There was nothing that seemed too incredibly strange on that day. I had been woken up by my alarm clock, albeit a little earlier than usual, since I had a flight to London to catch that morning. However, the change in my sleep schedule was the only abnormality as far as I was concerned. My mind seemed foggy and distant but I wrote this off as a product of sleep deprivation. Nevertheless, everything else was the same. I was in the same twin bed with checkered sheets that I slept in most nights, except for when I had too much work and was forced to pour over documents at the kitchen table all night long. I hated doing that. Sitting in the darkness, the only illumination coming from the light of my laptop screen, shadows everywhere in my field of vision. It always made me feel as if I was being watched.
Whenever I felt that way I reminded myself of my older sister’s presence in the other room. She had always been a sort of guardian to me, from my youngest years—when I had been made fun of by my equally young classmates over my the fact that one of my eyes was green, the other, blue—to our high school years where she had taught me how to handle other teenagers who all seemed eager to start fights. We grew up close enough that we decided to live together once we had both moved out of our parents’ house.
We were both drawn to New York City, especially when we compared city life with the inherent dullness that accompanies an upbringing in a small Nebraska town. Our parents had taken us there once, for Christmas. I still remembered every aspect of that trip vividly, expressly the plane ride—my first ever—which had been forever etched into my mind. I had been so terrified that my dad had to carry my small, eight- year-old self onto the plane because when they had announced boarding, I completely froze. My muscles were in some state of paralysis, and stubbornly refused to obey my mind’s commands no matter how loud it shouted at them.
So I had been ungracefully hoisted up onto my father’s shoulders and carried into the interior of the plane before being placed in my seat. My dad gave my sister the choice of a seat, and after a moment of deliberate consideration and scanning her available options, my eleven-year-old sister had defied everyone’s expectation by sitting down right next to me and telling me that she’d protect me. It was her job as an older sister after all. Besides, she declared proudly, she had already been on a plane once before, that time my parents had taken my sister on the family trip to Disney World, one for which I had been forced to stay home with my grandmother, bedridden with a bad case of the flu. Throughout that entire flight she had held tightly to my hand, not letting go no matter how hard I squeezed during a particularly bad moment of turbulence.
Sadly, that was the only time I had ever gone on a plane in my entire life. Because of recent events, attacks reported consistently in the news, I had been too afraid to get on a plane, especially alone.
But this time, I had to. There was something about London that was just calling to me, particularly the flight portion of the trip. I felt as if I was being controlled by some external entity. So, I had begged my boss for four days off of work in April to go, and bought my tickets as soon as I received the affirmation.
So I was going, pulled towards the city by some unknown force that I was letting dictate my actions. Despite not being twins, my sister seemed to be aware of my nervousness, as she had reminded me throughout the morning that she flew alone all the time and she was just fine. I decided then to start cooking breakfast to get my thoughts off of my own trepidation. When I walked back to my room briefly, I could smell the aroma of cooking food scents of the food being cooked, although our home was strangely silent, I could still hear my sister’s humming emanating from somewhere within the apartment. After breakfast I went through a checklist to ensure that I had packed everything that I would need. As I was walking out I grabbed the keys off of the counter and when I placed my hand on the doorknob, I heard her call out “stay safe”. My friend whom I had called and begged to give me a ride after my transport service cancelled at the last minute was waiting outside. I ran to the back of the car, tossing my bags in the back of the mini van before running around to the passenger door and tugging it open.
I was following my gut, and yet, something felt off. It was as if I was experiencing a sense of deja vu, even though I had never been on a plane alone, much less to London. But I had the nagging feeling that this trip sounded familiar.
The boarding seemed smooth; however, I still just barely made it onto the plane before the gate closed. I navigated my way to my seat, trying and failing to store my baggage in the overhead compartment, much to my own humiliation. Thankfully, another experienced passenger eventually saw my distress and came to my assistance.
I flopped down in my seat, hoping to get some sleep during the flight, not only so I wouldn’t be quite as jetlagged when I reached London, but also to rid myself of that gnawing sense of foreboding that had been bothering me for the entire day.
I closed my eyes as the plane began to prepare for takeoff, recalling with nostalgia the last time I was on a plane and the way in which my sister had comforted me and my fears. I wished she would have been here with me, but alas I was alone this time.
Thoughts of her swirled in my head as the annoying, bothersome sensation that had been making my blood run cold all day grew.
I had just finally begun to drift asleep when my eyes shot back open, my muscles turned to lead, and the blood in my veins turned to pure ice. Every inch of me filled with fear as I had finally remembered that my sister had died a few months ago in a plane crash while on her way to London.