Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  “YES?”

  “Doctor Ramljak suffered a stroke and I am sorry to have to tell you that he passed away.” I stared at a green wall, trying to process the information. It slowly made its way through the ever deteriorating corridors of my mind. It was Halloween and Death had struck hard. Once again, a dear one was snatched away in an instant. “Hello, hello, Mr. Valenciana are you alright?”

  “Ah, yes, I'm fine. Thank you for the information.”

  I hung up the phone and slowly walked to the door. I became a zombie stricken by a terminal disease. I stopped at the entrance and laid my head against the window pane nearly losing consciousness as reality sunk deep. I gazed up into the outside world. Vehicles drove by and people moved about as normal. I spotted school children dressed for the festivities of the day. There was a small fairy princess and a boy in a lion suit with a brown fluffy mane on his head. A feisty child in his red devil costume was chased by a woman who I supposed was his teacher. She corralled the active boy and led him back in line with the rest of the children as they came to the busy corner and waited for the light to change. There standing behind the brood was Muerto grinning widely. I stared into his hollow eyes. He waved in jest for he was sadistically enjoying his latest handiwork.

  “Are you okay, sir?” I was startled to see the proprietor standing next to me.

  “Sorry, ah, no, I mean yes, I am fine, thank you.” Satisfied with my answer he went back to tending to his shop. I turned quickly and struggled to see across the street. I saw the children but my nemesis was nowhere to be found.

  My dear friend, Dr. Joe, was gone and along with him any chance that I might escape from this minefield I was exiled to. I was devastated. Arriving back at the my beach home I rushed inside, close all the blinds and locked all the windows and doors in an attempt to protect myself.

  “Death will surely come this time.”

  Josef Ramljack was one of the wisest, kindest people I had even known and he was snatched away in an instant just like “the others.” I sat motionless and silent on my sofa: in the middle of the living room, in the darkness, awaiting my fate. I focused on a ray of light as the sun began to set over the Pacific Ocean. Yellow and orange filtered through the side slits between the shades. I wanted this day to quickly end as the level of anxiety rose. The slivers of light began to fade rapidly, giving way to what was going to be a black night.

  “Trick or treat!” the faint echo of children's voices made their way through my gloom.

  “Trick or treat, trick or treat.” The voices cried out in cadence to create one sound. I remembered the CVR recording and how the voices blended together at the very end, right on impact. My home stood in the dark, not at single bit of light visible from the outside. The children passed by. Perhaps they feared my house contained some hideous monster inside, and perhaps it did.

  “Trick or treat.” The calling card of Muerto filled my ears. Soon it became clear as I sat motionless, hiding with fear, he was going to toy with me and watch me squirm. Suddenly I recognized his intent. He was seducing me to come to him. Death's power over me had to be complete. He desired my arrival to be by my own hand.

  “Trick or treat.”

  I awoke the following morning on the sofa by the knock on my door. I glanced through the front window and saw an excited little figure by Sofia's side. The passing of Doctor Ramljak had so occupied my mind that I forgot Cris would be coming. I quickly grasped on to the thread of hope that was dangling in front of me. I tied my sanity to the small boy as he rushed in and gave me a big hug. There was now a possibility that I could get through All Saints Day alive. I embraced my son gratefully. We were soon headed to a theme park in the Los Angeles basin.

  “Doctor Joe just died and you should follow him.” The vile voices slammed back at me.

  “No! I'm staying with the living,” I whispered in response. “There has already been too much pain this Halloween.”

  “Who you talking to, Daddy?”

  “No one son. We're going to Magic Mountain!” The kiddie rides were a great thrill for the boy. He rode a red helicopter. Any aircraft caught his interest. There were also miniature motor boats to enjoy, turning the wheel in make believe control of the vessel. I found solace in our interactions.

  The amusement park had a reputation for offering some of the latest and most daring roller coasters. Although Cris was far too young to be a passenger, I decided for pure entertainment, it would be fun to watch. I picked a bench beside the roller coaster named “Colossus.”

