Platitude Latitude
by Gwen Pryor
31C, the window seat, was our opportunity. I promised my sister, Ellie, we would alternate, when the time came. Once we found 31C and 31B, we pulled out a Ziplock bag of pretzels, raisins, and cashews that Grandma had packed into our Lion King backpack. I tossed a handful of mostly salty raisins into my mouth. A yellow Post-It note fell from the bag. I read it to my sister: “Enjoy your first flight! Remember, you are never alone. Your mother is watching from heaven.”
Cold air burst from the nozzles above our heads. The loudspeaker cracked as the flight attendant called for attention to the safety demonstration. We mimicked her motions as the other passengers chatted, flipped through magazines, and snored. After her demonstration, the flight attendant brought us a pair of plastic winged pins for paying such close attention to flight safety. We reminded her that accidents can happen to even good people. The plane grumbled, shook, and shot up into the air.
Ellie asked if now was our chance. I pushed my nose against the glass and peered down at the green farms creating a checkerboard pattern. No. We were still below the clouds. We waited, clicking our heels against the seat. Ellie noticed a wisp of white in 30C’s window. “Clouds!” We grabbed our construction paper posters, shoved ourselves into 31C, and flung the plastic window open. Large empty clouds covered the sky. Ellie lowered her Hi Mom! poster. “Where is she?”
Gwen Pryor is from San Francisco, California.