Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  The two survivors mostly sat silently during the three hour flight smiling at each other, grateful for each others fate. The young woman was to be reunited with her baby daughter who she had been away from for so long. LAX would not be her final destination for there would be a long car ride up into Central California to her hometown. Two survivors, one a crew member and the other a passenger thrown together on the same day, divine intervention or twisted fate, and for what reason? Later I would reflect that perhaps the experience offered a thread that hope did exist. At the time I was still not convinced, for I could see the brokenness that housed itself inside this lovely girl. Her journey went forth in a different direction than mine.

  Once on the ground Penelope Anderson was met by two LAX gate agents who escorted her to waiting family members. I watched them leave through the terminal toward the next leg of the journey, her second chance at life. It was obvious to me that there were going to be terrible obstacles ahead on this road she was just embarking upon, her own out-of-control roller coaster. For the first time in a long time I prayed, asking this God to see that she would make it through to the other end in one piece.

  “Welcome home, Eduardo.” The chirp could only belong to one person. Shana had been assigned to greet me at the gate upon my return from MEX. I was not surprised, understanding the company's anxiety concerning my state of mind on my return to the flight line. My supervisor tried to make small talk as we slowly walked to the stairwell leading to the flight lounge. I would like to think that her approach was subtle as she evaluated me, trying to determine if my completed assignment had taken a toll on my stability, but it was not. Hell, I shouldn't complain, she got my name right.

  “Are you sure you are okay?”

  I played it cool and bit my tongue until I could get down to Daisy's office where there were a few things I wanted to get off my chest in my superior's presence, and in private.

  “They left that burnt rubble sitting there out in the open for four months,” I clamored. My frustration was obvious and my words seemed to be a revelation to Daisy, who I assumed would be just as dismayed.

  “Are you sure it was rubble from the accident?” Her query caused me to flip out.

  “Look, I don't mind being back on line Daisy, but no more Mexico all-nighters for me.” I slammed my fist on her desk. “I don't care, tell Scheduling to send me to Acapulco, Guadalajara, anywhere but Mexico City.” As quickly as I had entered, I was now gone. The anger had boiled over but I felt I was in the right concerning this issue. I rushed out and jumped on the employee bus where I sat angered and bewildered.

  No matter how hard I tried to get a hold on this matter, something always came out of nowhere to smack me right in the face, destroying what little confidence I previously had garnered. Maybe I should consult a professional in these matters, a psychiatrist perhaps? Certainly considering my situation there would be no shame in wanting to make that choice. There was also the little matter of past family history. Schizophrenia was in that history. I was twenty-seven and perhaps the flashbacks, the convulsions, the voices in my head were not just a result of survivor’s guilt. Just maybe, the awful gene on my maternal side was now awakening in me.

  “It would serve you right, you little shit.” The voices wished to stoke the flames of fear and

  shame in me.

  “Consult a priest.” My mother's voice expressed her preference. I did have a standing invitation to consult a Prince of Holy Mother Church. I was motivated, so I made a call to the diocese and set up an audience with Timothy Cardinal Manning, perhaps he could plead my case before this silent God. Maybe I could find some solace in His Eminence’s words.

  “You will sign the f###### paper.”

  “No!” I rose up in my own bed, in my own house, dripping of sweat in a panic. I gazed across the room at the statue of the Blessed Mother compassionately gazing downward. The Virgin's face seemed to indicate that she should pity my poor soul.

  There was no time to sit and wallow, I had to hurry. The previous night Scheduling allotted me a flight on the 10, LAX-SEA-ANC. Mercifully there was a 24-hour layover attached at the Captain Cook Hotel in downtown Anchorage. The facility had a nice weight room where I could try to eliminate the mounting anxiety. Alaskan air space was notorious for creating turbulence when flying into ANC which I was sure would add to my burdens.

  The flight crew assembled at Terminal 5. The majority of my fellow associates seemed pleasant and sincere. One such young lady whom I was to fly with this day spoke the dreaded words to me.

