He decides to try to pass the time by talking to his son. �Are you excited?� Carl asks him.
Patrick looks up from his Sports Illustrated magazine, and nods his head. �I haven�t seen the cousins in years. I�m glad that we pulled off this family reunion. It�ll be fun to see everyone again.�
�Yeah, I can�t wait either,� Carl replies. �I haven�t seen Mum since her stroke. Your uncle says she�s looking much better.�
�Can I get you anything to drink?� a stewardess asks the two of them, drawing them out of their conversation.
�I�ll have a ginger ale,� Patrick says.
�And, for you sir?� the stewardess - her name tag says Judy - asks Carl while pouring the ginger ale out of a dwarf-sized can.
�Yeah, I�ll have a Pepsi, please.�
Judy half pours the ginger ale and waits for the fizz to go down before emptying the rest into the cup. As she is bending over to pull a mini-Pepsi can out of her push cart, a young man in an orange shirt and backwards baseball cap pushes by her and grabs the ginger ale she had poured.
�Excuse me, sir, that�s not for you,� she calls out after the man. It�s too late though. He�s halfway up the aisle before she finishes her sentence.
Carl leans out into the aisle to watch the man. He sees him walk into the galley. The sound of cupboards opening and then slamming shut permeates from the onboard kitchen. A moment later the young man is walking back down the aisle. He no longer has the soda, but his hands are bristling with tinfoil. He has found the mini-bags of peanuts.
Carl is about to make a comment to the man, something along the lines of: If you had waited a couple more minutes, buddy, the stewardess would�ve gotten to you. But, then he notices the look on the guy�s face. He is pale, and his facial skin looks as if it is just barely clinging on. Also, his eyes are dilated. Very dilated.
Apparently Judy also notices the man�s ghastly features. As he is pushing by her again, she asks him if he�s all right.
�No, it�s Okay,� he replies to her. �It�s just the drugs.�
Carl exchanges worried looks with the woman sitting across the aisle. He hopes that everything is all right.
Georgia looks away from the man and checks on Bianca. She is asleep, thank God. The queasy drops of turbulence had made Bianca fuss earlier. Georgia had been afraid that the baby was going to start crying, turning everyone�s attention on them.
Now, she imagines, she doesn�t have to worry about that. With that loony man walking up and down the aisle.
As if her thoughts had conjured him up from his seat, the young man in his bright orange tee shirt hurries past her. He practically runs up the aisle and starts yanking on lavatory doors. The first two he tries are locked. Thankfully, the last one opens for him.
She would hate to see him puke right there in the middle of the aisle.
Bianca stirs a little in her seat as the plane bounces through the air. Outside the oval shaped window, Georgia sees the plane�s wing wobble with the turbulence. She guesses that�s normal, but reaches over and pulls down the window�s shade anyway.
He slams the door behind him and snaps the lock to the occupied position. Even inside the lavatory the monotonous drone of the engines never ceases. His head spins.
What is wrong with me?
He had said something about drugs. The last time he had drugs was two weeks ago at a party, a little smack and weed, but nothing that should be affecting him now.
In the mirror his face is pale, and sweat is running in little rivulets down his cheeks. Yet, he feels cold. Cold all over. He leans forward and looks into his eyes. They are dilated. They don�t even look like his eyes.
A wave of dizziness passes over him. He reels over the toilet. Half-chewed peanuts and chunky ginger ale slosh into the inky blue liquid of the toilet. The taste is somehow not too awful. He pulls the handle and the blue liquid evacuates the basin in a roaring vortex. The sound of it rips through the lavatory, as if the toilet is trying to suck the whole plane down its pipes.
He stands to wash up. It seems to take forever for him to get to his feet. He turns to the little sink, but he can�t figure out how to hold down the button on the faucet and wash at the same time. Every time he lets go of the button, the water shuts off. Instead, he simply splashes some water in the general direction of his face.
Straightening up throws him into a haze. The walls of the lavatory seem to close in on him. His breathing becomes labored. He quickly fumbles with the door�s latch, flicking it to the vacant position.
A voice comes to him like out of a fog. His swirling thoughts delay the meaning of her words. He looks around, not understanding.
�Are you okay, sir?�
His surroundings come to him like a hurled brick. Rows of faces staring up at him, the stale air that makes his nostrils feel tight and raw. Sweat rolls down his face and joins the growing wet spot around his neck.
�Sir, can I do anything for you?�
He shakes his head. Who is this woman? What does she want? he thinks but is unable to make his mouth dictate his thoughts.
The plane leaps on a pocket of air pressure, jostling the passengers around. He grabs the headrest of the seat he stands beside. What�s going on? Why is everyone looking at me?
�Everybody just sit down,� he says to no one in particular. Heads that weren�t looking at him before now peer up at him.
Stop looking at me.
