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Letter from Home: Time to fly ... time flies

Airplane

"Although I don’t feel the same joy with air travel that I did when I was younger, it still feels a little magical to think I can make plans to go somewhere. I can buy a plane ticket, get on a mechanical contraption and arrive at a completely different place from where I was that morning."

I suppose most of us are comforted by the fact that when we travel we're less likely to die in a plane accident than a car accident. But as I board my recent flight, I wonder when time runs out on that adage. Crossing the tarmac to the plane, I consider how small it is. The wind is whipping my hair into my face and my glance at the weather told me that storms settling around Dallas might cause flight delays. Wind and storms. I can’t help but think that maybe my luck flying is limited.

I was 13 the first time I flew on an airplane. I don’t remember where my parents took me. I was more impressed with the tiny meal with forks, knives and mini salt and pepper shakers. We weren’t even in first or business class. Everyone got a meal, although maybe the meals in first class were fancier. I just remember wanting to pocket the salt and pepper shakers. The last time I had a true meal on a flight was on my way to France a few years ago and even then, paper packets of seasonings replaced the glass shakers.



Stacy Murison is a Flagstaff-based writer. Her work has appeared in Assay, Brevity’s Nonfiction Blog, Flash Fiction Magazine, Hobart, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency and The Rumpus among others. You can find her work at .



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