Carry-On
by Billy Reddy
The seat beneath me is hard and gives little comfort to my tired body. As I bend over to look into my bag and fish out my computer, I can hear the buzz of the florescent lights above. The light cast down on the freshly waxed tile is aggressive at this early hour and makes my newly roused eyes cry for just a few more hours of sleep. As I open my laptop, I gaze around the airport terminal and see fellow travelers in varying forms of wakefulness. Across from where I am sitting, an elderly couple leans against each other sleeping peacefully, heads nestled against the shoulders of the other. I open Canvas to start a fresh word document. Last night, I tossed and turned about writing the paper that I am currently working on[1].
I think about all the blank pages in front of me and how it’s a battle to even fill one page with text[2]; how most of my papers meander, each sentence tangled with the next, stumbling over each other and struggling to find a destination. I think of all the time and energy this will consume. I am already so tired; my chest is heavy with the weight of inhalations and my hands have become stiff and unwilling to type. My mouth is dry; I look down and notice my water bottle is empty. Snapping my computer shut, I stand and pluck the bottle from the pocket of my bag[3]. My body starts to relax as I walk.
A mother, grandmother, daughter, and son are slowly making their way down the terminal. The mother has an anxious look on her face and is holding her son who looks no more than two, and is fast asleep in her arms. I wonder why the mom seems so stressed. I think how peaceful the little boy looks amid all the bustle of the airport. I smile to myself and wonder: how can I be peaceful like this little guy[4]? A few paces behind are grandma and the daughter who looks to be around five or six. I notice how this pair looks relaxed. I see their faces swivel from left to right with joy taking in all the sights and sounds that the airport has to offer. This also makes me smile as I think to myself who would have thought an airport terminal could create so much delight[5]. I get to the water fountain, fill up my water, and return to my seat.
As the Canvas page loads, my body tenses and I realize I’m holding my breath. I feel like I am about to go in to battle. Inside my chest, my heart buzzes like a swarm of wasps. Noticing I am getting worked up again, I close my eyes and focus on my breath for just a few moments. I begin to feel just a bit more at ease. I tell myself I can just take it one paragraph at a time. As my fingers click away at the keys, I hear the muffled murmur of the terminal intercom through my headphones. I did not catch the announcement,but it looks like the plane is starting to board. I frantically type out a few last thoughts. I am disappointed. I had hoped to get more done at this point. Frustrated, I pick up my bags and head for the gate.
I have one overstuffed backpack and another strapped to the front of my chest. In the rush of packing for this trip, I thought I could get by with these bags instead of actual luggage like everyone else. While standing in line to board the plane, I feel the weight of both my bags pulling me down. I waddle down the narrow aisle bumping into seats[6]. Finally, I make it to mine. After wrestling my second bag into place under the seat in front of mine, I decide I want to listen to some music. I crouch over and pull my bag from the space I had just wrangled it in to and look for my headphones. Digging around without success, I pull my hand from the front pocket and move on to the next. With a little frustration, I open the second compartment and look inside. Still unsuccessful, I look in the last pocket and still cannot find my head phones. Annoyed, I begin to empty each compartment in the bag. “How useful is a bag if you can’t find anything in it,”[7] I think, as I take some books and a sweatshirt out of the biggest compartment of the bag. Finally, I find the headphones tangled at the bottom, and plug them in to my phone. Closing my eyes, I let the music relax me.
The plane gets to its cruising altitude and the pilot announces that we are now free to move about the cabin. I take out my computer and start working on my assignment. “What are some preconceived ideas about my writing?” I type how I feel like my writing lacks structure, how I often spell words wrong, how sometimes it feels like my writing rambles. While I brainstorm, soon enough all these different ideas rush into my head. I try to jot them down, but they are moving too fast for my fingers to keep up. My hands tense, unwilling to chase down these elusive ideas. I decide maybe I can harness these ideas with pen and paper. Quickly, I reach into my bag and grab my notebook and a pen. I wield the pen in frantic spasms to capture my ideas on the page in written form, but it’s no use. I can still feel the thoughts slipping away.
My chest tightens once more. It feels like I am in a pressure cooker,with no way to get my ideas out, or express what I want to say. It’s like the thoughts inside my head are trapped in stone, like that guy in Star Wars. I can feel them clawing away inside my head, trying to escape, frantically trying to break through to the surface. My fingers and hands struggle to move fast enough to excavate them all from the cave inside my skull… [8]Just then, the plane starts to jerk violently from left to right. I am thrown to the right and fly almost completely out of my seat. I forgot to buckle myself in. The overhead bins unlatch, and bags spill out into the aisle. The plane fills with cries from passengers. Then the plane jerks in the opposite direction and suddenly pain shoots through the side of my head. Everything goes black.
I can feel the hard ground beneath me. The side of my head aches and there’s something hard jabbing into my lower back. I feel the heat of the sun across my face, and in the distance, I hear a soothing crackling that reminds me of a campfire. I open my eyes and see a vast blue sky above me. The sun glares sharply into my eyes. I squint as I sit up and look around. I am in the middle of an open steppe land. As far as I can see, I am surrounded by sagebrush and other small shrubs. In the distance I can see a small forest and further away there are large mountains jutting up like teeth from the earth. I think, where am I? How did I get here?
Just then I catch a whiff of something that smells like burning plastic. When I turn around, I see a giant trench cut into the burnt, orange earth. The ground is smoldering, and parts of a plane are scattered about. I run over to the wreckage and look for any other survivors. After calling out a few times I think to myself, “Where is everyone?”
I am completely alone. There is not another human in sight. Just then, I find my bag in a pile of rubble. Luckily, it is not badly damaged from the crash. I find my writing notebook. I flip to a blank page and start to take an inventory of the rest of the supplies I have to work with. So far, the bag has a first aid kit, a half full water bottle, rope, pocket knife, a shovel, and an inflatable kayak. I place my notebook down on a rock nearby and begin to put the supplies into the backpack. As I wrestle the kayak back in to the bottom compartment of the bag, I see a large eagle swoop down and fly away with my note book. My stomach drops like I am on a rollercoaster. All my ideas and brainstorming for my paper have just flown off into the distance. I think to myself I have to get this notebook back; how can I finish my paper without it?[9] Slinging the bag over my shoulder the weight of it almost knocks me off my feet. Regaining my balance, I take off after the avian adversary.
[1] This is a reference to the stress that working on a writing assignment often causes.
[2] In this sequence, we see element of the demon and negative self-talk.
[3] This part shows the avatar looking for an escape from the difficult feelings associated with the writing assignment as a result of negative self-talk.
[4] This scene is inspired by the passage “learning to stay” the narrator is observing the present and living in the now. also similar to a walking meditation
[5] This scene also gathers inspiration from the passage the power of loving friendliness specifically the element of appreciative joy the narrator receives from seeing happiness of grandmother and granddaughter.
[6] This is to show how it feels to be weighed down, and the pressure that writing puts on the narrator. Also, the man with the rolling suitcase is a metaphor for how it feels looking at others write with ease.
[7] The bag in this scene is used to show how meticulous writing can feel. Writing is the search for the headphones
[8] This is how it feels when starting a writing project. There are so many ideas they spill out of compartment in my brain with nowhere to go.
[9] This is how it feels when an idea slips from my mind. It feels like I have to go off and chase it down.'
Billy Reddy is a senior Geography major, graduating this month.
Sam Flaherty edited this story.