American Horror Story The Second

Nice job, Victoria!

I sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs outside my gate, B12, and set my carry-on and suitcase beside me. There I was, taking five days off from work on the USS Yorktown to visit my parents in Brooklin, Maine, while my dad attended the Wooden Boat School. This was just what I needed, as I had been stressing over that psychology examination coming up next month to check if I was on the spectrum. Go ahead, laugh: a twenty-eight-year-old who lived alone in Charleston, South Carolina, with obvious learning disabilities, who never got tested. At least I had a Navy boyfriend (we met last month while I volunteered at the Charleston Animal Society), so I guess I’ve made some progress in life since I turned twenty.

My blueberry-blue eyes landed on a mother, her two young children, and their grandmother before me, the children playing on iPads like they’re Lilypad from Toy Story 5. I then looked behind me out the large glass window at the runway. It’s shy of 7:30 AM (my flight to Charlotte is at 8:20), and it’s cloudy and rainy, but not enough to cancel.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up the American Airlines app, my anxiety pulling me to the On Time departure note and the 12:30 connecting flight in Charlotte to Bangor. If everything goes well, I should be there at 4:00 PM; however, I’ve had issues flying before, so I wasn’t sure. I got COVID in Portugal two years ago and a back injury from falling down a ladder at work before the Costa Rica flight last winter. I didn’t see anything that should delay or cancel me that day, though, so my finger-crossing was working so far, although my mind was still filled with everything I’ve noticed about myself since scheduling that appointment.

To distract myself, I pulled out my handy-dandy Gold Stars Fourth Grade Big Workbook and began working on the fractions and decimals chapter. I missed learning, but I wanted to improve my skills in Math and History, especially since Michael, my boyfriend, was amazing at both. When I took the Khan Academy Math placement test, though, it put me at the fourth-grade level—LOL! Honestly, I’m not surprised by my crappy Math skills. The least I could do was build my confidence by starting slow and working my way up, in Math and life.

Twenty minutes later, two gate agents appeared at the gate (it still said On Time above them) and announced, “Attention passengers, the flight to Charlotte will begin boarding momentarily.”

Finally!

I closed my workbook, admired the camel on its cover for a second, and slipped it into my backpack. I then stood and held my boarding pass close. If I was one of the first people in the Group 9 line when it was called, I might still be able to keep my carry-on. Therefore, I tightened my grip on the handle and waited my turn.

Maine, here I come!

***

There I went, stimming my fingers as I waited for my group to be called. I felt like people were staring at me, but I tended to always overthink things. I never really noticed the stimming until recently, after I began paying more attention to myself. I had trouble making eye contact and speaking to people face-to-face, and I only trusted certain people to touch me.

Wait! Stop the thoughts, Victoria, and get on the plane.

“Group 9 is good to board,” said the gate agent. “Groups 1-9.”

Okay, so far, so good.

I stopped stimming and hurried to the front of the line, my anxiety squeezing my insides from being surrounded by so many people. I didn’t mind airplanes, just airports. They stressed me out, especially with my history: crying the entire way from Russia when my parents adopted me at two years old and getting food poisoning right after the return flight from Portugal. What could go wrong that day?

I stood in line at the jetway for a few minutes, checking the app the whole time. We were already running behind schedule, but I could still make my connecting flight.

Eventually, I reached the aircraft and made my way to my seat toward the very back. I slipped my backpack under the one in front of me and lugged my carry-on into the overhead bin, then sat and tried to ignore the lingering pain from my back injury.

Was it just me, or was it hot on that airplane? Was the AC working? It had to—this was Charleston, SC, in late August.

I stripped my jacket and tied it around my waist while the final passengers boarded. Two more people sat beside me, sweating just as much as I was. Okay, everyone was on. Could we get a move on to Charlotte already?

The intercom soon beeped, and the captain’s voice was heard. “Good morning, passengers. This is your captain speaking from the flight deck. Welcome aboard. Due to the amount of traffic coming in and out of Charlotte at this time, we won’t be able to take off until 9:00 AM.”

What? Okay, could I still make my connecting flight?

“Excuse me?” I asked one of the flight attendants beside me, rubbing sweat from my forehead. “I have a tight connection in Charlotte. Can I still make it?”

She checked my phone and answered, “You should be, and if not, they’ll move you to the next available flight.”

Which was? It looked like 1:44, so that wasn’t too bad. I would just have to let my parents know.

God, it’s hot on this airplane! Hopefully, they would fix the AC soon. That’s a lot of body heat with 150+ passengers.

Finally, the intercom turned on again, and I froze, holding my breath.

“Attention, passengers, this is your captain again.” The captain let out a frustrated sigh. “We apologize, but one of our engines isn’t working, and we need to return to the gate.”

Oh, crap.