I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane

So chapped and windburnt you’d think she had freshly escaped a frozen desert, so polite and safe in conversation you’d think she was lying (she was probably lying), she raised an eyebrow at my educational background. They always do.

I won’t go like them. I don’t know how I’ll greet my burnout when it’s comin’, but God knows I won’t go like them—with white knuckles, grabbing so tightly on to what I’ve always taken for granted.

I couldn’t stop watching her knee. It was shaking so violently. Her knuckles really were white as she grabbed her husband’s hand as if to tell me one of them had a deep fear of flying. I couldn’t tell which one, but everyone on the plane was getting nervous at that point. Every six seconds, the window switched from being completely filled by Chicago, to being completely filled by the sky. All the heads bobbled in unison as we hit the hot air pockets or whatever gives a plane turbulence. I don’t understand that kinda stuff.

She was so convinced we were gonna die, and I couldn’t stop watching her shaking knee. We were comin’ into Chicago like an earthquake, like it was Bring Yer Kid To Work Day and the pilot was lettin’ his son land it.

I looked at her ear, her 60+ year old ear, and I wanted to lean in and say, “Forty-five percent of plane crashes happen during landing.”

I looked at her ear, her 60+ year old ear, and I wanted to lean in and say, “You’ve always done the best you could.”

I said nothing.

I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane,
I can think of nothing less likely to fly.
-Saul Williams