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Flight 227
I lifted my overstuffed backpack into the luggage crate above my seat and proceeded to find my place next to the window. Oh boy, I thought, If I close my eyes, it won't be so bad... My fear of heights started when I was six years old; I broke my arm falling from the top of a jungle gym. Since then, I despised high up places. I felt clammy in my hands as I buckled myself into the seat.
A man sat on the seat to my left and buckled himself in. He had a terrible odor from what smelled like too much hand sanitizer, and his hair was thinning to the point that nothing but a reflective shine was on the top of his head. He looked down at me and said, "Hey kid, first time flying?"
"Yes," I said, not sure what else he wanted me to say.
"Me too, kid." He held a black backpack in his lap and repeatedly, he'd shake his backpack up and down. I gave the man a strange look but returned my gaze out the window.
"Hey, kid. Um... how old are you?"
"I'm 18, what's it to you?" He was on my nerves.
"Just curious."
I returned my gaze back out the window. This time I didn't want to close my eyes, I kept them open, one eye out the window and one eye looking to the strange man on my left, shaking his backpack up and down, up and down, up and down.
"Oh, hello dears." I looked to my left and saw an old woman sit on the far end of the row. She waved at me with a large plastic grin and I returned one just as artificial. The man took zero notice and looked straight ahead toward the bathrooms.
"Is there anything you want in this row?" I looked over and saw the flight attendant pushing a cart from the back of the plane.
"Do you have water?" I asked.
"Yes, of course." She walked in front of the man and handed me a small plastic cup of water. She took no notice of the man's behavior, so I ignored him as well.
I drank the water and returned the plastic cup to the garbage disposal next to my seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Greetings, and welcome aboard Flight 227 to Hawaii. I'm here to let everyone know that the weather looks clear, and it will be a smooth flight to paradise. I hope you all enjoy your flight. Thank you."
Then I heard the crowd of passengers applaud, followed by my own hands clapping and the sound of shouts from two happy and excited male voices behind me.
A different flight attendant stood in front of everyone in our class and demonstrated how to use the seatbelts and other safety equipment. Then a new thought arose in my mind: the man next to me hasn't clapped, nor responded in anyway to anyone else on the plane--something's off about him.
The plane jolted forward from the hanger and pulled out onto the airstrip. A light flashed in front of the passengers that had a seatbelt symbol on it, and everyone in the cabin fell silent. The roar of engines pierced my skull and suddenly, I felt the plane move forward at an alarming speed, a speed I had never felt in a car or anything else in my life. The tip of the plane lifted into the air and I swallowed hard, turning my head to the right and looking out the window. The trees were becoming bushes, then grass, and the cars became invisible specks on the roads that looked like grey rivers from above.
The moment of anxiety left me and I felt happy to be alive, knowing that I was doing something that people hundreds of years ago could never do.
Fly.
I looked to my left and saw the man next to me shaking his backpack up and down, smiling back down at me with sweat heavily speckled on his forehead, appearing like crystals of glass.
The plane flattened out, then the Captain came through the intercom saying: "This was a successful lift off. We will be at our destination soon enough. Enjoy the flight."
I looked out the window and saw fluffy white clouds, and down below, I saw the different colored fields dividing property from property, farm from farm, and the small curvy lines of roads and highways that were almost invisible from our height.
"Hey, kid." The man next to me said.
"What's up?" I asked, looking at his suddenly stern face. He looked like an angry but sweaty Michael Keaton.
"I have a bomb in my backpack." He whispered.
"Excuse me?" I asked, not sure if I heard him correctly.
"I have a bomb." He said. Now I was sure that he said it, but I didn't know what to do about it.
"And?" I replied, after searching for something else better to say but failing.
"We should smoke it together." He said.
"Excuse me? Smoke the plane?"
"Yes. That's exactly it. Meet me in the bathrooms, and I'll show you my bomb."
"Okay," I said, unsure if there's anything else I could say in this moment. Then I continued: "Why?"
"It will take all your fears away." After he said this, he turned his head forward and continued shaking his backpack.
The seatbelt light turned off.
The man suddenly stopped shaking and gave me a grim smile and a look down. He then looked forward, stood up, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked over to the restroom.
I slid out from the row of seats, past the old woman who now had a sleeping mask over her eyes, and straight to the flight attendant. "Ma'am," I said. "That man in the bathroom said he has a bomb!"
When I said that, a married couple, presumably in there forties, turned back to me and gave me a questionable stare. The flight attendant gasped and said to the married couple, "Don't be alarmed, children do say this stuff often."
"I'm 18, not a child." I said.
The married couple turned away, the man shaking his head, then leaned to his wife's ear for some sweet one on one convo about the weird kid behind them.
"Are you sure about that?" The woman in a white outfit said, staring me down with her piercing blue eyes, the bun in her hair exploading apart all of a sudden.
"I'm sure." I said.
"Go back to your seat." She said.
I went back to my seat as I was instructed, then looked back at her and saw her on a black phone attached to the wall of the plane. She hung it up with a strong click, one that I could hear from my spot on the plane.
I took a deep breath and counted... one... two... three... four....