  Father and son eyed the white, wooden structure in all its geometric glory. High above was the pinnacle of the ride. The cars were slowly cranked up one side to be released into the grip of gravity and plunge downward. This is where the screams and facial expressions were the most amusing.

  The first compartment crept over the top with a chain of cars behind pushing forward and gaining momentum. The eyes of men, women, girls and boys all widened at the same instant. They were instilled with the reality of fear. Each car released waves of sonic screams that were unnaturally warped, just a split second after the cars sped by.

  “I know that sound.” I was struck with a truth and I instantly hoped I was wrong. Cristiano clapped with joy; he was enjoying himself.

  “Again!” He requested. I was filled with a nauseous feeling. The long, strung-out vessel slowly inched up the incline once again. I could see a boy waving to someone on the ground. At a crawl, the first car revealed its passengers to us as their eyes grew big. A blond man in the first class cabin threw his arms up in complete submission. Then each coach section revealed itself with terror orchestrating the passengers. The screams followed in unison. It filled the air with that familiar echo. It was warped once more. Then it instantly fell silent and the aircraft gained distance.

  “The screams on the tape! It was the passengers of 2605!” I sat on the bench at Magic Mountain with my happy little boy when I finally figured out the final scenario of the doomed aircraft. “Dear God!” There were only three people in the cockpit at the moment of impact but the Cockpit CVR Microphone remained on for the entire period of destruction. The first class cabin came crashing through the destroyed cockpit and the last screams and cries of the dying were recorded. I remained on the bench unable to retreat as the jumbo jet raced by on the rails of Colossus. Its voices of death were exposed for all to experience. I because impatient. I wanted the screams to return. Cris was content to sit with me, innocently enjoying the show. The young child could not realize that his father was teetering on the verge of insanity.

  I faintly recalled driving Cris home. I know I hugged and kissed him as he ran into the arms of his mother. I had given up my will and I wondered if I would ever see my son again. Once home, I walked to a wooden cupboard and removed a full bottle of Gran Centenario Tequila.

  “Hecho en México,” the label read, “100% de agave.” The self-destruction began. The more I indulged the more I retreated inward. The sickness engulfed me. I locked the windows and doors and abused myself in darkness. Only the vivid scenes of hideous pain and sorrow remained. I felt the hungry flames lick in delight as they devoured the chunks of flesh that littered the wrecked pieces of fuselage.

  “Mi hijo, mi hijo,” I saw a woman on her knees, weeping in despair, reaching out, trying to eject the pain that afflicted her deeply.

  “Mom,” I whispered calmly. It was my mother and then her face suddenly changed. Now, she was Becky's mother. The woman's anguish never subsided. After a few seconds the metamorphosis returned. Now she was Tamlyn's mother and finally Reina's. I realized that all the unfortunate mothers were my mother. They had no one to undertake their petition for justice. As a group they were lied to and dismissed. There were those in the company who made a great effort to comfort them, to sympathize and serve, but the mothers never received an explanation of the truth.

  I noticed that the bottle of Mexico's finest golden nectar was half empty.

  “Gosh, it went down so smoothly.” It stea
died the demons but it also assisted them to slowly rise, and when they did the result would not be good. “To hell with this glorious life of the cursed and damned.” There were so many to blame, the air traffic control for directing the craft to Runway 23 Left, the tower for clearing the flight onto the runway, the airline for allowing two angry men to fly together. Then the insult came when the airline and the United States Government became complacent in letting the bones fall where they may.

  I wanted my contempt for all of them to increase. Another shot of Centenario would make that happen.

  “The tape.” I stood and realized that there was one thing missing from my celebration of destruction and submission to hatred.

  “I need to listen to the tape.” I set myself up for a one way ticket back to hell. Only this time I agreed to let Muerto pilot the craft.

  “You're left of the runway.”

  “Just a bit.” The calm before the storm was seductive. I imagined myself in the cockpit, overlooking their faces and reactions. I imagined Captain Herbert becoming slightly overwhelmed with the untimely conversation from the tower at Benito Juarez.

