Heavy

Oh, my God, we’re going down! The plane’s going to crash, we’re all going to die. I just know it, today’s the day I’m going to die, what will that look like on my tombstone, born 29 February 1964 died 13 November 2015, yes – Friday the 13th, so unlucky, I was always so unlucky, I’m going to die, I miss my mother.

But the turbulence stopped suddenly and the plane smoothed out its ride, like riding a new interstate in a Mercedes-Benz. Whew. Marshall could feel his heart beging to slow down, his breathing even out. All was calm in the plane again. And curiously, no one had made a noise during that side-to-side, up-and-down turbulence that had lasted for at least two hours – but wait, the flight was only 75 minutes. But it seemed like two hours ...

Marshall looked around him. No one expressed anything other than the ordinary. The heavy lady on the other side of Marshall’s aisle still knitted her sweater. The tattooed guy chewing gum was still watching his Conan DVD. The Asian guy behind them was reading a book – John Grisham, Marshall noticed. Marshall hated John Grisham. Too cheesy anymore.

He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes. His therapist had prodded him to meditate about his mother’s death. He was avoiding it, Marshall knew – but he resolved, yes, he’d think about his mother’s last days and the funeral.

But then the turbulence started up again. Marshall was definitely going to die. This time for sure.