Cross-Country Air Travel

I have plans with family friends back home for the entire summer. I can’t afford the time it takes to drive across the country alone, and driving with anyone else always meanders and takes even longer. So, instead, I bought a plane ticket. Together, Isaac and I mooch a ride off of Irene to the airport. Isaac claims he wants to visit Amanda and CERN and all that physics stuff. I think he just doesn’t trust himself to stay on the same continent as Sierra. Irene, like me, is travelling to visit family for the summer. Like Isaac, though, she’s leaving the continent. That means, unfortunately for me, I will end up arriving at the airport about an extra two hours too early for my mere cross-country flight.

The drive is a lively one. Not on my end, of course. It’s an hour and a half of Irene drilling Isaac about who he’s intimate with. Isaac, for his part, has improved his staying quiet ability since he and I first met. He maintains his stubborn refusal to be out-witticismed, but at least he knows how to give a vague non-answer properly. If Irene had not been driving, she might have spotted his tells and discovered much. Instead, she likely learns little from their dialogue.

Finding a break in the drilling, Isaac asks me, “Ter, what’re you up to this summer?” After I cock my head, he adds, “Besides visiting your pops, I mean.”

“I have plans,” Ter informs me.

Irene steps up to bat. “I don’t know everything,” she begins, “Because, Therese, but from what I’ve gathered, she has friends in politics around there, and she’s probably going to do some work for them. Also she has a stubborn refusal to admit to anything criminal, but Ruth mentioned that Tim mentioned that she got you into a party in the city of Angels and, when I talked to a friend of my family in Hollywood about that party, it’s notorious for having rogues and scoundrels attending, so I’m betting the ‘work’ she’ll be doing isn’t necessarily the honest type.” To me, she adds, “Am I right?”

I don’t answer, which would be normal, except I’m in a car with two of the maybe six people who can actually read me well enough. Isaac nods. “She says you’re right,” he tells Irene, who needs to stay focused on the road. “Not in so many words,” he clarifies.

“Of course not,” Irene replies.

I groan. “I hate you both.” I don’t really mean it, but they both know I don’t really mean it, so it’s alright to say.

Eventually, we manage to arrive at the airport. Once we make it in, I split off from the gossiping pair and head through the domestic security line. Out the other side, I still have hours to spare. Being stuck at an airport for hours is bad enough, but what makes it worse is that I can’t afford to do much. The tickets for the round trip have pretty much cleaned out my rainy-day fund. I am going to have to find a way to pick up some spending money once I get home if I want to ever go out. And I do. Not that that’ll be hard. I’m me. I’ve been planning on stumbling on some cash back on Bay since I started thinking about the trip.

But, for now, I get to sit at my gate and wait. For the first time in my life, I get, or have, to sit in an airport. I put in my headphones and begin to chill out. Pulling out a notepad, I start jotting down details of an idea I had while I was writing my Retroactive Interpretive Theory final. See, back in first semester, in my Mystic History of Pre-Colonial America class, we learned about several practices which were used to avoid opposing factions spying on them. Which is fine, whatever, there are plenty of antimagic incantations that can do that. But, based purely on their similarity in structure to other modern incantations that I learned in Illusory Manipulations 100, I figured that it was actually a manipulation of the energies, not a negation of them. It stuck in my mind for some reason, and while I was writing my final, I realized that, depending on what exactly each of the words means, one or two of these could be immensely useful based on the principles of Retroactive Interpretation. Which is why I brought along my MH-PCA notes. Because, while most of the languages are lost, they are related to living languages. I might be able to determine which could be useful. So, with pen, paper, and the internet, I set out to translate, roughly speaking, ancient ritualistic chants.

I get many strange looks from people as I scribble away, sitting at the gate and waiting. I don’t particularly care. I’m doing important work, after all. Not for the world, just for me. The basics of retroactive theory in the mystic world is similar to that in actual legal discussions: If nature sets out a new law for balance’s sake, how does it apply to previously functional practices? Also similar to legal discussions, the answer to that question is complex. There are a whole series of complicated rules and loopholes within loopholes, like all good laws have. That’s why I need to figure out the exact wordings. To navigate those loopholes. And my progress goes well enough, accounting for the limitations of my environment. I’m about two-thirds of the way through the first of three incantations when boarding starts. So, I need to schedule a day or two this summer just to focus on it, get the translations done and link interpretations.

Because I bought my ticket late, and couldn’t splurge for the upgrade, I am one of the last people to board. I climb into the first open seat I see. It’s a middle seat between an older, larger gentleman and a middle aged woman. I don’t even take out my headphones to talk to them. I turn off my phone, before they start their safety thing. I know enough about planes to know that’s one of the things they tell you to do. Then, I sit back, close my eyes, and try my best not to think about the fact that for the next five and a half hours, I’m in a large metal tube hurling through the sky at more than 500 miles an hour. I can’t. Instead, I start to think about how to fix it if we do end up plummeting.