  “We're cleared on the right, we're cleared on the right?

  “The other runway.” The impact into the parked truck on Runway 23-Left is clearly audible. Once again I was on board, strapped to jumpseat 4R.

  “Oh Jesus Christ, Oh F###,” The captain screamed. I went completely limp as I submitted my body and soul to the forces that be. The tape concluded with the now familiar frantic voices of the victims from First Class. Then the deluge subsided. I sat in the midst of smoke and flames. The distinct rancid smell of jet fuel filled my space as I choked and struggled to release my safety harness. I stood, surrounded by the catastrophe. I knew in my heart that the others were gone.

  “Don't leave me behind,” I demanded. There was no response. I was left to wander among the shattered and destroyed. There I sat in my home in Manhattan Beach in a stir of self abuse. I forced myself to live this new life torn and disabled. Anger and hatred prevailed.

  “I belong dead.” I imagined the unfathomable.

  “It certainly would get everyone's attention.” My eyes widened and I saw a distorted potential solution to my quandary.

  “Why did he do it?” The bewilderment of those I left behind would be so perplexing. The press would certainly jump all over it.

  “Maybe we should all take another look at what really happened to drive this former flight attendant to such drastic measures.” More appealing to me was that I would finally be gone, joining Muerto and his rogue crew forever. At least I would be out of this tormenting mine field.

  “Will I ever be good enough?”

  “NO!”

  So there I stood at the end of the Manhattan Beach pier, gazing into the skies along the coast toward LAX. “If you survive a plane crash you will be better equipped to save others.” It was Marilyn’s voice from training in my mind. I studied her face as her nostrils stiffened in determination, emphasizing the seriousness of the subject matter. After a pause she continued to speak. “If you survive, others can live but you will really be f###### up in the head forever.”

  I left the Pier for LAX a man with a destructive purpose. I walked down the jetway at Terminal 5 consumed by vile sentiments. I carried my regulation F/A suitcase as I approached the open door at 2L of the DC-10 and stopped at the entrance. Tentative of my access, I was reluctant to enter into her belly. I popped my head into the cabin and gazed forward, up the left aisle of the jumbo jet then aft, back down her sleek design. I finally boarded the plane destined for MSP. This evening, my intentions had been soured by years of iniquity, repulsion and a heart demoralized by hatred. I harbored a very intense desire to take one final journey to self-destruction.

  “Hi, Eddy.” The bright, petite brunette stewardess startled my demented daydream. “You coming with us tonight?” she inquired. I fumbled for my boarding pass. Shame engulfed me all at once. I quickly rushed forward to the First Class seat I had been assigned, indicating fatigue as an excuse for not engaging my fellow associate further. I stored my suitcase underneath the seat in front of me so it it would be readily available at the proper moment. I had been allowed to pre-board the aircraft; the other passengers had yet to follow. I could hear the pleasantries of the young flight crew in the galley as they laughed and joked with joy, anticipating this jaunt to the Twin Cities. Days of sleeplessness and self-medication were now taking their toll on me. I studied the layout of the First Class cabin, doors 1L and 1R, the front lavatories and the cockpit door. I stared fixated on its color-coated pattern with metal framing. Fright now gripped my throat as the other passengers began to board the aircraft, positioning themselves for the late night flight.

  “Can I take your coat, Eddy?”

  “No!” I snapped rudely at the blonde young lady assigned to my care. She seemed to understand the root of my discourtesy, or so she thought. “I'm sorry, I'll be okay,” I stated. She gently rested her hand on my shoulder and lowered her head toward mine.

  “Anything you need just ask for it, okay?” she whispered and started down the aisle to assist the real passengers. Sure, it would all be just fine. She expected nothing less than what the company's survivor was exhibiting acute-anxiety: a normal reaction to an abnormal situation. Perhaps that is exactly what the rest of the cabin crew also surmised.

