Somewhere Over the Sun

You know when flight attendants tell you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight? Well, I’m one of the people that do exactly that. Sure, I can rarely sleep on night flights and very often read or listen to music throughout the journey, but there’s something absolutely majestic about flying that always fills me with glee. It might be the fact that none of the other passengers ever seem to be enjoying themselves at all. It’s like finding a song you love that no one else can see the beauty in.

On empty flights, when I know the flight attendants haven’t had to deal with too many complaints and questions, I try to start conversations with them. I pretend I’m interested in becoming a flight attendant and just ask them questions, anything I can think of.

“No one ever leaves because they don’t like it,” one older woman told me while over the ocean. “They leave because of the money, or because they want to settle, or for health reasons.”

“Houston,” a young one answered to my question about which was her favorite airport, “because the most beautiful man in the world works at a kiosk selling sunglasses there.”

“The only cups I own at home are these plastic ones. I’ve gotten used to drinking only half servings at a time,” Bill told me. He worked as many routes as the airline would allow him.

“I just wanted to be closer to the clouds,” said Janine, looking out the face-sized window.

It was a short, full flight, and I chewed on honey roasted peanuts and drank ginger ale. For some reason, I only ever drink ginger ale when I’m on airplanes. As if ginger ale lives on planes, and the only time I can stop by and say hello is when I’m in her home. Outside of planes, I hardly ever acknowledge her existence.