Next Hours by Plane by Marina Zadorozhna

‘In the next hours it’s not you
who is in control of your life.’
That’s what Mark always thinks about stepping aboard of the plane. If you met him in real life you would be presented to the young smooth-shaven businessman, a well-tailored one, with meticulously styled hair. This appearance would be seasoned with forgotten sediment of manners and aristocracy which would stop being forgotten if there are any benefits in communication with you, what is a rare case. Hasty but reasonable conclusion – whether you are not a big man in oil industry there is no need to cherish yourself with hopes of his condescension.
This posture was literally in charge of everything in his company like that puppeteer who holds all the threads in hands being able to pull the one he needs anytime, but this time he miscalculated. Only listen how ridiculous – the sixth representative of the Forbes list flies with the economy class simply because his secretary’s water broke and thanks to that excuse she didn’t book the required business seat.
And we’re turning back to the fact that he’s actually not able to resolve this problem for the next 3 hours even if it is coming to the plain location. This dependence on the distance between him and the Mother Earth cuts down his potential influence on the course of events around. So poor-poor man Mark is forced to be surrounded by ordinary people, ugh!
To pass away the time he decided to turn to company’s reports which were put in the audio record – his own development. Being captivated with mnemonics since childhood this person could engrave on the cortex the list of 8 digital numbers and structure them as he needs to.
Plane took of 20 minutes ago. Headphones in the ears. Eyes are closed. Brain and the whole body are concentrated and ready for the info absorption.
Someone is softly tapping him on the elbow. Taking out one of the headphones is accompanied by the deep irritated sigh, he turns right to observe a girl of 9-10 years with 2 high ponytails tied with scrunchies of the acid yellow color. Those elements perfectly matched with the rest of the cloth items – bright orange T-shirt with unknown big-eared creature depicted and short green skirt with grotesque ruffles.
-Why aren’t you looking out of porthole since you’re lucky to get this dream seat?
-If I was lucky I wouldn’t be talking to you right now, - he cut off glancing at the screen that separated them from the business class.
-That was quite impolite – she said crossing her arms on the chest and turning away.
-Doesn’t watch cartoons and never lets others – mumbled girl at last, but that words didn’t avoid Mark’s ears:
- What on Earth are you talking about?
She turned back analyzing whether he deserves the second chance to hold a talk with her and replied with the smirk:
-Cloud cartoons! Look, - she pointed at white candy-floss put all over the sky, - here is a turtle carrying a cactus on her back and oooover there is an elephant holding a banana in his trunk and a huge spider is dancing next to him.
Mark strained his eyesight to find even one animal which this creature was talking about, still saw nothing but water vapor condensation products.
-Don’t be silly, - she objected, watching his confusion – everyone makes up his own cartoons out of this cloud plastiline just give it a try.
When one second separated him from telling that dummy to get away from the porthole and leave him alone for God’s sake something clicked in this body mechanism and forworn sight turned back to the white infinity.
Suddenly the outlines of a swan loomed. It was with crooked neck and broken wing just like the one he was making out of napkins with his mum in the distant future.
-This buddy won’t be able to fly far away – she told with the smile pointing at his ‘work’ while Mark giggled in response imitating the desperate escape of that swan from the hand of another guest who would turn him in a straight white cloth on his knees.
Those memories dipped in carefree moments when mother could get distracted from regular chores, routine work and allow herself some childishness with her little son.
Since then new secretary obediently followed the boss’s instruction to book the plane tickets only on a sunny day for Mark producing own movies of his past and maybe future life. Nonetheless in business class only!