Tremors In My Coffee

The putrid pink blob of hand cream slithered down my vertical palm. I hate the colour, nauseating like an outdated bathroom fixture or that foul toilet paper my grandmother continually chose, a compliment to her olive green toilet.

(Okay, pink no longer seems quite so repulsive.)

I rubbed the greasy cream into my dry, chapped hands and snuggled deeper into my seat. My feet, although slightly numb, were curled up beside me as my head lolled back on my neck, eventually settling on the cushy headrest

(Cushy is an overstatement.)

The table was down in front of me, supporting my flimsy tray with the remnants of suspect lunch scattered amongst the various wrappings and plastic containers. I was listening to the gentle hum of the engine, sure that my mouth was partially open, my tongue peaking out of the corner with an attractive trail of salivation crystallised on my lower lip.

(My lower lip and chin.)

The snail trail glistened slightly in the dewy sun rays which crept into my eyes through their flickering lids which were neither open nor closed, but instead were rather feather like, fluttering in the breeze from the air conditioning nozzle.

“Tea? Coffee? Tea, Sir?”
I slyly looked to my left to see the balding gent beside me gratefully accept his cup.

(Grateful, that is, until he had to fork over another handful of change for his bland concoction of water, with water.)

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly (it depends on how you look at it), I was enticed by the pungent odour of the stale coffee which had wafted across the cabin. I raised my hand. Hounded for my money, I’m handed a revolting cup of almost translucent content- brown like stagnant bath water.

(Not that I’ve ever seen brown stagnant bath water, but that’s beside the point.)

Sipping on the suspicious cocktail I stared at the carpet, and then to the aisle, before finally resting my gaze on the clouds just beyond the window. Captivated by their monotony, I stared at the tedious formations until the horse’s head drifted northwards and the archer’s bow exploded into a thousand swirling mists. Bored by the external expanse of blue, white and silver, I rummaged in my rug sack. Coming across your picture I paused, and retrieving it gently, I gazed into your face, your eyes. My heart leapt at the prospect of seeing you again, seeing you on the glorious beaches, splashing juvenilely in the glassy exotic seas. Oh, I couldn’t wait another measly moment…

Bang.

Then, silence.

An ominous grey smoke filtered into the cabin. Tremors sneaked to the surface of my coffee which sloshed up the sides of the cup. I steadied it with one hand while gripping the seat with the other. I looked at the balding gent beside me. He stuttered nervously, spluttering about his fear of flying as the sweat from his brow mingled with that on his cupid’s bow.

Irony, the cruel mistress of life.

I’d reply if only I could speak, I’d speak if only I could.

Bang.

The silence was that little bit longer.

And the smoke is that little bit thicker. It was a daunting black cloud which had obscured the blue, white and silver from my panicked eyes. The balding gent clung to my arm, weeping quietly; yet his tears were mere hurts compared to those of the wailing child behind us. I momentarily stammered stupidly, babbling in angst, but quickly fell silent.

Bang.

And still the silence lasted longer.

I shut my eyes and bit my lip- I wasn’t going to scream, I wasn’t going to die. A whistle reverberated in my ears and, in bewilderment, I opened eyes.
Everything was gone- the crying child, the balding gent, even the smoke had dispersed to reveal the blazing brightness of the blue, white and silver. I was falling from the flaming fractured plane, falling quickly towards the frigid waves below me, fathomless peril. I thought of you. I thought only of you and of what we had shared and of what we would have had some day. My dreams and aspiration for our family flashed into my mind, and as the cruel mistress poked up her foul head, I promised I would never yearn for anything beyond a mundane existence. But as the first salt sprays wet my face, I realised that I’d never have the choice; just a fabled chance to choose my fate.

Oh, I couldn’t wait another measly moment and now I’ll be waiting in anxious anticipation for a lifetime. Not mine, of course.

The waves loomed ever closer- the cream on my coffee. The murky depths called my names, drawing me closer which each second that flew by.

(Each second that flew by. Literally.)

I thought of you. I thought only of you and how you’ll learn of this. Who will tell you? Where will you be? Will they ever retrieve my body, distorted and warped, from the tempestuous waves? I hope that it rains so you need not cry alone- sit on the porch and watch the moon weep bitter tears. Not tears for me, but tears for the wailing child who exploded into mere dust, or tears for the balding gent who is never going to have anybody miss him.

What I’d have given to see that putrid pink once more, anything but blue, white and silver.

Turn the waves to yellow, or the foaming swells to crimson…anything but blue.