This was originally written circa 2005 and is the beginning of my series of writings known as "Observations of the Tragic Girl."
I feel like one of those pathetic girls in the movies that are flying away from someone they love just praying that that person is somewhere in the air following them. Not that there is anyone I wish was following me, just the thought that there should be. Maybe the hope.
I can't bring myself to lift my head off the hard plastic window, one eye covered by knock off hat. I look far to trendy for my liking. I must look so tragic...I'm really not, I just can't stop myself from looking longingly out of my window on this non stop flight to Albuquerque, questioning the world as I know it. Biting my lip doesn't help, it must look as though I am fighting back tears. I'm not, to my knowledge. Maybe I am just so so tragic I don't even realize it.
The male stewardess, who is undoubtedly gay (as most male stewardess's seem to be, that's why I love them) seems very apt on picking up on my sadness. He gave me the "You look pathetically sad" head tilt and asked what I would like to drink in the tone of voice people save for small children, elderly ladies, and of course the terribly tragic.
Just blinded by white. So this is what it is like to be in a cloud. As a child I loved to pretend I was lying in one, just watching the world below move at it's hustle and bustle pace while I just slowly floated on by without a care in the world. Yet now, as my non stop flight becomes encompassed withing the vast and blinding whiteness of the clouds I realize that heaven is not just above the clouds as my naive mind once led me to believe. There are no angels sitting in the clouds looking down on the sprawling desert below. There are simply one hundred or so people whose destination to me is unknown, but who must feel slightly what I feel at this exact moment. The feeling in your stomach as the turbulence bounces you hither and thither, and for that one split second those one hundred or so strangers and myself have the same thought, "Is this it?". Then as the feeling returns to your fingers and toes and you heart climbs it's way out of the pit of your stomach, the wind flaps tilt up and the wind surrounds the plane with it's unique voice. You have a last wave of nausea as the tires hit the ground below and then it's over. The desert wasteland once intermittently covered by clouds is now your entire circumference.
Finally gaining the strength to peel my head off of the window, I stand up and walk off the plane with my head held high and once again hide the tragic girl deep within myself and face the world with a confident smile and bright eyes.
