I'm sitting here in my little office and through the door I can see the moisture heavy in the air. It's so heavy it appears as a fine mist. Almost rain but not quite. I live almost directly across from the airport and when the planes come in they don't fly directly over my house but about six houses down the street is below their flight pattern. This morning I can hear a flight coming in. An aircraft is flying in this fog? Ted is headed to the airport with his mother. If a flight goes out, the airline staff said they would try to have him on that flight. I am hoping that he gets to leave but not bad enough to have him fly in bad weather. Waiting is not that bad.
I've always disliked flying. I board the plane wondering if the pilot has just found out his wife has been sleeping with the postman; or that she spend all his savings at the casino, on a lover, or some frivolous something. I hope to catch a glimpse of him/her and determine if a he, is he old enough to grow a beard or is in the acne stage of his life? I tearfully say my goodbyes to my family and designate where my jewelry and life savings be distributed. I wonder why I watched a disaster movie involving airplanes and if I haven't watched one recently, I remember all the ones I've watched in the past. I inspect the plane for scorch marks, dents and loose screws. I watch the stewardess the entire flight. I want to see a calm face and watch for any signs of change. I breath a sigh of relief when we negotiate a take off and landing. I rush off the plane and try to NOT drop to Terra firma and offer a big kiss.
My knuckles resume their natural color once again and I calm down until the next time and I try not think about that expression "return flight".
I'm sitting here waiting on a phone call; did he fly or not?