I suppose most of us are comforted by the fact that when we travel we’re less likely to die in a plane accident than a car accident. But as I board my recent flight, I wonder when time runs out on that adage. Crossing the tarmac to the plane, I consider how small it is. The wind is whipping my hair into my face and my glance at the weather told me that storms settling around Dallas might cause flight delays. Wind and storms. I can’t help but think that maybe my luck flying is limited.
I was 13 the first time I flew on an airplane. I don’t remember where my parents took me. I was more impressed with the tiny meal with forks, knives, and mini salt and pepper shakers. We weren’t even in first or business class. Everyone got a meal, although maybe the meals in first class were fancier. I just remember wanting to pocket the salt and pepper shakers. The last time I had a true meal on a flight was on my way to France a few years ago and even then, paper packets of seasonings replaced the glass shakers.
When I talk with my students about the rise of technology during my lifetime, I never consider air travel. Probably because the quality of the experience of traveling continues to deteriorate through time. It’s not that I miss the small salt and pepper shakers so much as the feeling of the possibility of travel and the sort of esprit de corps with my fellow travelers. Maybe it was youthful naiveté, but it seemed more people felt the travel adventure spirit as well. I remember people offering sticks of gum for ear pops or asking each other where we were going. When I went to offer my seatmate some gum yesterday, she had her massive headphones in place, rapidly scrolling her phone. I didn’t dare disturb her. I tucked the gum back on my purse, shut my eyes, and fell asleep before we took off, as I seem to do more and more.
Each trip I take comes with pre-exhaustion now. Not that being on a plane is any relief, but I still manage to fall asleep quickly. Between stiff seats, short legroom space, and people jockeying for boarding status even though we are all in assigned seats, it seems that I’ve already traveled a great distance before the plane even leaves the airport.
I’m also traveling with a cane this trip, awaiting my own hip replacement at the end of the month. No one seems to notice though. I lose my balance in Flagstaff while reaching down into my bag and tip over. I felt my body tipping in slow motion, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. The person behind me just stepped around me to get ahead in the TSA line. After I pick myself up (thank goodness for carpeting in that part of the airport), I made it through the TSA body scanner easily even with my two knee replacements. No more wands or embarrassing pat-downs; at least that’s one technological improvement to air travel that I can think of.
Knowing that I’m slow and walking at reduced speed, I try to make it to the sides of every pedway so that people can pass me. But everyone is so in their own heads, so stressed out about travel, I almost get knocked down two times. Although both the Dallas Fort Worth and Nashville airports are beautifully renovated, the walks between gates and baggage claims seem to have exponentially increased. Slow and steady, I remind myself, my weird hitch-gallop carrying me through the terminal. I can’t help but smile though. The more my body breaks down from age, the more grateful I am that it can still do what it does–walk a terminal, carry a bag, keep my balance down a pitched jetway, and fold my legs into some semblance of order beneath the small airplane seats.
Although I don’t feel the same joy with air travel that I did when I was younger, it still feels a little magical to think I can make plans to go somewhere. I can buy a plane ticket, get on a mechanical contraption, and arrive at a completely different place from where I was that morning. But after flying for almost forty years, I do wonder if and when that luck of no plane crashes may run out. Is there a statute of limitations or some kind of ratio between miles driven or flown that means I’ll be in a plane or car accident?
This trip is to spend time with my mom on the first anniversary of my dad’s death. He and I had two memorable solo trips together. When I thought I wanted to go to college in Washington, DC, he got us a crazy flight itinerary that we accomplished in one day. We flew from New York to DC with stops in somewhere-New Jersey and Philadelphia. Between our departure and return, Dad rented a car, took me to a college interview and tour, got us lost on the campus of another college, and made sure we made all of our flights.
The next trip was him picking me up from a car rental place at the Memphis airport. I was traveling on September 11 and was in Fayetteville, Arkansas for a meeting when the Twin Towers fell. My dad calculated it was a five-hour drive from Fayetteville to Memphis. My folks were living in Chattanooga at the time, but he drove to Memphis to get me so that I wouldn’t have to travel the rest of the way by myself.
After dropping my bags in my mom’s bedroom, I place a kiss on my dad’s photo. The immediate discomfort of flying is assuaged when I reflect that there is still a kind of magic knowing that I can get where I need to be in just a few hours. I’m grateful that my traveling luck is still holding out.