Unfortunately, that too doesn’t go well. The only plan I could think of to save myself would end up using the lifeforce of pretty much everyone aboard the flight as well as likely cripple myself. Beyond that, since we’d be crashing in the middle of the country, the mystic echo it would send out would undoubtedly lead many creatures to come and kill any of us who survived. So, less a plan and more a concern.

The flight attendant comes by, asking about drinks. I shake my head. The only kind of drink that would help right now would require me to pay. With money I do not exactly have. So nothing is better than something useless. I close my eyes once again, this time thinking about exactly what I’m going to do once I’m on the ground again. First things first, I’m going to need to find a ride. Should be easy enough, I’ll call one of my dad’s friends. Cars are something friends of my dad can get me with relative ease. So long as no one asks too many questions. I also want to visit my dad as soon as possible. Especially if I’m borrowing from one of his friends. Today would be ideal, assuming by the time I have access to a car I can make it to the prison before visitation hours are over. If not, that can happen tomorrow morning.

My thoughts are interrupted by the large gentleman tapping me. I take out one of my earbuds. “Hey, I need to,” he says, then gestures frantically. Sighing, I gesture for the middle aged woman to get out before me. I put back in the earbud and we both shuffle out to one side and wait. The larger gentleman takes longer than I expect to get out, but he eventually does. Once he’s headed towards the bathroom, I get back into my seat, though I don’t buckle up. I’m assuming he won’t be long enough for that to matter. The woman is talking to me. I don’t bother taking out my headphones. She’s the type to talk about air travel a lot on the flight. I could see it in how she was sitting when I sat down at the beginning of the flight. And the fewer reminders that I’m hurtling at more than five hundred miles an hour, and at an altitude that humanity cannot survive, with nothing but a thin metal tube to protect me, the better. Instead, I go back to planning. I talked to Luis a few months ago. My quote unquote internship won’t start until the weekend. That gives me a couple days to stumble into some spending money. Nothing elaborate, of course. I should probably just call up Vanessa. She’s undoubtedly got some work available. Sexism combined with her general attitude doesn’t do her favors in keeping outside talent on the payroll. Fortunately, I like her well enough. She’s always been good to my friends and has work for me relatively regularly. Mostly low paying and delivery, but beggars can’t be choosers. And, in any case, it’s better for getting spending money without drawing attention than most.

The larger gentleman returns, and we once again file out of our seats to allow him past, then make our ways back in. He says something, probably thanking or apologizing to us. I don’t much care. I wave it off politely, as either way it would be unnecessary. And I settle in for the remainder of the flight. Pulling out the two-thirds of a translation of one incantation, I get to work on it. It’s not definite, because the translation is incomplete, but I can work through to determine if it misses any of the Retroactive Interpretation loopholes or meets them. Mostly, though, I know doing this work before the translation is complete is useless. I just need to be doing something, else my mind wanders to the terrifying reality that my life currently is reliant on a machine that, statically speaking, has not been inspected for several weeks worth of flights. Not a thing I like my mind dwelling on, so theorizing on a partially translated mystic incantation is much more productive, even though it is absolutely pointless.

Eventually, after what felt like ages, the fuzzy voice of the pilot says for everyone to buckle up for a landing. At least, I think that’s what he says. It’s kind of hard to understand. The landing is incredibly uncomfortable and jolting, but at least it means we’re now safely on the ground and if we lose control there are several ways I could protect myself without draining everyone on the plane of lifeforce. It would be unpleasant for the pair next to me, but such is life. Magic is, by definition, a balance of life and death, pleasance and discomfort, order and chaos. To bring out one, one must also bring its twin.

As I shuffle out of the plane and head for baggage, I wonder why people are obsessed with air travel. It seems the most unpleasant combination of terror and boredom. Perhaps for the person actually flying, in control of the plane, it would be fun. Or, if someone knows the plane well enough to service it before flying, it will at least be boring alone, which there are plenty of ways to remedy. But normal commercial air travel seems to me the worst of all worlds. Trapped in a seat unable to do much of anything and feeling that imminent danger the whole way. I will never understand people’s obsessions. I turn on my phone as I wait for my bag. Dialing up my dad’s friend, I wait. He picks up. “Hey, Aaron. It’s Therese. I just got into town for the summer, and I’d love a ride for a couple months.” He chuckles and hangs up. He’ll come through. Aaron’s a reliable sort. I grab my bag and head to a chair to wait for Aaron’s text.