Phone Call
It started one evening with a jovial phone call, an invitation to visit friends and an enthused acceptance. My excitement waned when I realised the logistics of my commitment; the journey would be a day's travel by road, and my precious annual leave had long since been depleted on lazy, hot summer days. City roads were also alien to me, I was familiar with driving down country lanes where complicated junctions, bus lanes, and traffic in general were non-existent. Along with the encroaching winter nights and looming winter weather, the lonesome drive down the winding stretch of dual carriageway was daunting.
In comparison, the flight's duration was a mere hour, had an 'early bird' special, and I could still depart straight after work on Friday.
It would be safer and more convenient to take the latter option, leaving my car behind and exposing myself to the mercy of public transport. At least I wouldn't be caught alone in a storm, stuck in a frosty snow drift in the dark.
Claire's Car
Today's the day. Tarmac slips away as white lines blur past, cat's eyes blinking in the night. Occasionally, I dip my headlights to the oncoming cars, squinting as their beams shine through my windscreen.
The journey to the airport isn't far but I still stifle a yawn. Music is playing on the radio and I turn it up, the lively beat drumming alertness despite my thumping headache, a remnant from the week's work or perhaps from my slow, creeping dread.
My fingers curl tight around the wheel as I let out a single steady breath. I approach the junction; one route leads straight to my friends, the other to the airport. It would be foolish to drive the whole distance in this state. The indicator is clicking on and off in calming rhythmic ticks as the engine idles. My choice had been made weeks ago, when the reality of the decision had lingered only dimly in the future. Grumbling at the non-refundable plane ticket, I lift the clutch and pull away.
When I arrive, limited spaces remain in the short-stay car park and I circle three times before locating an unoccupied spot. On each rotation the exit beckons, lit up and enticing with a bold green traffic light. I kill the engine, leaving the key in the ignition. I could fill the tank, grab some food and disappear into the night, music blaring and injected with caffeine.
After a couple of dithering minutes, I zip up my coat and step out, shivering in the icy wind. I click the car fob, lights blinking as the doors lock, drawing a figurative line in the sand. No going back now. Snow starts to fall, layering the ground in a patchy white blanket.
Transfer Bus
By the time I've slogged my way through the bustling crowds to Gate 22, one transfer bus had departed, leaving me first pick of the half dozen seats on the next bus.
Other people traipse on, stamping slush and ice off their shoes, and soon the only option was to stand. An elderly man boards with a walking stick held against his left hip. I dig my fingers into the cushion, stubbornly avoiding eye contact, my attention now completely absorbed on the splintering ice patterns that frosted the window and the fleet of de-icing vehicles that skated across frozen surfaces. A man stood, at least twenty years my senior, offering his own seat. I let him, trying to ignore the projected judgement from the other watchful passengers.
The doors close and the bus lurches into motion. I pull my phone from my coat pocket, attention fixed on the bright screen, its unnatural hue illuminating my pale face.
110 text messages in my inbox. I start to delete them, one by one, fingers clicking into the buttons with deliberate motion. I don't look up, not once until the bus jolts to a halt, the hydraulic hiss signalling the end of the short three minute journey.
Plane
Runway lights twinkle in the distance, a dizzying blur of reds and greens, trapping my gaze as my mind wanders elsewhere.
I prise my fingers from their clutch on the armrests, inhaling deeply, forcing my muscles to loosen, my jaw becoming slack and my shoulders slump. Hot air from the overhead fan blows into my face and I blink back my exhaustion as the plane rumbles along to position itself at the end of the runway. The engines roar to life.
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A single moment of suspense. The wheels start to roll, abruptly launching the plane forward. Taking a deep breath I begin to count aloud.
“One, two, three, four, five...” I pronounce each and every number in exaggerated movements of my mouth. “...thirteen, fourteen-” the plane bounces, wings flexing. I slam my eyes shut, only to fling them open again, my foot slipping outward as the back of my seat presses against me. I fixate on the interior of the plane. “...nineteen, twenty.” I take another breath and start again, staring intently at the overhead luggage compartments, and the rounded, cylinder shaped handles. “One, two, three, four, five...”
