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The Window Seat

It’s her first time on a plane. Window seat, row 29.
The flight attendant wants to know if she needs anything.
She does, but he answers for her,
his thick arm covering the armrest
leaving her without anything to hold onto as they hurtle into the air.

It’s not how she thought it would be.
They may be in the sky,
may be above the clouds and the city and everyone and everything she’s ever known
but she’s squished back in economy
by a window that offers her no breeze
and a man that doesn’t know her
even though the rings on their fingers say otherwise.
She thought being in a plane would feel like flying,
but she sees now it is just another way of getting around,
no more glamorous than her beat-up car or his creaky motorcycle,
no more exciting than taking the elevator or walking down the stairs.
She thought she could fly away someday,
but he won’t let her leave the ground
even when they are a thousand feet above it.

Have some of this, he tells her now. Grins. Cheers.
She hates the way it burns her throat,
burns her eyes too
but it’s not the taste that’s killing her.




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