Flight

Flight

The TV was on the news. On the screen, smoke pours from the tower. Kito sits rigid beside his Aunt Barbara unable to look away. A plane hits a second tower. Aunt Barbara has her face in her hands, hiding the knowing tears from Kito.

***

          15-year-old Kito gripped the plane ticket in his hand, wrinkling it. Aunt Barbara stood behind him, her face reflected in the glass revolving door.

          “Sweetheart, come on,”

         Kito frowned and slung his black bag over his shoulder. It swung back and forth, hitting his thigh as he walked.

          “Can you at least smile for me?”

         Kito turned and faced her. He plastered on a smile, and wiped it off as quickly as it had come.

         Aunt Barbara sighed, “Not one moment of peace.” She licked her thumb to get at a smudge on Kito’s cheek.

          “I don’t need to be treated like a kid,” Kito said.

          “What happened to the happy boy I used to know?”

          “He died with his parents.” Kito pushed her hand away. He stood in front of the security line.

          “I’ll see you in two weeks.” Aunt Barbara pulled Kito in to a hug. He made no move to return the gesture.

          “Bye, Aunt Barbara.”

          “I love you, sweetheart.” She called through cupped hands.
         Kito stared at the red and white tiles that crisscrossed the airport floor.

***

         Kito gripped the edge of his seat, his knuckles white. The plane’s seats rattled in his ears. He turned his head, the dark brown eyes and tanned skin of the man beside him, caught his attention.

          “First time flier?” He smiled “Its okay you’ll get over it.”

         Kito looked away, eyes on the flight attendant. She wore a navy blue uniform and demonstrated the way to buckle up, in true Vanna White style.

          “What’s your name?”

          “Kito.”

         He held out his hand, “I’m Dameon.”

         One finger at time, Kito peeled his hand away from the seat.

          “Who are you going to see?”

          “My grandfather,” Kito murmured looking through the tiny oval shaped window. The sky was coal black and lightening forked across the sky. Is he a terrorist?
          “Flight is a funny thing, isn’t it?” Dameon said a faraway look in his eyes.
         Kito jumped, just missing the white compartments above. “What?”

          “Why can birds fly, but we can’t?” Dameon said.

         The squeak of a cart, announced the arrival of a flight attendant. As she handed Kito his tray, her hand passed through Dameon, like the wind through an open window. He held the tray in his hands, and shook his head.

          “Are you okay?” Dameon said. He covered his mouth, hiding a yawn.

          “Yeah.”

          “Flight,” Dameon said.

          “You said that already. We are on a plane aren’t we?” Kito said.

          “That doesn’t count.”

          “What does?” Do all terrorist speak this way? Did his mom and dad experience this too?

          “Imagine, soaring through the clouds, with unlimited possibilities. Instead of being restricted by a plane or some device,” Dameon said. His hands danced as if they were a person flying through the air.

         Kito’s forehead creased as he took a bite of generic airplane meat. The windows began to rattle, the plane grew dark, and Kito fell out of his seat on top of his bag.
          “Are you okay young man?”

         Kito saw a man with thinning gray hair, staring at him through Dameon. He got down on his haunches. “Young man, I asked you, are you okay?”

          “I’m fine,” Kito said, rubbing his knee.

         A smile crossed the man’s face, “Good,” he said, with a silent wave, walked away.
         Dameon faced Kito, his mouth in a slight frown. “Is that how you really feel?”
          “I don’t know.” Is he a terrorist?

         Dameon sat down in his seat. Kito hugged his bag to his chest and sat down. Paper crinkled within. “They say it’s safer to ride in a plane, than it is to ride in a car. Why is that?”

          “Flight again?” Kito said.

          “It’s not always true. The last time was on a plane-” He paused, the plane trembled again. He watched people trying to stay calm, but failing.

          “What?”

          “I sat next to a couple; they looked a bit like you.” Dameon said.

          “You’re crazy.” Kito said.

          “As crazy as humans trying to fly,” Dameon said.

         Kito closed his eyes, and leaned back in his seat. “I don’t know why I am even talking to you.”

          “But you are.”
Kito didn’t answer, but closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.

          “Are they your parents?”

         Kito opened one eye. “My parents are dead.”

          “Oh.” Dameon said. “How?”

          “On a plane,” Kito stared at his black shoes.

          “Sorry, do you think they felt any pain?”

          “No.”

          “I still think I met your parents.”

          “Think what you like,” Kito said, turning away from him. Is he a terrorist?

          “Maybe I dreamt it. Flying without any support with your parents,” Dameon’s voice grew louder.

          “You must have.” Maybe he’s just crazy.

          “Flight can be like a picture.”

          “Sure it can.”

          “No, I know it can.” Dameon said.
          “What has this got to do with me?” Kito said. He looked back at Dameon. Dameon’s eyes were distant as if he were looking at a faraway mountain he wanted to climb.

          “I’m not sure, but I feel, I have to say something.”

          “What is this something?” Kito said.

          “Maybe it has to do with your parents.”

          “Not my parents again, they’re gone.”

          “You don’t believe they live in your heart?”

          “I don’t believe in that stuff. Never have.” The plane shook, and a few people fell out of their seats, while some had buckled, keeping them secure in their seats.

          “Maybe it has to do with flight.”

          “Not that either. Would you give it up?” Is he a crazy terrorist?

          “I just can’t help, but think about it.” Dameon said.

          “Well stop it. No one cares.”

          “What if your parents did?”

         Kito looked away from Dameon. Who is this man? Terrorist or some escaped mental patient?

          “Will you at least hear me out?” Dameon looked like a child with a story he really wanted to tell.

          “Fine, but that’s all I will do. I don’t want your life story.” Kito said.

          “Flight, with no support, but our own or on a plane confined by where other people want us to go.” Dameon closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hand. He mouthed a few words and then looked back at Kito.

          “What? Is that all you have to say?”

          “I think some people are stuck on planes, while others are free to fly like a bird. I think that your parents were the second. You act as if you are the first.”
          “I am not following.” Kito said.

          “I am not sure how else to put it, but I think I am stuck on this plane.”
          “You’ll get off like everyone else, when we land.”

          “I don’t know if I can.”