  “God has something great in store for you, Eddy.” I smiled, nodded and walked away. I would try and keep my distance from her during this three day assignment. I was assigned to work the 1R position, first class. As we boarded the DC-10 I resolved to commit myself to the specifics of my duties. I so wished to embrace the high standards of hospitality our airline was known for. As I caught sight of the forward position on the aircraft I froze. I focused on the jumpseat at 1R and it became apparent that nothing would be the same ever again.

  “Can I work the 1R position, Eddy?” I flashed back. It was twenty-year-old Karen Smitt speaking. “Please, please please,” her sweet voice begged. No matter how hard I tried to dismiss the idea, jumpseat 1R would always belong to Karen.

  “You okay, Eddy?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I was shaken from my daydream by Debra, the senior F/A who would be working across the aisle from me at 1L. I quickly scrambled to store my personal belongings, demonstrating action and an aura of normalcy. Once the ship was loaded and on the runway I relished the sensations, the massive forces projected upon my body by the General Electric jet engines. I remained harnessed inside the aerodynamic metallic fuselage as we were all lifted into the eternal skies. I so wished to be on a spaceship reaching into the heavens once more, escaping from this world.

  The flight and service to SEA went on without a hitch. Mid-flight to ANC the passengers were settled and I found a bit of time to rest, finding peace sitting with the drapes closed in my small cocoon that was at 1R. With the first class galley directly aft of my jumpseat I could sit and embrace my isolation.

  “Hi, Eddy.” My space suddenly had a visitor. The sweet blonde F/A who had hinted about a greater master plan for me had come forward while all remained calm in the cabin. I put on a pleasant face but truly wished to retain my non-involvement status.

  “I gotta give it to you, Eddy, coming back to work must be tough.” I merely smiled and nodded. “Have you ever thought about why you were spared?” My back stiffened and the hair on my neck stood up.

  “Oh dear Lord here it comes,” I whispered to myself.

  “You must be a Christian.” My fellow associate explained that she was born again and a member of a well-known Evangelical church in Orange County, California.

  “You know, I can see where this conversation is going and I really do not want to be judged on my personal religious beliefs.” I did not speak these thoughts, instead I kept a stoic face. Carol wanted so badly to believe that I, with my so-called exploits, had to be a fellow Christian, a stalwart disciple of the word of Jesus Christ. Why else would God favor me so? Unfortunately, I already could see that this discussion was not going to have a happy ending.

  “What church do you attend, Eddy?”

  “I was raised Roman Catholic.” My words sunk in and the radiant smile slowly evaporated into disappointment.

  “Oh,” was the only response to come from her mouth. There was a long pause as she seemed to be in momentary deep thought. She gazed downward, her eyebrows wrinkled. I could read her thoughts so clearly. Perhaps the Lord did not have so grand a plan for me after all. Perhaps my ordeal was a warning from the one true God to repent from my wicked, wicked ways. Yes, that had to be it. Her sprite, cheerful demeanor returned as she presented me with her company business card and an invitation to visit at her chosen house of worship. And with that she was gone. I watched her prance down the aisle back to her designated station in the aft, an
d I retreated back into my little enclosure. I just wanted to throw up.

  The short meeting stirred the anger inside. Then the no smoking sign went on and the captain came on the intercom.

  “Ladies and gentlemen ah, we're gonna ask our flight attendants to secure the cabin and take their seats for the remainder of our descent into Anchorage.” Now the fun would begin. The madness would taunt my already frail emotions. I battened down the hatches and strapped myself into the jumpseat as tight as I could. The runaway coaster was beginning another run and I was helpless to prevent it. There would be others who would wonder how I would react under the pressure of intense turbulence, even if no one said a word. I could not let the insanity, the voices win the game so I mustered up the appearance of Edmundo and the pantomime began. No matter how strong the savage winds were that hit the massive jet, the smile never vanished from my face, a perfect mask of tranquility.

