The flight had been delayed for over an hour; we were told to be at Terminal 23 at 5:30 p.m., and we waited. And waited. Slightly before 7:00 p.m., the gates were opened for us to board the airplane...
Shortly afterwards and in quick order, all the passengers had boarded, overhead bins had been shut, and the captain apologized for the delay, citing a lengthier than expected flight from London-Heathrow. “However,” he noted, “…with the winds behind us, we will arrive at Heathrow at the time originally scheduled. Please expect some turbulence and do enjoy your flight with us…”
By 7:00 p.m., people were now fastened into their seats, and the customary “what to do if the plane goes down” video was presented. Finally, the announcement was made that all doors have been secured, and that we should prepare for departure momentarily. At 7:02 p.m., I felt the giant ship beginning to move backwards out of the terminal, working its massive size against the inertia, heaving. I noted the vast wing span because I was seated behind the wing in a window seat – the tips of them were bent upward at an angle and displayed the British flag. It then dawned on me, “This is it. I’m actually going to Oxford – to Europe!”
I took notice of the thin fluorescent lights that guided the ship backwards, out of the flight docks and I didn't want to miss one moment of the process because I had immediately been transformed into an eager child of long ago. I sat there, with a fixed grin at the anticipation of taxiing down the runway and then taking off. I wrote down a play-by-play unfolding of events that few people might give consideration to in this modern era of flying. If I could have free-framed every moment, I would have. We were moving towards the taxi route that was decorated with deep blue lights – ever closing in – in mere moments! I heard the engines revving up as another Virgin Atlantic airbus passed on the tarmac in the opposite direction, followed by a Southwest Airlines jet.
Suddenly there was a burst of acceleration, followed by an eerie howling sound coming from the engines. The acceleration was quick to pick up and lo, we were jettisoning down the final runway. I cannot begin to express the exhilaration I felt during take off; I could do it over and over, day after day, and never get tired of the experience. Soon, we were thrust forward by Newton’s “opposite and equal reaction” as the plane pushed forward in a burst almost. The lights of Los Angeles were passing by quickly at ground level and we were moving with considerable velocity. Then, the lift! We've been transformed into winged creatures – into gods, flying effortlessly, taking off into the air, defying the laws of man and physics but for the will to do so. I jotted down in my textbook, “Fare thee well, Los Angeles” as I watched my city pass by quickly. Within moments, a black sea held the city lights in suspended animation – circuit boards patterns floated beneath me, and the land was swallowed up into the void until there were no lights. The plane turned slightly northward towards the black of night, of space.
At around 9:00 pm, dinner and drinks were being served. I had already ordered my customary alcoholic beverage, but now it was time to choose between beef and mashed potatoes, chicken and rice, or a vegetarian pasta dish. “Chicken and rice,” I responded, as politely as possible. I was not interested in the dinner. Aside from reading a very arduous first chapter of my Sociology class, I was busy staring outside. I tried hard to outline what seemed to be a coastline. Minute clues of speckled lights littered the view below. Were we in the tundras of Canada, or had we encroached upon the coveted Arctic Circle route?
In the dark black, at 30,000 feet, the clusters of light loose their linear relativity with respect to their horizons. Instead, these sporadic settlements sprinkling the night sky appeared as constellations interspersed in space – mere ornaments against the blackness. Soon thereafter, there were no more lights to be seen, save the blinking red lights fastened upon the wings. We were now suspended mid-air against the void backdrop. Frost was building up on the exterior window, etching crystallized patterns. The air was also beginning to chill a bit.
By 3:00 am Los Angeles time, we had been flying for eight hours. The daylight broke through the windows as I awoke to an unsatisfying catnap. I had to throw my jacket over my head to block everything out and was not sure if I slept or not. We were clearly over the Atlantic Ocean, and the earth’s rotation seemed to be in our favor. Time was getting short now before we would be arriving at Heathrow. And so the journey continues… More to come soon… Sleep beckons...
Peace.
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