Then I exhaled and as I inhaled, I counted one... two... three... four..., then my eyes shot open to the sound of the bathroom door squeaking opening. The man looked at me and gave me a wave, indicating that he wanted me in the bathroom.
Not later, but now.
I shook my head in an affirmative NO.
He turned his chubby face side to side, his sweaty face becoming increasingly red and dark under the eyes.
He marched toward me with his large fat hands dangling in front of his chest. His backpack was missing and his hands were dripping water.
Out of nowhere, a large man in camo jeans and a grass green sleeveless tee stood in front of him. This large man was over six feet tall and had bulging arms and chest muscles.
The chubby man who sat next to me tried to slide around the muscular man, but he couldn't get by. Then the muscular man said in a herculean voice, "Where's your bomb?"
"I don't have a bomb, what are you saying?"
"Where is your backpack?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm a federal agent. Give me your backpack, now."
"It's in the restroom."
The federal agent went into the bathroom in three long steps, watching the heavyset man as he did it. The agent reached into the restroom and pulled out the black backpack.
In front of everyone, the man reached in and pulled out a long, clear glass contraption. But it wasn't a bomb... but a bong!
"You're going to be arrested for drug paraphernalia. You can't bring drugs on the plane!"
"Excuse me, I have rights."
"Not for smoking on the plane." The agent dropped the glass piece on an empty seat and flipped over the backpack. Out on the floor dropped two condoms, a bottle of lube, a word search book, and a bag of Lays chips. The agent looked up at me with a face of concern and said, "It was also to my attention that you were coercing a young boy to attend the restroom with you. That is beyond illegal; it's evil, and disgusting. Turn around."
The agent pulled out zip ties from his back pocket and tied them around the man's wrist. Then the agent read him his rights. I watched as the agent pushed the man to the back of the cabin where a door went to a mysterious place.
The agent looked at me one last time, smiled, nodded, and went back to business: he opened the door, followed behind the chubby short man as he walked through, disappearing behind the closed door.
I looked out the window and all my anxiety left me. Then a thought came to my mind, This is a story I should tell others, so they know the dangers of flying in public, even if this was a rare circumstance; my first time on a plane--saved by a federal agent.
I looked at the Oregon coast as we left the land and flew over the blue ocean, now the waters blended into sky and I saw nothing below me but blue abyss. I was calm knowing that the man didn't have a bomb, but I was more happy that I went to the flight attendant instead of following him into that restroom. I breathed a breath of fresh air as my heart set on peace, and the paradise known only as: Hawaii.
The End
Thank you for reading my story! If you liked it, check out my website at samfigura.com. Follow me for more stories, check out my social media, and feel free to reach out to me. It's a joy and pleasure to be an author and entertain hundreds of people with my stories. Thank you for reading!
© Sam Figura
A man sat on the seat to my left and buckled himself in. He had a terrible odor from what smelled like too much hand sanitizer, and his hair was thinning to the point that nothing but a reflective shine was on the top of his head. He looked down at me and said, "Hey kid, first time flying?"
"Yes," I said, not sure what else he wanted me to say.
"Me too, kid." He held a black backpack in his lap and repeatedly, he'd shake his backpack up and down. I gave the man a strange look but returned my gaze out the window.
"Hey, kid. Um... how old are you?"
"I'm 18, what's it to you?" He was on my nerves.
"Just curious."
I returned my gaze back out the window. This time I didn't want to close my eyes, I kept them open, one eye out the window and one eye looking to the strange man on my left, shaking his backpack up and down, up and down, up and down.
"Oh, hello dears." I looked to my left and saw an old woman sit on the far end of the row. She waved at me with a large plastic grin and I returned one just as artificial. The man took zero notice and looked straight ahead toward the bathrooms.
"Is there anything you want in this row?" I looked over and saw the flight attendant pushing a cart from the back of the plane.
"Do you have water?" I asked.
"Yes, of course." She walked in front of the man and handed me a small plastic cup of water. She took no notice of the man's behavior, so I ignored him as well.
I drank the water and returned the plastic cup to the garbage disposal next to my seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Greetings, and welcome aboard Flight 227 to Hawaii. I'm here to let everyone know that the weather looks clear, and it will be a smooth flight to paradise. I hope you all enjoy your flight. Thank you."
Then I heard the crowd of passengers applaud, followed by my own hands clapping and the sound of shouts from two happy and excited male voices behind me.
A different flight attendant stood in front of everyone in our class and demonstrated how to use the seatbelts and other safety equipment. Then a new thought arose in my mind: the man next to me hasn't clapped, nor responded in anyway to anyone else on the plane--something's off about him.
The plane jolted forward from the hanger and pulled out onto the airstrip. A light flashed in front of the passengers that had a seatbelt symbol on it, and everyone in the cabin fell silent. The roar of engines pierced my skull and suddenly, I felt the plane move forward at an alarming speed, a speed I had never felt in a car or anything else in my life. The tip of the plane lifted into the air and I swallowed hard, turning my head to the right and looking out the window. The trees were becoming bushes, then grass, and the cars became invisible specks on the roads that looked like grey rivers from above.