  Once on the ground I quickly headed to the gym of the Captain Cook Hotel to try and relieve the stress. Once I was physically exhausted I sought normalcy but unfortunately on this night it would not happen. As if still caught in the turbulent struggle from the flight, I felt the anger brewing just under the surface. Then the wrath overwhelmed me. In my room I showered and methodically prepared to venture out, dressing warmly for the brisk conditions outside. I left the comfort of the hotel because of a great need to wander. I pounded the pavements feeling burdened with disgrace and dishonor.

  After some time I came to realize I had walked into what can be called the skid row area of Anchorage. There at every turn lay the wretched, poor souls who were engaged in their own wild roller coaster rides, a journey certain to only lead to Death's hand.

  “Who's to say yours won't?” The voices made a very distinct point. A great number of the plagued and abandoned were indigenous people. I began to look for Muerto for I was sure I would be able to spot him somewhere in this corrupt lair of pain and misery. Suddenly, two mad men began to fight. A skinny Native found something on the ground, a container of liquor I assumed, and a much taller and stronger Anglo man began to beat on him.

  “Cut this crap!” I interceded. “Get the hell out of here!” The frightened drunk stumbled, then was off. The smaller native was content to have retained the prize and he too, quickly fled. Perhaps I had wandered into one of Death's workshops and the desire to confront him rose inside me.

  I was attracted to a dive of an establishment with lights promising music and dancing. The Seafarer-with a name like that how could I lose? Inside the smoke-filled space I began to see silhouetted figures along a long wooden bar. I instantly recognized that the majority of the wounded souls present seemed intoxicated.

  “A beer, pleased,” I requested from a husky, tattooed barmaid.

  “Are you lonely tonight,

  Do you miss me tonight?

  Are you sorry we drifted apart?”[6] On the jukebox, “The King” tried to sooth the wounded patrons who occasionally took long draws on their cigarettes, a sight that forced me to recall the evil Comandante. There was one comatose individual sitting holding a smoke whose cylinder length was all ash, still intact and burning. I quickly downed my glass of suds.

  “A shot of tequila!” I requested of the haggard barmaid. “Add a beer chaser.”

  “Sure thing, honey.” There I sat, braced at the bar's counter with the rest of my fellow damned, feeling a sense of belonging.

  Many hours later I would re-enter the Captain Cook Hotel, quite intoxicated, as I am sure the security guards could attest. I was fortunate that this was a long layover for I still had time to sleep it off.

  I was on time for the crew shuttle to the airport. As usual, my fellow crew-members were asking each other how they spent their long layover?

  “Mary and I rented a car and drove along the coastal highway,” a cheerful F/A stated. Her companion raved about the views of the great vistas of the area.

  “I went fishing,” an aviator declared.

  “What did you do, Eddy?” I dreaded the words.

  “Well, I took a nice long scenic stroll amongst the intoxicated and homeless of Anchorage. I joined my fellow lepers in cocktails at the distinguished Seafarer Club in the heart of the town. My rogue compatriots and I proceeded to get shit-faced till the early morning.” Instead, I made up some pleasant story to tell them about staying in my room and only venturing out to have a king crab dinner.

  The flight home started well enough and the weather cooperated but I was destined to encounter a different sort of turbulence. Maurice was an F/A, tall and olive skinned. I initially liked him because like me, he traveled a lot on his time off.

  “Eddy, can I speak with you?” We met at the mid galley. Was he going to tell me about his latest adventure abroad? “Listen, is the company taking care of you?” His inquiry caught me off guard.

  “Well, yeah, they made sure I saw the best physician concerning my leg and...”

  “No, Ed.” He cut me right off. “I mean, have they given you any money?” Maurice would have the distinction of being the first associate to stoop so low and I was shocked. I did not respond. He was certain that if he had been the survivor of 2605 there would be no doubt he would have brought the culprits to their knees.

