A Website Featuring the Writings of Donna Schlachter 09/20/08
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A Website Featuring the Writings of Donna Schlachter 09/20/08 |
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Prov 10:9 |
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| If it wasn't for all the turbulence in Carly Turnquist's life, she would have
enjoyed the flight. As it was, all she really wanted was to stand on solid ground again. Airplanes had never been her favorite way to travel, and the last couple of bumps had only served to confirm her previous opinion -- flying was dangerous. Still, there was no way she was going to pass up this chance at a working vacation. Working for her husband Mike and vacation for her. She settled back in the high-backed jet liner seat and sighed. After two hectic two weeks of preparing for this working vacation, she was more than ready to relax. Fingers still gripping the armrest tightly, just in case another sudden drop came, she closed her eyes, envisioning the vacation part -- sleeping, eating, reading. She opened her eyes again, and smiled at the man seated next to her. Mike's eyes were closed as he took another of his famous catnaps. Somehow he could recharge his energy for hours with a five-minute nap. She squeezed his hand and was delighted when he returned the gesture. He turned his head to face her. "Are you okay?" Carly readjusted the small flight pillow behind her neck. "If you mean am I scared, I am." "Nothing to be scared of, you know." "I know. It's all in my mind." She leaned forward to look out the window. "Still, the ground is a long ways down." "I guess I shouldn't have asked you to come. I know how you feel about flying." Carly sat up abruptly, folding her arms across her chest. "Not ask me to come? Like you would have just come here without me." Mike laughed softly, pulling her closer to him with one arm. "Not if I valued my life, right?" "Right." She started to pull away, but he tightened his grip. His soft whisper breathed into her ear. "Lean into me, and you'll be safe." Carly snuggled closer. She loved this man dearly, and even though they'd been married five years, it still felt like they were on their honeymoon. "I'm so excited about this trip. Although," She turned her face to his, "I do feel just a tad bit guilty that you'll be doing all the working, and I'll be doing all the vacationing." "It won't be all work," Mike assured her. "We'll spend some time together. And, you'll get to spend some time with Sarah. Get to know her better. After all, maybe it won't be long, and she will be a part of this family, too." Carly nodded. "I hope they set a date really soon. But not too soon." At Mike's laugh, she continued. "I want them to have a nice wedding." "You mean, you want to plan a nice wedding for them." "That's what I said." Carly drew back from Mike, touching his strong jawline with an index finger. "Get another nap. You're going to need it." Carly reached down to the bag under the seat in front of her, and pulled out her notebook. Once more she went over her list of things to do, then snapped the notebook shut. Mike was right. Anything she'd forgotten she could buy, and everything else would have to wait. Carly was more than ready for this vacation. Work had kept her busy, and then there was that pro bono work for her daughter, Denise. A simple check for some missing money had turned into her nearly getting killed. She shuddered as she thought about how close she'd come to not being here at all. To not being anywhere at all. She thought about the change she had seen in Mike over the past couple of weeks. His friendship with Bert Myers, the chief of police for Riverdale, had resulted in Mike's faith being reawakened. In turn, she had been drawn to this new side of Mike she hadn't seen before. So far, she liked what she was seeing in him. She just wasn't sure how much control she was willing to give up for herself. One area of control was this flight. When she reminded Mike about her fear of flying, he suggested they pray about it. They had joined hands, and Mike had prayed. For a short while afterwards, Carly had felt relaxed about the trip. But now, in the midst of it, there was no peace. Flying from the East Coast to the Southwest meant the day was two hours earlier, not including the fact she'd already been up since three o'clock this morning. This was the third plane they'd been on today, and Carly was glad that it was the last leg of the trip. Silently, she mouthed another quick prayer for safe travel. The flight attendant made her way down the aisle, pushing the food service cart. At the sound, Carly touched Mike's arm. He awoke, and she gestured to him to put down his table top to receive the offering of airline food. Never excited about the menu, Carly and Mike had developed a game where the first one to identify the ‘mystery meat' got to eat the loser's dessert, if they wanted it. Once when Carly won, the dessert turned out to be tapioca pudding, which she hated. Mike let her change the rules, because as it turned out, it was his favorite pudding, so he got to eat hers too. Carly and Mike carefully peeled the plastic from the microwave able plates and inspected the meal. Carly used her fork to push the sauce to one side and lifted the edge of the patty. Mike cut off a piece, sniffed it, then popped it into his mouth, chewing several times before swallowing. From the puzzled look on his face, Carly knew he was stumped. She cut a small piece of the mystery meat and chewed, checking out the texture, since the flavor wasn't going to give her the answer. Sitting back in her seat as she chewed and thought, she absently looked through the space between the seats. The man in the