We're skimming across the runway, each bump elongated and making my stomach churn as the plane gains momentum. I reach twenty again, and take another deep breath, restarting, focusing on the syllables. My resolve fractures as I twist sideways in my seat, head tipping upward. “One, two, three-”
The plane lifts, freeing us both as it soars into the air, the ground moving further and further away. Now able to relax, I lean forward to peer out the small window, grinning at the hundreds of lights twinkling and dancing below, like a giant string of Christmas lights on the ground.
Jessica's Car
My boots crunch onto freshly compacted snow and an abundance of snowflakes cling to my hair. I hop from foot to foot, rubbing and blowing into my hands as crowds of excited people brace the storm. Across from the taxi rank two figures are waving frantically, their faces flush pink with bobble hats pulled down.
“Claire, over here,” Jessica shouts, her voice muffled as Leanne bounds across the road, slipping as she fell into a hug.
“Sorry, we're late. The roads are horrendous. How was your flight?”
Jessica's car is barely unearthed, buried beneath the elements, snow banks forming on the window ledges. I drag my feet to a stop as Jessica pulls off an already soggy mitten and starts using it to clear the glass.
“Can I sit in the front? I don't travel well.”
“Don't worry,” Leanne smiles, as she struggles with the frozen backdoor. “It's only ten minutes.”
“Twenty,” Jessica corrects. “I'm not going above thirty.”
I slip into the passenger seat, clicking in my seatbelt.
“That's fine. Slower is better.”
The road rolls steady underneath, cutting through the slush as murky water coats the windscreen. Flakes of snow stream over the hot bonnet and across the surface of the glass. The car pulls onto the carriageway.
“We'll get the train into town, and grab dinner at this great burger place-”
“You've never been to Ryan's Rum Bar have you, Claire? It's worth stopping there too-”
Jessica and Leanne's chatter floods through me, and I desperately try to cling to every word, my own thoughts whirling in a spiral. The road starts to blur as the windscreen wipers swipe back and forth.
I scrunch up my eyes, words struggling to form as my head tilts back. Jessica flicks her eyes in the rear-view mirror as she pulls into the outer lane. The car accelerates as I twist slightly in my seat, my foot pressing against the non-existent brake.
“I'm not doing well.”
“Don't worry, I'm taking it easy,” says Jessica.
That knot in my chest and the rising sensation that I'm disconnected, failing to anchor myself, my body adrift, going up and up, rising until I can bear it no longer as my head pushes back against the headrest.
I'm screaming, writhing, my back arching in my seat, buckled in tight but still flailing, arms trying to grab something. That feeling, I can't bear it, it's horrific, overwhelming, as if my whole body just wants to stop. A wheel that's spinning, I'm in the centre and it keeps going, building, unrelenting, eternal.
“Stop!” I sob, my body jerking, contorting, trying to find an escape, a calm in the storm, but there was nothing but endlessness going on and on and on. “Stop, stop, stop!”
My body is alien. I try to ground myself as my chest constricts. Sensory overload.
Finally, as if it was minutes rather than seconds, the immediate ease on the car pedal, just enough to bring me plummeting back down, to reconnect with the earth and latch on.
My knuckles are white, I can't let go. And that breathless calm, the descent back to reality as adrenaline pumps through my veins.
“Claire, what the hell?”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
I slump, clinging to the car door, forehead pressing against the glass.
“Sometimes I panic,” my voice comes out a choking whisper.
Jessica crawls the car to a lay-by. I grip on tight the whole time, eyes welling as I flush with embarrassment. As soon as she stops, I unbuckle and flee.
The immediate chill is welcome, but I still shiver. My feet plunge deep into the snow bank, car headlights flash past, illuminating my shadowed figure in the dark.