Now Find Some Air to Breathe
They hadn’t approached cruising altitude yet when Jen’s light grasp on Clara’s hand became a death grip at the first dip of turbulence.
Clara laughed softly, looking at her in realization. “You’re afraid of heights.”
“Yes,” Jen said quietly, not looking at her, trying to release the breath she’d been holding with the word. “Don’t you dare fucking say… whatever.”
“Hey,” Clara said gently, still smiling a little, leaning on her shoulder. “I’ve got you.” She squeezed her hand.
Thinking about it now, Jen had been tense all morning. She’d even suggested, weeks before, driving to the convention, with a one way trip that would have lasted longer than the event itself. Clara had dissuaded her easily of the time consuming notion.
Today, she’d been terse and irritable as they got ready to leave, grumbling that TSA better not make a fuss about Clara’s collar, let alone anything questionable in their bags to be sold at the kink convention (which TSA didn’t), pacing at the gate and complaining that they had been waiting too long half an hour before they were due to hear any announcements. It had seemed strangely generous when she told Clara to take the window seat, clearly an order and not an offer.
Now, the death grip on her hand.
“I don’t like being afraid of things.”
“Most people don’t make a hobby of it. You’re just confused because you spend too much time with me.”
It at least got Jen to smile a little, actually look at her for a moment.
“Is it heights, or falling?”
“Heights. I think I have a healthy fear of plummeting to my death, but just the height thing is—everything gets so small. I think it's existential. Like, our whole lives are down there.” She gestured at the window without looking at it.
“I think mine is here.”
Jen looked at her again, smiled again, squeezed her hand. “Yes, but as you said, you’re an anomaly.”