Terminal

It took a few moments for the images and sounds to register. The picture was shadowy and dark. Then, I could make out the wreckage. The emergency personnel milling around. The dark water surrounding the runway. Before I asked I knew the answer.

It had happened an hour after we took off. The plane had lifted off, spun and cart wheeled all the way into the water. The passengers and crew would never make it to Alaska.

After a while I wandered down the terminal. I was in a fog. I picked up my bags at the carousel and took the tram to my car. It was warm out. The wind blew and I breathed in the night air.

On the way home I found a news station that was covering the crash. I could only bear to listen a few moments and then I turned the radio off. The quiet hum of the car was company enough. I kept thinking of the people. The angry woman in the blood red suit. The sleeping couple that I would always be holding hands and resting in their comfortable lives. The old man with the yellow feather and black eyes.

I knew these strangers would be with me for the rest of my life. I would think of them often. At strange times. I couldn’t help it. I refused to watch the news when they were reporting on the crash. I didn’t want any more reason to think of those faces.

Then, a few weeks afterward, I had a terrible dream where I walked through the airport and passed by the doomed people. I tried to tell them. I tried to warn them off. But, they couldn’t understand what I was saying. My legs kept moving and I went on to my flight. This time, though, I could see the plane take off and spin in the air. It would tumble to the ground and splash all broken up into the water. I could see the bodies floating in the water. They were all broken up like the plane. I could see the yellow feather floating in the water.