feet. She manages this a moment before giving up and plopping on the carpet, dingy alternating squares of bluish gray.
“I’m so nervous,” I announce.
All of a sudden, for no reason at all, the little girl’s face scrunches up and she starts crying sad toddler cries, just giving in to the sorrow. Her voice is deep and pained. Her dad doesn’t even turn around. My stepdad would have scooped me up in his arms. My pixie father? Who knows …
“Sometimes I almost wonder if humans are worth saving,” Astley murmurs.
“Pixies are just as bad,” I say.
“True. Do not listen to me. I am just tired.”
I swallow hard. “Do you think we have the capacity for good?”
“Pixies or living creatures in general?”
“Both.”
“I have to believe that.”
“Why?”
Before he can answer, the gate attendant leans toward the microphone and says, “We are now boarding Priority Pass passengers for Flight 5781 to Iceland. Again, only Priority Pass passengers.”
“That is us.” Astley stretches his arms over his head.
“Really?” I’ve never flown first class before, and as much as I think this is materialistic of me, I am kind of psyched.
“Really. We are royalty after all.” Astley rolls his eyes before I can get all upset. He stands up, offering me his hand, which is solid and clean. I take it and we stand there for a minute, just staring at each other, and then he slowly lets go of my hand. One finger, then another. “I shall tell you why I believe this on the plane, and perhaps it will help you feel more comfortable about your own change, all right?”
I nod. “All right.”
Stretching and gathering my carry-on, I watch the people mill about. The flight attendant has dandruff. Flakes fall as she scratches her hair. The little girl stops crying, her dad never seeming to notice. A woman with super-huge noise-reduction headphones reads a
Glamour
magazine. A man in a tie wearing a wedding band holds a John Grisham novel in one hand. They are all so innocent, so unaware that they are sitting here with pixies. They have no idea that the entire world could change if we fail. And I am glad that they don’t, since sometimes not knowing is so much safer, so much saner.
The woman puts down her magazine. I lean forward and ask, “Are you done with that? Would you mind if I read it on the plane?”
For a second she looks shocked, but then she says, “Of course not. It’s good and mindless.”
“That is exactly what I need,” I say, taking it from the seat. “Thank you.”
Astley and I sit next to each other. After we’re buckled, I start to pull the armrest down, but he stops me. “There’s a lot of metal in that.”
“But we took the pills.”
“It would be better to leave it up.” His voice holds an apology in it. It’s not an order; it’s a suggestion, so I nudge the armrest back up between the seats with my elbow.
“Better?”
“Much.” He smiles and hands me a little white airplane pillow and a deep blue blanket. “Thank you.”
People keep boarding, pushing their carry-ons in front of them or pulling them behind. A woman cradles a baby close to her body. A man expels some gas. Astley looks at me and presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. I cover my nose and mouth with my hand.
“There are a lot of people in a plane,” I whisper, “and a lot of smells.”
I touch the wall by my right. It’s plastic and it seems plain beige at first glance, but there are actually tiny little swirling circles on it. I wonder if I would have noticed that if I were still human. I wonder if everything is like that: if things just seem shallow and pale, but then if you stare closer, you can see the hidden aspects. Astley leans back in his chair, stretches his legs underneath the seat in front of him. His hair is darkish blond, but if you look closely there are red strands mixed in. They flash in the sun, the shades running from copper to strawberry blond. Looking away, I run my finger along
“I’m so nervous,” I announce.
All of a sudden, for no reason at all, the little girl’s face scrunches up and she starts crying sad toddler cries, just giving in to the sorrow. Her voice is deep and pained. Her dad doesn’t even turn around. My stepdad would have scooped me up in his arms. My pixie father? Who knows …
“Sometimes I almost wonder if humans are worth saving,” Astley murmurs.
“Pixies are just as bad,” I say.
“True. Do not listen to me. I am just tired.”
I swallow hard. “Do you think we have the capacity for good?”
“Pixies or living creatures in general?”
“Both.”
“I have to believe that.”
“Why?”
Before he can answer, the gate attendant leans toward the microphone and says, “We are now boarding Priority Pass passengers for Flight 5781 to Iceland. Again, only Priority Pass passengers.”
“That is us.” Astley stretches his arms over his head.
“Really?” I’ve never flown first class before, and as much as I think this is materialistic of me, I am kind of psyched.
“Really. We are royalty after all.” Astley rolls his eyes before I can get all upset. He stands up, offering me his hand, which is solid and clean. I take it and we stand there for a minute, just staring at each other, and then he slowly lets go of my hand. One finger, then another. “I shall tell you why I believe this on the plane, and perhaps it will help you feel more comfortable about your own change, all right?”
I nod. “All right.”
Stretching and gathering my carry-on, I watch the people mill about. The flight attendant has dandruff. Flakes fall as she scratches her hair. The little girl stops crying, her dad never seeming to notice. A woman with super-huge noise-reduction headphones reads a
Glamour
magazine. A man in a tie wearing a wedding band holds a John Grisham novel in one hand. They are all so innocent, so unaware that they are sitting here with pixies. They have no idea that the entire world could change if we fail. And I am glad that they don’t, since sometimes not knowing is so much safer, so much saner.
The woman puts down her magazine. I lean forward and ask, “Are you done with that? Would you mind if I read it on the plane?”
For a second she looks shocked, but then she says, “Of course not. It’s good and mindless.”
“That is exactly what I need,” I say, taking it from the seat. “Thank you.”
Astley and I sit next to each other. After we’re buckled, I start to pull the armrest down, but he stops me. “There’s a lot of metal in that.”
“But we took the pills.”
“It would be better to leave it up.” His voice holds an apology in it. It’s not an order; it’s a suggestion, so I nudge the armrest back up between the seats with my elbow.
“Better?”
“Much.” He smiles and hands me a little white airplane pillow and a deep blue blanket. “Thank you.”
People keep boarding, pushing their carry-ons in front of them or pulling them behind. A woman cradles a baby close to her body. A man expels some gas. Astley looks at me and presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. I cover my nose and mouth with my hand.
“There are a lot of people in a plane,” I whisper, “and a lot of smells.”
I touch the wall by my right. It’s plastic and it seems plain beige at first glance, but there are actually tiny little swirling circles on it. I wonder if I would have noticed that if I were still human. I wonder if everything is like that: if things just seem shallow and pale, but then if you stare closer, you can see the hidden aspects. Astley leans back in his chair, stretches his legs underneath the seat in front of him. His hair is darkish blond, but if you look closely there are red strands mixed in. They flash in the sun, the shades running from copper to strawberry blond. Looking away, I run my finger along
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