row ahead was reading a magazine, seemingly oblivious to his meal on the tray before him. In the row ahead of him, where an older man and younger woman sat, she watched as the wife helped her husband by putting sugar into his coffee from a small bottle. She thought for a moment, then swallowed. Mike looked at her, his eyebrows raised in question. "Ready to say what it is?" Carly nodded. She knew what it was. "It's turkey." He considered her answer. "I think it's pork." "Never. Airlines never serve pork. It's always turkey, chicken, or beef. Even ham is a no-no anymore." The flight attendant was making her way back up the aisle, and Mike caught her attention. "What kind of meat is this?" She laughed quietly, "Do you folks play that game too?" Carly blushed at being caught. "Today's meal is chicken." "Are you sure?" Carly asked. "I thought for sure it was turkey." "I'm sure, I saw the manifest. It's too close to Thanksgiving for us to serve turkey." She moved on down the aisle. Mike mock-punched Carly's arm. "I guess neither of us wins, love. Does that mean neither of us gets to eat our dessert?" Carly lifted the foil off the small plastic container. "No way. It's chocolate sauce cake. I'm going to enjoy every bite of my three-bite dessert!" They laughed at themselves fighting over chocolate sauce cake like children. Carly watched Mike, his joy evident in his whole face. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and the silver at his temples made him look mature. Several rows ahead, Carly heard raised voices. She peered between the seats, wondering what was going on. A woman called for the flight attendant, and, from the sound of the voice, it was urgent. Peering between the seats ahead of her, Carly was unable to get a clear view of the situation. She leaned toward the window, raising herself up slightly for a better view. She watched as the flight attendant hurried to the seat, bent over, and spoke in clipped tones. "What's going on?" Mike asked. "Watch it, you're tipping your tray!" Carly's attention returned to her dinner tray, and she caught her tray with one hand just before it slid off completely. "These dinky little trays are a pain!" She mopped up some of her spilt chocolate sauce with a napkin. "And what about these skimpy little things they call a napkin? You'd think with all the money we spent on airfare, they could afford to give us better napkins." Mike stared at her as if she were a complete stranger. "What is going on?" She returned his stare with a glare, and then remembered where she was, and where they were going. On vacation. Together. This was supposed to be a fun time. Add to that her recent decision to allow God more say-so in her life. She was supposed to be building her faith and acting like a good person. She was determined to have fun and not fall back into her old ways. So what was going on, anyway? What was going on was that a few rows up there was some kind of emergency, and she couldn't see it or hear what it was about. She was trapped back here in the inside seat, and, knowing Mike, he would say it was under control. After all, with all the money they had spent on airfare, the attendants and crew should be able to handle one little incident, shouldn't they? But what if it wasn't a little incident? Was there a bomb on board? Were they going to crash? She clutched Mike's arm. Seeing him wince from pain, she let up a little on her grasp, and whispered, "There's something going on up there. A woman called out to the attendant, and – look, the pilot or someone is coming back to see about it." She pulled Mike closer to her. "Are we going to crash?" Mike smiled. "No, we are not going to crash. I'm sure it's something simple." "Like what?" "Like ..." Mike paused to think. "Like, she doesn't like her food. Or it's too hot, or too cold. Maybe she's one of the three bears." Carly stared at him like he was a complete idiot. "Like one of the three bears?" "Yeah – it's too hot. It's too cold." "Very funny," she retorted, even though she wasn't smiling. "I don't think the pilot personally deals with food complaints. Go see what's going on." "I am not getting in the way. The seatbelt sign is on, anyway." Carly sighed. Mike always obeys the rules. "The seatbelt sign has been on this whole bumpy flight. Change places with me so I can see down the aisle." "You like the window seat." "Not now I don't. Please, Mike." Now it was Mike's turn to sigh deeply. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood in the aisle, waiting for Carly to do the same. Then he slid into her seat and buckled up again. Carly remained standing in the aisle, intent on the action up ahead. By straining her neck in a most unnatural manner, Carly could just get a glimpse of the younger woman and older man ahead in Row Six. A man in uniform bent over them, speaking in hushed tones. Carly had seen the couple boarding and wondered about their relationship. Was he her husband or her father? Carly could understand what a man his age would see in a woman her age, but what did she see in a man old enough to be her father? Carly shuddered at the thought. It probably came down to money. The officer spoke rapidly to the woman, who gesticulated frantically with her hands. The man was quiet and still. Carly tapped the shoulder of the man sitting in front of her. "What's going on?" He looked up from his magazine, a surprised expression on his face. "What are you talking about?" She pointed to the row in front of him. "There. What's going on with that couple?" "I dunno," he tersely replied and resumed his reading. People can be so obtuse. Carly checked the passengers across the aisle, one row up. They were intent on watching the officer and the woman, but from their whispered questions