by Matthew Spataro
Turbulence: enemy to sleep, and jet lag’s ally
I’m dazed, sore, and worst of all – awake.
My eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness. My only lights were the small, glowing notices that told us what to do: not to smoke, and keep our seatbelts on, please.
As the aircraft rumbled around me, I took my time with waking. Stretched one leg far out into the aisle: pointing and flexing my foot until I was sure the blood flow hadn’t stopped. The other… I did what I could until the seat belt light turned off, and I was free. Next, the back: arched and cracking like and old bridge. I decided to roll my neck, head sticking out of the aisle, when I was jolted from sleepy ignorance into full-blown consciousness.
Not from the plane’s shaky movements, but from a man coming down the aisle. I was flung from my usual, scenic route that I take towards waking up. Instead, I jerked away from the aisle as if in slow motion. I stared up at the man as he stopped nearby, nothing said. No apology. I don’t even know if he noticed. But I did, and any chance I could even take a pit stop and close my eyes for a few more minutes or hours were dashed. I shook my head and sunk back into my seat. I stared ahead, and toyed with the complimentary tablet screen in front of me, bringing it to life. Then dimming that life so as not to disturb my row mates. Just because I couldn’t sleep doesn’t mean they have to join me. It’s a long flight, and any amount of time spent with your eyes closed is precious.
Because you could never tell how long that can be on a plane.
The screen wasn’t any different from the last time I had it on. It was still on the last thing I played: Birdy’s “Beautiful Lies”, all tracks from the album listed one after the other. I had gotten farther along then I remembered, but couldn’t be sure of how long I was out: Just as the last song was ending, the first one started up again, and I realized the looping possibility.
I couldn’t take it again, so I switched to a different artist. I didn’t want to focus on how much time had passed. How much will pass. How much of it I’ll be awake for. How tired I’ll be. How much sleep others were getting while I wait for the cabin lights to turn back on. For the picture of the tiny seatbelt to stop glowing. To get up and stretch instead of shriveling away, muscles atrophied. To do something I wanted to do, besides sleep: my favorite freedom that is hard to reach, but so easy to lose.
Thankfully, the little seatbelt went dark: my wish granted. I looked away from the glowing duo of notices only a second, but that was all it needed to go out. All that was left was the usual cigarette, blocked by the red circle-and-line.
I was off-
Well… almost.
If it weren’t for my headphones, wrapping around my seatbelt like a snake to its prey. I could have just left them there, the bathroom so close. I would be back in seconds. But I didn’t. My concern for the other people in my row led me to spend my time fixing the roadblock.
And allowing someone else to claim the nearest bathroom.
I pouted, and considered my options.
My clock was ticking; the longer I stood the more awkward I felt. In the end, I accepted the fact I had to head to the back.
‘Better,’ I reasoned, ‘more time to stretch.’
I took large steps to the back, walking through the dark tunnel to the light of my salvation. Only bumped into a few people, and got a good look at other lost souls, stuck in similar situations. Their eyes were screaming their exhaustion, their feelings of helpless captivity, of being lost in time. All of this was awash in a pale glow of the screens in front of them.
I made it to the bathroom, pausing to figure out which door I need and how to open it. Took me longer to figure out how to lock it.
The first thing I noticed when stepping in was the mirrors – they were everywhere. My reflection, staring back at me at all angles. I turned to the closest one and gave myself a quick once-over. Eyes, thankfully not bloodshot, and hair still gelled. I noticed a small stain on my red hoodie and frowned, remembering how I spilt some of the stew from lunch on it, with Humphrey Bogart’s voice in the background talking to Sam on the piano. I picked at it, then decided to carry on with my business.
I hadn’t really the need to go to the bathroom at first, I confess: I just wanted an excuse to stretch my legs. But being in a bathroom can have that effect on you – the bladder filling kind.
A quick glance at the instructions, and I went about it.
I had just started streaming when the plane rattled again, and continued doing just that. My eyes widened, and a cold feeling settled in my stomach.
I didn’t stop peeing.
I couldn’t.
Muscles tensed, and my usual, unshakeable bladder control had malfunctioned, and it was only coming out with more force.
I concentrated on that, however, willing myself to keep my aim perfect, and my heart true.
On the surface, I looked calm, composed, and measured. Internally, all that went on were strings of disconnected thoughts.
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t get wet. Don’t get wet. Don’t get wet.’
‘Of course.’
‘Get out and rush to your seat, you know that light’s gotta be on.’
‘Of course.’
‘Out of all the times I choose to get up-‘
‘Of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘OF FUCKING COURSE!’
I finished, the stale scent of my urine overpowering the fresh florals of the soap. I was disoriented, and wobbly.
I flushed, staring as my pee was sucked down and out to where it goes in a plane.
Then, I closed the lid.
Then, and only then, did I think to pull my pants up.
I turned to wash my hands. The faucet dribbled, and I had to keep one hand on the handle to keep it going. Washing my hands one at a time.
Tooke me longer than I wanted.
After that was over, and my hands were dried, I looked back into the mirror. An image came to mind, of the movie ‘Airplane!’ where the man has trouble shaving while the plane shakes with the effort of trying to land.
I understand his pain. Somewhat.
I was about to leave, plane still wobbling, when it occurred to me I might have to rush back to my seat, and put my seatbelt back on: the light, no doubt, flashing.
I open the door.
Two men, both on their phones, bored, are waiting just outside. I blink, startled and unsure of what to do. It didn’t take me long to remember where I was, and I got out of the way. I heard the door shut behind me as I left.
I was about to rush through the aisle, back into the darkness, when I caught sight of all the lit screens. Slowly, taking them all in, I glanced from screen to screen, their lights fully to me. It was like being surrounded by stars in the night sky: each screen different, yet in the end all share the same purpose.
I get back into my seat, and look up.
The seatbelt sign wasn’t lit.
I still put it on.