  “Prepare for departure,” the cockpit crew advised the flight attendants as they armed their perspective exit doors. There would be the usual safety demonstration, seat belt fastening request, proper storing of personal items and final preparations as the large craft jolted back from the gate. None of it registered as I was lost in a daze. The F/As positioned themselves upon their jumpseats and strapped their bodies into their seat harnesses, just like I had done so many times before. I looked down at my suitcase satisfied I had carefully prepared the metallic ordnance resting inside. I suddenly lurched backwards. The magnificent bird roared across the concrete pathway and gradually lifted up into the darkness over the vast Pacific. I sat there smiling in great delight and defiance.

  Once the large transport finally leveled off at her cruising altitude I had only one desire, I wished to fan the flames that totally consumed me. Beer, and lots of it, was ordered and would be served by a gracious crew who knew of my ordeal and the perceived demons that came with it. This outweighed their sensibility to step forward and cut me off. I remained stoic, demonstrating no loud outburst or rude behavior. The chemicals I had absorbed over the last three days ensured that the brew would have little effect at that moment on my already morbid brain. I would drink, never even noticing the others, the travelers that had paid to be transported 35,000' above our glorious country. I chuckled ominously. Little did the occupants of the sparsely-filled aircraft realize that they booked passage with a mad man.

  “Ask anyone,” I blurted out. I quickly turned to see if anyone had heard me but as is typical on a “red-eye” everyone was hunkered down-asleep, or trying hard to be. I calmly drank the remaining lager and it was not long before a male attendant placed another frosty brew on my tray table. As I clasped the icy can I noticed that the handsome lad took a step back and smiled. He nodded in recognition and then he was off. I shrugged my shoulders in bewilderment, then realized I had seen that same look before. “He could see right through me,” I stated to myself in resignation.

  I wanted to jump out of my skin, leap outside the cruising jumbo jet, and free fall to the ground below. Diabolic thoughts entered my mind.

  I was suddenly distracted by the occasional conversation and laughter that filter through from the mid galley area just aft first class. It was the cabin crew, my fellow flight attendants merrily partaking in small talk while the majority of the bodies on board slumbered away. I really did love the job. I was given the opportunity to travel the world. The camaraderie, that was truly special. These were the things that were priceless.

  “My behavior is so disgraceful,” I whispered to myself. There w
as a time when I took great pride in every aspect of my duties as a crew-member of the airline. I had spent countless hours in conversation and laughter with my beloved associates as I knew was occurring right then in the galley. That's where I needed to be, that's where I had found comfort in the past. The flight attendants across the spectrum of our company's air space were my supporters. I seized the now empty can sitting on my tray table and decided to join my compatriots in the galley. My torn heart began to soften. Perhaps I should abandon my wretched intent?

  I found it difficult to stand. The recent days of self ill-treatment and little sleep hampered my coordination. I grunted as I stretched heartily and made it to my feet. The adrenaline surged at the thought of joining my mates. I turned down the right aisle of the craft and slowly staggered toward the galley. Their conversation, their words became clearer.

  “I think Eddy is doing darn good considering all he has been through.” A voice I determined to be the petite brunette girl who had greeted me upon boarding was speaking.

  “I certainly could not have gone through that,” another female voice joined in. I stopped and positioned my body alongside the galley wall, just out of their view. Although I was mere feet from them, they had drawn the galley curtain closed to limit the amount of light protruding into the cabin.

  “I give him kudos for what he has had to endure,” another female expressed. All at once there was a deep silence. Not a sound could be heard so I jutted my head forward a bit more.

  “I don't know.” These words had a deeper tone to them. It was the male flight attendant who had fetched my can of beer and delivered a calculating glance. “Somewhere, sometime,” he continued, “he's going to cross the line, go over the edge big time and it's going to be ugly.” My God, he was referring to me. I was devastated. I struggled to make it back to my seat while the tears burst forth streaming down my cheeks. Then anger began to swell. If they wanted ugly Antimundo can deliver ugly.

  “Grab the gun. End it all now, right in First Class!” The voices were relentless. In my minds eye I envisioned me placing the weapon to the side of my head and doing the unthinkable.