CHAPTER 4 (FIRST CLASS.)
“Flight 544 now boarding for Honolulu, Hawaii,” I hear the flight attendant with blond hair that’s the size of Texas drone from behind her kiosk style desk. I stare at her for a moment perplexed at how she could possibly find enough hair spray to do that to her hair! It makes Dolly Parton’s hair look flat as a pancake.
My dad leans over to me with a mischievous grin, “Hey Emma,” he whispers. “What do you call a proton with big hair?” I give him a sizable grin, “What?” He lets out a small chuckle, “A fro-ton.” My dad and I bust up laughing while staring at the big-haired flight attendant. She looks up from her computer screen noticing us almost instantly so we quickly avert our gazes elsewhere.
I let my eyes drift downwards to stare at the boring geometrical square pattern that decorates the industrial carpet of the waiting area. Normally I would just people watch, but I don’t think the hustle and bustle is doing much to calm my mind. Squirming in the plastic seat I feel the butterflies doing summersaults in my stomach. I still can’t believe that this is it. No more Texas. No more open skies or sun scorched summers. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss the feeling of a hot blow dryer constantly hitting my skin in August. Or driving down the urban streets filled with big businesses, fancy houses and random cattle ranches littered in between.
“Now boarding First Class.” The flight attendant with the big hair announces.
I feel the anxiety set in. I should have asked the doctor for a Xanax or something. I wonder if people can pinpoint the exact time that their life changes forever. I’m sure for my Dad it was the day my mom left. For me, I think it is this moment right now.
I look to my Dad who is putting his laptop back into his carry on. “I have a surprise for you Emma,” my dad says. “What do you think about flying first class today?” He waves the tickets in front of my face and raises his eyebrows at me.
For a second the butterflies stop tumbling and I feel a small ounce of excitement. “First class?” I question. “How on earth did you manage that?”
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Kealoha decided that since I am uprooting my teenage daughter only a few months from her graduation, this was the least they could do. Honestly, I’m not surprised; they sure can afford it!”
“Cool.” I add trying to hide my semi-excitement. I know that my whole life is changing and I should continue with my woe-is-me attitude, but first class sounds really cool. I’ve always wondered what it would be like in first class and the Kealoha’s are right, it is the least they could do. I mentally strike through that last selfish thought.
With our carry-on’s in tow we head to the front of the line and show our tickets to the big haired flight attendant who’s stepped out from behind her desk. I practically choke on the smell of her perfume as we pass; it smells like she took a bath in it. I feel a little out of place up here in the front of the line. I feel like I should be sporting Abercrombie and Fitch duds and carrying a designer handbag. Isn’t that how the first class roll? I wonder if they can smell Sears on me.
The flight attendant tears off our ticket stub and gestures for us to head down the long narrow jet bridge. The bridge to nowhere pops into my mind before I can shoo it away. No negative thoughts Emma, I chide myself. Big Texan smiles greet us by way of the captain and a few of the flight attendants as we enter the plane. I wonder if people in Hawaii are going to be as hospitable as the great south is.
A much too flamboyant male flight attendant, whom looks like he spent an hour gelling his hair, escorts us to our seats. I slide into the oversized bright blue window seat and pull the shade down half way to block the rising sun from my eyes. My dad settles into the aisle seat next to me while the flight attendant puts our carry on bags in the compartment above our heads. No heavy lifting for us in first class I guess. Once we are settled I notice the other first class passengers around us. Some already have their laptops pulled out and others glance in our direction giving us the once over. I bet they are probably wondering how on earth we could afford first class seating. I start spotting all the designer labels they are proudly displaying. It’s all the stuff I see in my InStyle magazine but could never really afford.
The peppy male flight attendant clears his throat and asks, “What can I get you two to drink on this lovely afternoon?” I kind of do a little giggle in my mind. They never offer us anything to drink until we’ve almost landed when we sit back in coach.
I request a coke and my dad requests black coffee. He’s a manly man so there’s no sugar or cream to be had in his cup of jo.
The flight attendant comes back with a tall crystal goblet filled with coke and a ceramic mug with a silver rim filled with steaming black coffee. He makes another trip behind the curtain, coming back again with pillows and blankets in his arms. He takes the blanket and unfolds it placing it over my lap. This seems over kill to me, but I sit back and let the man do his job. I shouldn’t be complaining; secretly I could really get used to this royal treatment.
A few minutes after the last first class passengers are seated all the other passengers begin to board. I feel a little uncomfortable. Now all the people that aren’t ‘privileged’ enough to book first class get to view us. I’m sure many of them are looking at us as I did on many of my previous flights; wondering what it would be like to be able to afford first class seating. I felt like an exotic animal at the zoo. Feeling a bit awkward, I grab a book out of my bag and pretend to read until the procession of people has lessened to only a few stragglers.
One of the last to board is a couple, Husband and Wife, each holding a hand of their little three year old daughter. The daughter pulls on her mother’s arm and bounces with excitement as her curls dance across her shoulders. She points at everything and is asking a million questions. The flight attendant at the front gives her a pair of wings for her first flight as her parents guide her down the aisle to their seats. I eventually have to look back down at my book as I try my best not to allow myself to get emotional. I was that age once; so excitable and loved by two parents. I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if one of those beloved parents was not taken away from me. My hand instinctively goes to the front pocket of my jeans where my mom’s picture is. I just let my hand linger there for a while basking in that familiar, comforting feeling.
My dad pulls out his book and starts to read. He’s not one for senseless conversation. I don’t really mind though. I put my book down; knowing reading right now is useless. I ease my pillow behind my head and pull the blanket up. I stare out my window and zone out during the safety demonstration and take off.
Our peppy flight attendant comes back to take our order for lunch. I expect the choices to be our usual beef or chicken option, but instead we are offered Filet Mignon or Lobster. I order the Lobster and my dad orders the Filet Mignon. I contemplate the likelihood of him sharing part of his meal with me.
The flight attendant brings our order to us a few minutes later. A garden salad, creamed potatoes and fresh green beans accompany our main entrees. I take a bite of my lobster and savor it. Yum. I don’t leave a drop on my plate. My dad even lets me finish off a few left over pieces of his filet mignon. I see a couple of other passengers stare at me as I scrape the last remaining morsels of food off his plate. Hey, do not judge me, I’m still a growing teenage girl, I think to myself. It’s not every day I get a meal like this either!
After our trays are cleared I recline my seat almost all the way back. I don’t feel a single pair of legs blocking the way behind me like they do in coach. I get comfortable and settle in for the remainder of our eight-hour flight.
One of the last thoughts that pass through my head before I drift off to sleep is: if the Kealoha family can afford to fly their employees first class, I wonder what the house they set us up in will look like?
Night Marchers Page 5