A frightened little voice a few rows down says: �Is he going to hijack the plane, Mommy?� He takes in the words, but derives nothing from them. They don�t matter to him anyway.
He walks down the aisle toward the back of the plane. The worried faces glaring at him add to his confusion. He stops mid-plane when he sees a woman emerge from the bulkhead in the rear of the plane. She�s wearing some sort of uniform.
She�s coming for him.
He sees another lurking behind the first. There are probably more around that he can�t see. He turns quickly and runs up the aisle toward the cockpit.
Oh God, what am I doing? Why am I doing this?
�Someone�s got to fly this plane!� he bellows hysterically.
�There�re three men at a whorehouse,� the copilot says to the pilot. �One�s running toward the whorehouse, one away from the whorehouse, and the third�s still there. What are their nationalities?�
The pilot sets down his coffee and shrugs. �You got me.�
�The one running toward the whorehouse is Russian, the one running away is Finnish. And, the one still at the whorehouse, Himalayan.�
The pilot lets out a bellow of a laugh, spraying donut crumbs over the cockpit�s instruments. �Good one,� he says. He wipes at the panel of buttons and switches, trying to remove the crumbs without flicking a wrong switch.
The door to the cockpit shudders and nearly bursts open. They flinch in their seats. The pilot reflexively puts his hands by the control panel as if the blow to the door could throw the plane out of course.
�Jesus Christ!� the pilot says. �Lock that fucking door!�
The copilot unbuckles himself and locks the flimsy door. As he pulls his hand away from the latch, the door is banged repeatedly.
�How long until touchdown in SLC?� the pilot asks urgently.
�Our ETA is ten o�clock. Another twenty minutes,� the copilot says, buckling up again.
�Good,� the pilot says, �radio SLC. Tell them we have a hostile situation in the cabin, and we�re requesting an open runway so we can land immediately.�
As the copilot picks up the radio, the top of the door gives way. A two foot piece of plastic flies into the cockpit and a man thrusts his head through the hole.
�Let me in!� the man screams, �I�ve got to fly this fucking plane. Let me in!�
Carl is up and running down the aisle, before the stewardess, Judy, can turn around. When he gets to the man assailing the cockpit though, Judy is right there behind him.
Carl yanks the man from the hole he�s made in the door, and is surprised to see that his face is relaxed. He expected the man to be in a fit of anger, yet he looks as calm as if he�s watching a television program.
�You can�t do this, sir,� Judy says over Carl�s shoulder. �If there is a problem, we�ll do everything we can to help you, sir.�
Carl can tell that the young guy�s missing every word that she�s saying. It�s as if his mind is in a different place than his body. Carl gives him a little shake, half expecting to see the guy�s eyes clear up, but it doesn�t change his dumb face.
Inside the ragged hole to the cockpit, one of the pilots looks up from the dials and buttons of the control panel. �Restrain that man, now!�
Carl pushes the unheeding man down the aisle and to some empty seats in an exit row. He looks and sees his son standing over his shoulder. Carl knows he�s not there out of curiosity, but to help, so he doesn�t tell him to go back to his seat.
Looking into the young man�s eyes, Carl tells himself that he has to get through to the lunatic before things go wrong.
�What�s your name, son?� Carl asks. The man�s eyes focus in on him, but he�s still mute. �Do you have a name?� he asks again.
�Jonathan,� the guy says, �Jonathan Burton.�
�That�s great, Jonathan,� Carl tells him. �Things are okay.�
Georgia turns her head around and peers through the crack between her and Bianca�s seats. Jonathan is in one seat looking at his surroundings in a dazed way. The guy, he told Jonathan that his name is Carl, is standing in front of the other seat, with a knee on it. Carl�s son is standing in the aisle, leaning over his father trying to talk to Jonathan about music.
Georgia is about to turn back to Bianca when Jonathan mumbles: �I�ve got to get out of here.� It catches her attention and she decides to watch for a little longer.
�I�ve got to get the fuck out of here!� Jonathan shouts.
Things begin happening too fast. Jonathan whips around. Carl lunges forward and grabs his hand. Carl�s son practically jumps on his father�s back to reach Jonathan. Georgia is confused.
Then she sees the tendons sticking out on Jonathan�s arm. And, that his hand is wrapped around the release latch on the emergency exit next to him. She has no idea if the emergency exit can be opened mid-flight, but she doesn�t want to hang around to find out.
She jumps up and steps away from her seat. She is about to grab her baby and get as far away from that exit as possible, when Carl and son pull Jonathan up and out of the seat.
In the cabin, half the people are trying to get away from the exit window, and the other half are rushing toward the struggle to help.
�Get him away from the emergency exit,� Carl grunts. He and his son start pulling the man toward another group of seats, as the stewardess clears the people out of the way. Jonathan looks as if he�s lost again. He�s trying to pull away from Carl, but he doesn�t seem to be putting much effort into it. His eyes are searching again, looking for something unseen.
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