When I was eight, Dad took us on holiday to New York with his new girlfriend. He’d told us she was “the one.” We were flying there; I’d never been on a plane before. Mom kept saying, “pathetic attempt to impress her.”
Mom hugged me and my older sister, Hayley, goodbye as the taxi driver loaded our bags. Then Mom said to Hayley, “eat something there, please.” Mom always said as soon as I stopped being picky, Hayley started. In the front yard, with arms crossed, Mom stood as our taxi left for Denver International Airport.
Hayley stared at the same page in her book all the way there, but I was keyed up, impatient to get on the plane and see the cockpit. I’d marked days on my calendar, fidgeted for weeks. Samuel, who sat near me in class, had bragged nonstop about seeing the cockpit.
Dad and Melissa (Dad insisted we called her Mel), were waiting by the airport entrance. “My girls,” he called and waved. We hugged, then Hayley stood with her book open, staring at it. At check-in, she carried it under her arm.
On the plane, Mel said, “who wants the window seat?”
Hayley stared at her book, ignored her, so I sat there. Dad was in the aisle seat, so Mel could get to know us. Dad had introduced us to previous girlfriends, but we’d never been on holiday with one before. After take-off, when Mel’s can of gin fizzed, she laughed so loudly it hurt my ears. Dad toasted with her, leaning over Hayley’s book.
“What are you reading?” said Mel.
“A novel,” Hayley replied to the pages and flicked one.
Mel rummaged in her bag and sprinkled potato chips on my tray table after eating handfuls. When she pulled down Hayley’s table, Hayley slammed it back up.
“You should eat,” said Mel.
The flight meals arrived, and Hayley would not put her table down, so Dad had her plastic tray of food under his. I buttered my roll, and while eating it, I realized I was hemmed in; time was running out for the cockpit.
“Dad,” I called across the aisle. “Can I go in the cockpit?”
No answer.
I had two teaspoons of stew. Dad shrugged to Mel about Hayley’s tray.
While the plane cruised, I asked again. “Dad, please.”
“Sarah, maybe later,” his voice sighed, don’t keep on.
The window beside me displayed a vast bleakness, my eyes stinging.
“I’ll take her,” said Mel, edging out. “Are you coming too, Hayley?”
“No thanks,” Hayley said to her book.
Mel asked the flight attendant, and we squeezed into the cockpit; she crouched. I tried to count the switches that were everywhere, including the ceiling, round dials, panels with buttons, various shaped lights. Voices crackled on the radio; I swayed and there was loud humming. It was better than I imagined; when we returned to our seats, dad looked relieved and Hayley was nibbling a roll.
INSTANT NOODLES 