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Drip. . . Drip. . . Drip. . .
On May twenty-fifth fifty people boarded a plane, flight 844.
Smack, smack, smack. Gum chewer; Row 20C.
Click, click, click. Business guy; Row 12A.
Taptap. . . tap. . . tap. Teen crossword; Row 21B
A mom in 15B, shushing her boy in 15C. A couple asleep in 5 A& B.
And me in 10D listening to a cacophony of the airline’s finest. I was on my way to my grandparents’ farm in Minnesota. My dad travels, a lot. So I was able to get a first class upgrade. The comfy seats, good(ish) food, and a fat guy sitting next to me that really should have bought two seats for himself. I mean really, the guy was overflowing into my seat. Nasty.
Smack, tap, click, cry.
How anyone can not going insane with all this noise? I mean, I’ve been on planes so many times you’d think it wouldn’t bother me anymore right? Sadly no. It gets worse, and worse every time. A bigger plane, more people all making their own beat; a baby’s cries, an old man’s snores, a business man’s click of the keys.
Click, click, taptap, smack.
The only good thing about this horrid, cramped, loud plane ride, is that it takes me to an old family owned farm that has a boy and a horse waiting for me. Jakie, my beautiful mare, is grazing in a lush field of grass as my grandma brushes her mane. But Taylor, for him, I was especially delighted to see.
“Ladies and gentle men, the pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. We ask that you please put your trays in the upright and locked position and that you fasten your seatbelt as we prepare for take off.” The speaker over my seat said.
Click, tap, smack, smack. Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . .
I frowned out my window as the new sound invades my ears. I couldn’t place the sound, but I knew it shouldn’t be there. I sounded. . . bad. The kind of bad you feel right before you jump off a cliff into a lake, or when your horse canters away from a scary noise.
Smack, tap, cry. Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . .
I tried to push the noise from my mind, but it was still a little thorn in my side. I focused on the bigger thorn in my side instead. The thought of seeing Taylor again. It was both what I was dreading and anticipating.
Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . .
We had a sort of a fight. A little fight about nothing really. A horse race. The details aren’t important, just the fact that I never apologized I never told him sorry. It hurt to know I didn’t tell him I cared what he though, that I didn’t mean the hurtful things I said.
Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . .
That noise! That horrid noise! It simply wouldn’t leave my mind. I glanced out the window and listened.
Cry, smack, drip. . . taptap, click.
The airline symphony drown out the noise as soon as I tried to focus on it. Once my senses became hyper aware, they took in everything except the one thing I wanted to hear.
My impatience got the best of me. I stood, turned out to the isle and scooted over the man next to me. I ignored the protests from the stewardess and took into my hand the speaker phone, and when I pressed the call button I hear the speakers ding, and the red light turn on, signifying that the speaker was live.
“Listen,” I called out, “I need you all to be quiet.”
Smack, tap, drip. . . cry, click.
Nothing changed, the clatter from the other passengers assaulted my ears. Frustration peaking, I glared at the passengers, and growled into the phone.
“Shut up!” The clatter ceased, and all eyes traveled to me. I said a quiet thanks as my ears worked overtime to find the noise. And when I did, I knew something was wrong.
Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . drip. . drip
The noise was speeding up.
Drip. . drip. . drip. drip. drip.
I knew this was not good. Very very not good. And I had an inkling I knew that noise. That I should know that noise.
Drip. drip. drip. drip drip drip.
No. No, no, no, no! I had to be wrong it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
Drip, drip, drip dripdripdripdrip
Fast, to fast, it was much to fast. It was wrong, and I knew it. But I couldn’t do anything. I was just a kid.
But then, as I mulled over what to do, I heard it. The noise that should not have happened then, nor ever should have.
The noise stopped.
“Get down! Get down NOW!” The last words spoken on flight 844 to Minnesota, before the plane exploded.
On May twenty-fifth flight 844 to Minnesota had a tragic accident, wherein the fuel tank had a leak that caused the plane to explode. Fifty people had boarded the plane that morning, fourty-nine survived.
The casualty was one Keira Nightshade, a fifth-teen year old girl on her way back home. She risked her life to save the others on that plane, telling them to move, when she herself did not in order to make sure they did. In loving commemoration, we will miss her.
I died that day. I died knowing I would never make it back home. Back to Jakie. Back to Taylor. I would never get to say I was sorry, that I still loved him. That day I made a choice, and that choice changed everything. I didn’t know, that day, that I would never be able to change the wrongs I did. I was scared and selfish, and I choose wrong. I didn’t tell him sorry when I had the chance, and because of that, now I never would.