In Flight

“Gah, she can’t even get a bag of peanuts open,” Darshon remarks.
“She can’t spell either,” Karl grins and jumps onto the bashing author boat of which Darshon is currently captain.
“Oh, hush,” I grin and resist telling the characters in my head out loud to shut their mouths for the sake of the man next to me who can’t see them.
“Who cares about peanuts…” Andrew is glancing out of the plane window, somewhat disturbed. “I can’t even see the ground anymore.”
“Andrew if you won’t get on a boat and Clara won’t get on a plane, and neither of you will touch an airplane, it’s little wonder you end up living on a farm,” I moan.
“Just shut the window,” Tehveor suggests.
“Yeah.” I turn toward Darshon who’s messing with the light buttons ahead. “Andrew’s freaking out and he’s got electricity. Why aren’t you? You’re from Eirlerre.”
One bushy eyebrow rises. “Because I’m from Eirlerre. Eating peanuts in a seat I’m not allowed up from seems a pretty tame past time.”
I smirk. “Unless I decide to make you allergic to peanuts.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Darshon sounds rather dramatic.
“She might,” Karl remarks dryly. “She made me allergic to water.”
“Only in the spoof,” I say.
“Which is currently most of what you write.”
“Now, now. We’re revamping the original story and making you not quite as much of a sobber.”
“Small favors,” Karl mutters.
I turn to Tehveor. “Guess what? I’ve decided to work on the sequel and put “Swing” on the backburner.
“What???” Lila calls.
“Finally,” Darshon raises his hands to beseech Heaven with long-overdue thanks. Then he lowers them to cross. “Actually, I’ll believe that when I see it.”
I hum.
Trey pouts.
“Sorry, kid. Weekend project,” I offer.
“Yeah, well, that’s not fair.” Lila protests. “Tehveor already has a book out. We don’t.”
“Which is why I’m working on the sequel while people still remember who he is.”
“I’ll bet Swing is still produced first,” someone whispers, but when I look back they all look toward the ceiling.
Sometimes authorhood is a lonely place to be. Especially when the characters start ganging up on you.
“Why is the plane rumbling,” Tehveor asks and I finally understand where his mind has been this entire time.
“It’s the wind,” I explain. “Air pockets.”
I don’t say “turbulence” around Andrew but he’s already looking at me like he thinks I think he’s dumb and knows full well that he isn’t. “So the floatation devices are in case the plane falls out of the sky over water?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I smile at him. “Don’t worry. We’re not going over water.”
“What are you singing?” Erik asks exasperated as I hum the same line over and over.
“Till I Hear you Sing Once More” I answer.
“Would you please sing the rest of the words, instead of those three lines?”
I think I’m offending Erik’s musical taste.
“Can’t. I don’t remember them.” I answer lightly.
“Perhaps you could make some up,” Andrew suggests.
“Or I could just keep humming it,” I answer.
“It is a rather catchy melody,” Andrew admits, looking toward Erik.
Erik folds his arms and readjusts his legs in the small space.
“Did you take your medicine?” I ask.
“Yes, Father…”
Lizzy purses her lips. “Me thinks he’s skipped...”
I grin and glance toward Danny’s family, new to popping into my world and also to being teenagers – at least the young ones.
Danny and Rosie are busy bent over paper on the table in front, packaged peanuts long forgotten.
Danny’s running his thumb over the nose of some passenger they saw in the airport.
“No, it was smoother.”
“It was beaked,” Rosie argues.
Danny grins. “It was not beaked.”
His daughter shoves his hand away and takes the pencil back from his hand. “It was! It was like this!”
She starts drawing a rather realistic beaked nose and Danny chuckles. “No, it was rounder.”
“It was beaked…” Rosie’s grin takes on a mischievous glint and she begins drawing a triangle into the poor man’s profile. “It was just like this…”
“No, it… stop it. Now you’re just being cruel,” Danny wrestles the pencil back. I’m not sure if he’s arguing on the behalf of the man in the picture or his own delicate memory for facial shapes.
I turn away as the plane shifts again. “I’m getting dizzy.”
“That’s because your brain’s too small.” Darshon says in an accent that doesn’t belong to him. “It just kind of bangs around up there.”
“Oh – hush…”
“The retort’s getting really old,” Andrew chuckles lightly. “You should find a new one…”
“So who’s going to be more nervous at landing,” Tehveor asks. “You or Val?”
“Val,” I answer, shifting in the seat, secretly wondering if I’ll be able to walk by the time we get there. It’s halfway through the flight and so far we haven’t been allowed to get up.
“And then we’re going to see Danae,” Lyndsi says behind me. Up until now, I haven’t known she was there but she is and looking quite excited. I wonder if she’s really more interested to see if Landon lives with Danae.
And just so my other characters aren’t left out, I bring in my Roman’s. Malcomb is fascinated with the plane, commenting how many Christians could be transported very fast.
Felix is already discovering that projectiles can be dropped quite effectively from a plane. Suddenly Darshon is there, plotting with him and I regret bringing one of Jess’s characters into this scene.
I wonder how much time has passed and how much longer it will be. I think I’ve dressed warmly enough. It’s been a hot journey.
This morning when I put on my leggings over jeans, I grew a new appreciation for Super Man. Tights under regular clothing just doesn’t seem cool, though it’s not as bad as I thought.
My departing wisdom from my father was, “Remember up there, Yankees tend to be somewhat – abrupt, so don’t take offense.”
I just grinned all over that statement. So far I haven’t found a state quite as friendly as Texas, nor have I ever in my life addressed someone as a Yankee unless it was for the express purpose of teasing both the north and the south.
I’m with Val on that one.
War’s over. None of us were there.
I look out the patch of window and see just a bit of land. I wonder what state we’re flying over. It’s weird to think we’re not in Texas anymore. Weirder to think that when I land, I won’t be in the South.
“And weeks pass. And months pass. Time goes by. Still you don’t walk through the dooooooorrrrr…. Da dee, dee, dee, dee dee dee dee do da….. till I hear you sing once more…”
The sparsely-worded refrain goes through my head again and Erik moans, looking to Erik the Phantom. “This is your fault…”
Phantom Erik shakes his head. “Not mine. It’s not my fault copy write fell out of fashion and some imposter decided to rewrite my story. New York,” He shakes his head in disgust. “As if I would go there.”
“Watch it,” Scarlet growls. “New York is the best place on earth. Help me out, Andrew.”
“Mmmm…” Andrew hesitates. “Remember, Scarlet. We don’t live there at the same time. In mine time, the factory workers are…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Scarlet waves off his patient explanation of why New York failed his family’s dreams. “See, Erik? If you don’t like something, you can just change it.”
“Did you learn nothing from that first bag of peanuts??” Darshon asks incredulously.
I move from trying to tear the bag to trying to pry it open, then back to tearing. Come one. Stupid little thing.
This time it tears, as averse to the last time of prying. Tehveor laughs, “She learns a little. I think she cut down her time about a third.”
“She can be taught!” Someone exclaims but again as I try to identify the speaker, they ban together with various innocent looks.
I ignore them and eat my peanuts.