back and forth, seemed to be as much in the dark as she was. The officer cleared his throat, and spoke loud enough for all the passengers to hear him. "Ladies and gentlemen. I am First Officer Turner. We have a medical emergency. Do we have any medical personnel on board?" Carly looked around, waiting to see if there would be a response. Some of the passengers seemed completely oblivious to the officer's request. Others slept, and the few who were paying attention did not move from their seats. "Please, this is an emergency. This passenger's husband desperately needs medical attention. Can anyone help?" Carly smiled to herself in spite of the dire situation. A small mystery solved. He was her husband, not her father. Still nobody moved from their seat. Carly nudged Mike. "Can't we do anything?" He shook his head. "We aren't trained. We might just make it worse," he whispered. "We can't just sit here. He might die." She grabbed Mike's hand and held on tight. "We can pray for him, " he said, placing his other hand over hers. Together they silently prayed for help for this stranger. As she raised her head at the end of their prayer, she heard a rustling from the rear of the plane. Mike turned and looked as Carly strained to see over the seats. A young man made his way down the aisle, carrying a small black bag in one hand, the other clutching the seats. It appeared help was on its way. Carly felt Mike tug on her hand. "What's happening?" he asked. She watched as the doctor set his bag on the floor and opened it. "The guy from the rear of the plane, I guess he's a doctor. He has a medical bag, anyway, and looks like he knows what he's doing. He's listening to the husband's chest." Carly swallowed nervously as she continued watching. She felt a little like a voyeur, but was still determined not to miss anything. The doctor held the man's wrist, and then put two fingers on the man's neck. Then he spoke to First Officer Turner, who gave curt instructions to the flight attendant standing nearby. She returned a moment later with a portable oxygen tank, and the doctor put the mask over the man's face. "Now what?" Mike asked again. "He's still trying to find a pulse, I guess. He got the attendant to bring some oxygen, so that should be a good sign, right?" She smiled wanly at Mike. As much as she enjoyed the excitement, she really didn't want anything bad to happen to the elderly man. "Oh no," she groaned. Mike squeezed her hand. "What is it?" he persisted. "The doctor just shook his head, in that way that doctors do, you know, when it's bad news and they don't want to have to say the actual words. The wife is crying." Carly sank back to her seat. Mike pulled Carly closer to him as they heard the doctor ask Turner, "How long before we can land?" Turner consulted his watch, and answered. "About thirty minutes, sir." The doctor nodded. "The gentleman has died. We should move him somewhere else. And, if someone could sit with his wife?" he asked, looking at the flight attendant. She nodded. The first officer drew himself up, wiping his damp hands on his trouser legs. "I'll let the captain know, and he will tell us what arrangements we can make to move the bo-- " He glanced at the widow. "-- gentleman." The doctor laid his hand on the widow's shoulder. She stopped sobbing and raised her head to look at him as he spoke. "I believe he's had a heart attack. Did you know of any heart condition?" She shook her head, but Carly was sure she saw a hint of a smile cross her lips before she put her hands over her face again. The doctor's hand stayed on her shoulder as he waited for the first officer to return, and Carly could see his fingers rubbing her shoulder. Carly wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but from her position, it looked like the widow leaned into his touch, and she glanced at him from time to time between her fingers. Another man in uniform appeared and took charge of the situation quickly. "Turner has filled me in," he said brusquely. Looking at the widow, he lowered his voice a notch. "My condolences, ma'am. We'll do all we can to make this as easy for you as possible." She nodded her gratitude. "Thank you." The captain continued. "We will move your husband to the rear of the plane. There are several empty seats back there. We'll take very good care of him, ma'am. Don't worry about anything. We've already radioed ahead to the Albuquerque airport, and they'll have an ambulance there when we land. Because a doctor was in attendance and has pronounced the cause of death, there won't be any need for an autopsy." Another look of gratitude from the widow. With that, the captain turned to a nearby passenger and spoke quietly. Carly watched as the man unbuckled his seatbelt and rose, standing next to the captain. Together they lifted the dead man to his feet and, putting one of his arms over each of their shoulders, carried him to the rear of the plane. She watched the sad procession, then glanced back at the widow. There's that smile again. The flight attendant sat in the dead man's seat, offering a pillow and blanket to the widow. She took them, covered herself with the blanket, and turned to the window, closing her eyes. Carly relaxed back into her seat, her mind racing. Mike touched her arm. "What mysteries is your brain conjuring up?" Carly turned to look at him, tipping her head to one side. "What do you mean?" "I can see your brain working. You're making up some mystery or some puzzle to solve right now, aren't you?" She frowned in response. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mike Turnquist. There isn't any mystery here. He didn't have a heart attack." |
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This site was last updated 09/20/08