Weekend Fiction: Flying Blind

Some light weekend reading. If you read enjoy love it, please comment! Just kidding. But seriously. Comment.

:::

Her head was pounding. A thick, clouded pounding that can only result from days of dehydration, being elevated several atmospheres above the Earth, and some mind-numbing alcohol. Not that she really drank that much. It was just hard when you went all day eating nothing but pretzels and chewy granola bars, and an occasional half-can of diet Coke.

:

The 5:00 AM Charlotte flight was bound to be on time, so she indeed had to wake up to the first alarm. Struggling through the fog in her mind, she made her way through her dark blue polyester pants, trying to clear the clouds from the two previous evenings. When she got to the precipice of her memory, where she might jump off the cliff, and, in falling, suddenly remember all the various horrid things she had done on the stage, in the spotlight, and under the table (literally and figuratively), she decided to hold back. Hang on to the edge of that cliff, too scared to look down and too strong to let go.

:

She sighed, brushing her teeth. An audible sigh, thinking ahead already to the cups upon cups of coffee she would consume, thus negating her cleanly polished, freshly-minted teeth. It was taking all her strength to get the toothbrush to move quickly. Thank goodness she had packed herself last night; the silver lining in the midst of a fairly dreary morning, absent of all light. Soon that would change, and she hoped her outlook would change with it. But it was doubtful.

:

Stepping across the threshold onto the Boeing 747, she had a mind to glace at her watch to offset the glances she was getting from the other crew members. Her hair was still slightly damp, something the airline had made clear was not acceptable in its latest internal “grooming” memo, and she tossed it back over one shoulder as she quickly loaded her carry-on into the attendants’ space. This was going to be a long day.

:

Nineteen hours ago, she was blissfully caffeinated, and five hours after that, blissfully drunk. Drunk on liquor, drunk on love, and not knowing where the two blended. This was typical in her secondary profession. But she rarely admitted it to herself, let alone a “friend” at the airline, or – least of all, close friends. Nobody else in her life knew about her dual worlds, and there was no reason to change that now.