three-piece pinstripe suit. A wide-knotted bright red tie shone out
from the background of a crisp button-down shirt. In his lap sat a
battered leather briefcase. Slender hands nervously clasped and
unclasped as he looked out the window. Small tufts of white hair clung
around his earlobes. The shirt collar hung loosely around the skinny
neck like walls pulling loose from their foundation. Sidney noticed
beads of perspiration adhering to his left temple and over his thin
lips.
The plane lumbered clumsily to the main runway. The whir of wing flaps
settling into the down takeoff position seemed to calm the old man. He
turned to Sidney.
“That’s all I listen for anymore,” he said, his voice deep and rocky and
laced with the front-porch drawl of a lifetime spent in the South.
Sidney looked at him curiously. “What’s that?”
He pointed out the small window. “Make sure they set the damn flaps on
the wings so this thing’ll get off the ground. Remember that plane up
in Deetroit?” He said the word as if it were actually two. “Damn pilots
forgot to set the flaps right and killed everybody on board except for
that little girl.”
Sidney looked out the window for a moment. “I’m sure the pilots are
well aware of that,” she replied. She sighed inwardly. The last thing
she needed was to be sitting next to a nervous flier. Sidney turned
back to her notes, doing a quick scan for her presentation before the
flight attendants made everyone stow their belongings under the seats.
As the flight attendants came by for another check, she slipped the
papers back in her briefcase and slid it under the seat in front of her.
She looked out the window at the dark, choppy waters of the Potomac.
Flocks of seagulls scattered across the water; from a distance they
resembled swirling pieces of paper. The captain crisply announced over
the intercom that the USAir shuttle was next in line to take off.
A few seconds later’ the plane rose smoothly off the ground. After
banking left to avoid flying over the restricted airspace above the
Capitol and the White House, the plane raced to its cruising altitude.
Several minutes after the plane leveled off at twenty-nine thousand
feet, the beverage cart rolled by and Sidney got a cup of tea and the
obligatory bag of salty peanuts. The elderly man next to her shook his
head when asked for his beverage request and continued to stare
anxiously out the window.
Sidney reached down and pulled her briefcase from underneath the seat in
anticipation of doing some work for the next half hour.
She settled back in her seat and took some papers out of her briefcase.
As she began to go over their contents she noticed the old man still
glancing out the window; his small frame was tense as he rode every
bump, obviously listening for any out-of-the-way sound that would herald
a catastrophe. The veins were tight in his neck; his hands were wrapped
around the armrests of his seat. The common plight of the not-so-rare
white-knuckler. Her face softened. Being frightened was difficult
enough. Believing you are alone in that fear merely compounded matters.
She reached out and patted his arm gently and smiled. He glanced
quickly over at her and returned the smile in an embarrassed fashion,
his face slightly reddening.
“They do this flight so many times, I’m sure they’ve worked out all the
kinks,” she said, her voice quiet and soothing.
He smiled again and rubbed his hands to return the circulation.
“You’re absolutely right… ma’am.”
“Sidney, Sidney Archer.”
“George Beard is what they call me. Glad to know you, Sidney.”
They firmly shook hands.
Beard abruptly looked out the window at the puffy clouds. The sunlight
was sharp and penetrating. He slid the window shade down partway. “I’ve
flown so many damn times over the years, you’d think I’d get used to
it.”
“It can be nerve-racking for anyone, George, no matter how often you’ve
done it,” Sidney replied kindly. “But it’s not nearly as frightening as
the cabs we’re going to have to take into the city.”
They both laughed. Then Beard jumped slightly as the plane hit a