Air Travel Is Scary
Emilia, Atlanta and I travel to the Adirondacks using an “aeroplane,” which is a flying means of transportation.
Well, it turns out, I would rather take an Asgardian flying skiff any time. It would be much more private, much faster, and definitely far steadier.
Being cooped up in a small, closed-up, fragile-seeming, packed, shaking-and-tilting, straining-to-fly vehicle is beyond horrible.
Worse, as Emilia told me, I have to bear this travel for hours more.
“Try to relax. Look outside. The clouds are nice,” Atlanta, who sits between Emilia and I, writes on the conversation paper that she carries with her.
I give her a disbelieving look.
“We are safe,” she insists. “You can transport us all away if anything happens, too, right?”
`What an unencouraging thought.`
But I do turn away and look to my right, where a circular window paned with some flimsy material provides a limited view of the vast field of fat white clouds that we are flying over.
I do not know how far we are from the ground, and, partly, I do not wish to know.
I turn away again.
To think that we have to take a return trip in this contraption, all too soon.