  “Heck Ed, if it were me I would have made them sign over a check for a million dollars.” I just stared at him in bewilderment. Maurice the ladies' man most likely imagined himself sunning on a beach in Rio, beautiful women awaiting, burning hundred dollar bills to light his expensive Cuban cigars. I pitied the fool. He was ignorant of the tormenting nightmares of the fire, the severed heads, the smell of the burned bodies or the sounds of those in the grasp of Death. He would never be burdened by the painful screams of the child Javier in the middle of any given night. The fool's head was filled with thoughts of riches, not understanding that there was a price attached to the whole affair. He would never be plagued by the cancers of shame and guilt. Vile voices did not fill his mind. His shallowness did not allow him to ever consider the side effects. He would not carry the dreadful scars. In his mind, it was just all about the money.

  I felt revolted by the time I exited the craft at LAX. I hastily walked to the men's room located in the middle of terminal 5, went into a stall and locked the door. I sat, isolated for the moment as I tried to gather my emotions. I could not contain myself so I wept.

  “Why couldn't I have been taken with my crew?” I so desired to be relieved of this burden.

  “You were not good enough.” the voices continued the torture. I heard an announcement calling for the boarding of the day's last flight to HNL.

  “To hell with this.” I had a fine collection of passes I had stock-piled so I left my hiding place and hurried down to the flight lounge. I contacted Flight Attendant Scheduling and informed them I was taking myself off line due to illness. Elaine the scheduler was initially silent then responded,

  “I understand, Ed, let us know when you are feeling better.” I was relieved by her compassion. It seemed that at least one person in the company comprehended the madness I was dealing with.

  Soon I was in the air again, up over the Pacific distancing myself from the outside, heading back to paradise.

  The cabin crew must have been a bit puzzled as I sat in the first class cabin in full uniform, carrying my regulation issued raincoat while bound for the Tropics.

  My decision to run away was made on a whim guided by my emotions, so not only did I have the wrong attire for sunny Hawaii, I also had very little money to my name. Once seated and relaxed at 35,000' reality set in. I was not even sure I could afford a low-cost hotel room once I arrived on Oahu. Somehow I didn't care, I was away. I was happy that my DC-10 continued to increase the distance between me and them.

  “Eddy, what are you doing here?” The voice was familiar as I turned and saw Caitlyn standing in the aisle next to my seat. “Are you working right now?” I just lowered my head and did not answer. I had not seen her since the first company meetings when I just ret
urned from MEX.

  “Listen, Caitlyn, I need to ask you about Reina.” I knew the F/A was a good friend and a witness to Reina's beliefs.

  “Come back after the meal service,” my smiling friend informed me. “We can talk then.” My spirits lifted as she headed back to her station at 4R. I felt better about deciding to get on this flight. I wanted to compare notes. I needed to reaffirm that all I had experienced was truly real and not some chaotic dream. I gazed out the window at the vista below me, the billowy clouds floating gracefully above the massive waters. The sun was fading in the far west. The light bestowed its spectrum of colors. This created a radiant physical phenomenon of orange, pink and lavender splendor.

  “Why did I survive?” The eternal question.

  With the in-flight movie well on its way I made my way aft to the aft galley where Caitlyn and a couple of other crew-members had gathered to take a break, enjoying a few left over first class meals.

  “2, 6, 5, those were the numbers she told me concerning the flight in her dreams,” Caitlyn spoke freely in front of the two other F/As. I was a bit embarrassed at first since I assumed we would discuss such delicate matters privately. But since it did not seem to bother her or the other ladies I just decided to listen.

  “How did she know, Cait?” One auburn haired F/A named Natalie asked as they continued to enjoy the booty from first class.

  “She always had premonitions about her future. She tried to get on with several airlines before being hired by our company. We used to fly to Mexico together and it was during the layovers that she mentioned the details.”

  “Wasn't she scared to fly?” A tall, brown haired girl named Janette spoke up. “Heck, if I knew that kind of information I would have quit and found another job.”