was turbulent all day. A rocky wind, choppy. I wonder if it was an aftershock of the aftershock of the earth that rocked only a few days ago. Energy has to go somewhere even if we can’t see it.
But I heard the man from Oklahoma sitting in the aisle across from me say, “Something is mad wrong with this plane.” And all day I kept falling and bumping through the air. A drunk plane, a hiccup plane and little rock skipping from the clouds. I wanted off the ride early until I saw a small baby boy. I was sweating under my clothes and he, wide-eyed, was smiling, thrilled with each fall, each attempt at flying.
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