Fly the Friendly Skies

I hate talking to people in confined spaces and I don't really like strangers sitting next to me. As luck would have it, I got the best of both worlds on my flight to Daytona Beach on Thursday night: two lovely seatmates and a talkative traveler.

"Where you guys going," the guy in the aisle seat asked us.

"Daytona Beach," I said. The other guy was going to Atlanta. Aisle guy took this to mean that we wanted to talk, so he starts going on about layovers and first class and a whole bunch of other stuff I've blocked out by now. I tried to be friendly. I smiled and nodded my head. Then I buried my face in "Things Fall Apart," hoping he'd talk the ear off the guy in the middle seat and forget about me. He did.

After reading for a while, I remembered why I love airplanes. No cell phones. No worries. Just you, the sky and a little bag of peanuts.

Outside of the tiny airplane window, the whole world beckoned me.

When I was younger (read: 17), I used to think about how cool it would be to live in the clouds. From my seat in 2A, they always looked so full and soft - like big piles of cotton. Back then, I'd spend the entire flight thinking about how the clouds would feel in between my toes. Then I'd snap out of it. I could no sooner live on a cloud than I could touch the sun - the billowy pillows would send me plummeting to the Earth the moment I stepped on them.

As I stared out into the atmosphere, I had no idea what the next day would bring. I'd spend the day sitting around a teeny newsroom waiting for people to interview me. I'd eat lunch alone in the cafeteria because no one "had time" to take me to lunch. I'd finish my story test in an hour and spend most of the day catching up with my friend Seth, who works at the paper, because I had nothing else to do. At about 6 p.m., I would be offered the job, even though I realized I couldn't take it somewhere around 3:30 p.m., when I got a call from my first choice in New England.

The flight attendant comes by with refreshments - I get some Sun Chips and a ginger ale. Aisle guy is asleep so I tuck my book into my carry-on bag. Outside the window, the clouds are little islands; the blue of the sky becomes lakes, rivers and streams.

I close my eyes and wiggle my toes.

I can feel the billowy white air between them.