The moment of anxiety left me and I felt happy to be alive, knowing that I was doing something that people hundreds of years ago could never do.
Fly.
I looked to my left and saw the man next to me shaking his backpack up and down, smiling back down at me with sweat heavily speckled on his forehead, appearing like crystals of glass.
The plane flattened out, then the Captain came through the intercom saying: "This was a successful lift off. We will be at our destination soon enough. Enjoy the flight."
I looked out the window and saw fluffy white clouds, and down below, I saw the different colored fields dividing property from property, farm from farm, and the small curvy lines of roads and highways that were almost invisible from our height.
"Hey, kid." The man next to me said.
"What's up?" I asked, looking at his suddenly stern face. He looked like an angry but sweaty Michael Keaton.
"I have a bomb in my backpack." He whispered.
"Excuse me?" I asked, not sure if I heard him correctly.
"I have a bomb." He said. Now I was sure that he said it, but I didn't know what to do about it.
"And?" I replied, after searching for something else better to say but failing.
"We should smoke it together." He said.
"Excuse me? Smoke the plane?"
"Yes. That's exactly it. Meet me in the bathrooms, and I'll show you my bomb."
"Okay," I said, unsure if there's anything else I could say in this moment. Then I continued: "Why?"
"It will take all your fears away." After he said this, he turned his head forward and continued shaking his backpack.
The seatbelt light turned off.
The man suddenly stopped shaking and gave me a grim smile and a look down. He then looked forward, stood up, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked over to the restroom.
I slid out from the row of seats, past the old woman who now had a sleeping mask over her eyes, and straight to the flight attendant. "Ma'am," I said. "That man in the bathroom said he has a bomb!"
When I said that, a married couple, presumably in there forties, turned back to me and gave me a questionable stare. The flight attendant gasped and said to the married couple, "Don't be alarmed, children do say this stuff often."
"I'm 18, not a child." I said.
The married couple turned away, the man shaking his head, then leaned to his wife's ear for some sweet one on one convo about the weird kid behind them.
"Are you sure about that?" The woman in a white outfit said, staring me down with her piercing blue eyes, the bun in her hair exploading apart all of a sudden.
"I'm sure." I said.
"Go back to your seat." She said.
I went back to my seat as I was instructed, then looked back at her and saw her on a black phone attached to the wall of the plane. She hung it up with a strong click, one that I could hear from my spot on the plane.
I took a deep breath and counted... one... two... three... four....
Then I exhaled and as I inhaled, I counted one... two... three... four..., then my eyes shot open to the sound of the bathroom door squeaking opening. The man looked at me and gave me a wave, indicating that he wanted me in the bathroom.
Not later, but now.
I shook my head in an affirmative NO.
He turned his chubby face side to side, his sweaty face becoming increasingly red and dark under the eyes.
He marched toward me with his large fat hands dangling in front of his chest. His backpack was missing and his hands were dripping water.
Out of nowhere, a large man in camo jeans and a grass green sleeveless tee stood in front of him. This large man was over six feet tall and had bulging arms and chest muscles.
The chubby man who sat next to me tried to slide around the muscular man, but he couldn't get by. Then the muscular man said in a herculean voice, "Where's your bomb?"
"I don't have a bomb, what are you saying?"
"Where is your backpack?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm a federal agent. Give me your backpack, now."
"It's in the restroom."
The federal agent went into the bathroom in three long steps, watching the heavyset man as he did it. The agent reached into the restroom and pulled out the black backpack.
In front of everyone, the man reached in and pulled out a long, clear glass contraption. But it wasn't a bomb... but a bong!
"You're going to be arrested for drug paraphernalia. You can't bring drugs on the plane!"
"Excuse me, I have rights."
"Not for smoking on the plane." The agent dropped the glass piece on an empty seat and flipped over the backpack. Out on the floor dropped two condoms, a bottle of lube, a word search book, and a bag of Lays chips. The agent looked up at me with a face of concern and said, "It was also to my attention that you were coercing a young boy to attend the restroom with you. That is beyond illegal; it's evil, and disgusting. Turn around."
The agent pulled out zip ties from his back pocket and tied them around the man's wrist. Then the agent read him his rights. I watched as the agent pushed the man to the back of the cabin where a door went to a mysterious place.
The agent looked at me one last time, smiled, nodded, and went back to business: he opened the door, followed behind the chubby short man as he walked through, disappearing behind the closed door.
I looked out the window and all my anxiety left me. Then a thought came to my mind, This is a story I should tell others, so they know the dangers of flying in public, even if this was a rare circumstance; my first time on a plane--saved by a federal agent.
I looked at the Oregon coast as we left the land and flew over the blue ocean, now the waters blended into sky and I saw nothing below me but blue abyss. I was calm knowing that the man didn't have a bomb, but I was more happy that I went to the flight attendant instead of following him into that restroom. I breathed a breath of fresh air as my heart set on peace, and the paradise known only as: Hawaii.
The End
Thank you for reading my story! If you liked it, check out my website at samfigura.com. Follow me for more stories, check out my social media, and feel free to reach out to me. It's a joy and pleasure to be an author and entertain hundreds of people with my stories. Thank you for reading!
© Sam Figura
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