Barrel Roll for Me, Baby

She looked out the plane window and sighed.

There was just no way the captain was going to do a barrel roll.

Ugh.

Why did she sleep with him?

Because he’s a pilot.

He’s 6’2”.

He checked so many boxes.

And he promised he would do a barrel roll during their flight.

Well, sort of promised. Actually, the word, “promise” only came from her mouth.

His reply was, “Sure.”

Samantha sighed again, this time louder, while throwing her head back on her seat.

“I know how you feel. Every time I’m about to fly, I say to myself, ‘This time I’m gonna do it right. This time I’m gonna fly first-class. And every time… coach, hmm,’ said the elderly woman sitting next to her in the middle seat.

Samantha smiled at the friendly old woman, admired her wool cloche, while the woman stared straight ahead lost in her own inner monologue.

“I like your hat.”

“Thank you. My granddaughter happened by it and gave it to me before I left.”

Samantha looked up towards the cockpit, as the flight attendants started to pass out the in-flight snacks.

“Well, to be honest with you, I just happened by the captain of this flight at the Screaming Eagle Lounge last night—I heard that’s where the pilots go in this area, and well one thing led to another…”

Her pause was never so pregnant.

“Oh…”

“And, anywhoozle, before I left this morning, I told him, instead of calling me which I knew he would never do anyway—I asked that he if he would do a barrel roll during our flight, just as you know, a little wink to me.”

This new information caused the older woman to almost turn directly towards her in her seat.

“You asked him to do what?”

“A barrel roll. Basically, turning the plane over in mid-air.”

“What?”

“I know, it was silly.”

“Well, more importantly, what did he say?”

“He just said, ‘Sure,’ as he was putting on his cufflinks.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, but it was like I asked him if he’d take out the garbage and he was like, “Sure.”

“I guess that’s somewhat reassuring.”

“Anyway, the tone of his “sure,” kind of set me off. Like, I didn’t say anything. I sort of started to stomp a bit. Which he noticed. And he tried to reassure me he would. And I told him to just forget it.”

“Did he forget it?”

“Probably. Who knows. He was like, ‘I said I would,’ you know like when you ask the guy to take out the garbage, and he says he will, and then like an hour later, it’s still there, and says, ‘I said I would.’ Ugh. I just get my hopes up, that’s the thing. I fall too hard, too quickly.”

“So he said he would do it…”

“Yeah. I guess. Probably not though. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, dear, I’m not.”

“I just had this conversation with my therapist last week—I always give the guy an ‘out,’ rather than just saying what I really want to say, which would have been, ‘Hey this was fun. Let’s do it again sometime, no pressure. Here’s my number.”

“But instead, you asked him to do an aerial maneuver reserved for military jets and airshows on a commercial flight to Cleveland.”

“I KNOW. My therapist is soooo gonna roll her eyes at me this week. ‘Just give him your friggin number, Sam.’ I can already hear her. She’s great though. Love her. She almost died climbing Mount Everest. She lost consciousness due to lack of oxygen, and her group left her for dead. Then a Sherpa, who was looking for his lost dog, saw a Snow leopard dragging what he thought might be his St. Bernard down the mountain. Turns out that St. Bernard was Teresa.”

“On my commercial flight to Cleveland, no less,” said the old woman to herself staring straight ahead.

“I’m sorry?”

“On MY commercial flight, the flight that I am on, you asked the captain to do a barrel-roll on MY flight.”

“Your flight?”

“Yes, MY flight.”

“Hey, don’t worry he’s not gonna do it.”

“How do you know? You said he said he would do it.”

Just then, the intercom comes on, and through the speakers comes an announcement.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Brenneman, we have reached 35,000 feet; we are at cruising altitude; and I have turned off the seatbelt-fastened sign. Please feel free to stretch your legs at this time and move about the cabin. Our stellar team of flight attendants will be around shortly to collect any trash, and offer any additional beverages, including wine and beer for a small charge. We are currently on schedule, and due to arrive in Cleveland, Ohio in approximately 45 minutes. Temperature in Cleveland is 35 degrees, partly cloudy, and no precipitation in the forecast. And as always, thank you for flying with us.”

Again, Samantha sighed and looked out the window.

“Ugh, that voice. He is such a dream.”

“Well, I think, if he were gonna do a barrel-roll, he’d at least keep the seatbelt sign turned on—one can only hope.”
“Oh, definitely. He’s soooo thoughtful like that too. Last night, each time he finished, he would get right up, go to the bathroom and get me warm soaked towel.”
“What a keeper.”

“You think so? Ugh. You’re right.”

The old woman looked at her seatbelt. Her desire to use the bathroom was conflicting with the recent, albeit potential, in-flight news she had just received from young woman sitting beside her.

“But after this flight is over, I’m gonna walk off this plane and never see him again.”

“Well—”

“Which is FINE. I’m used to that. But, to have a simple request just dismissed so you can let yourself off the hook of having to NOT call ME… that one is gonna sting for a while. I’m just being honest.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll meet someone else.”

“In fucking Cleveland? Are you out of your goddamned mind?”

Her remarks stunned the old woman, who thought, definitely without doubt, no matter what, she if flying first-class next time.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—you’re right. You’re right. Just like my therapist always says, ‘Speedwalking is 40 percent your legs,  40 percent form, and 200 percent completely fucking mental.’ You have to be mentally tough to be a speedwalker, if you didn’t know.”

“I had no idea.”

“Oh yeah. Those people take a ton of abuse. Because you look ridiculous doing it, which is why speedwalking is really just a battle of the mind.”

“Huh…”

“You know what, here’s to a fresh start in Cleveland.”

“You’ve never been?”

The old woman was starting to feel confident that any potential in-flight maneuver was never going to happen—any pilot in his right mind, would not only not risk his job and the lives of the people on board, but would never commit to such an unstable person as the woman she found herself talking to at the present moment.

“Nope. I got a new job. I’m making a new start. Which now I see it… holy fucking shit.”

“What? You see what?”

“Last night, this pilot, this barrel roll obsession, is and was just me distracting myself from what I should be focusing on. It’s my fear and anxiety manifesting some other obstacle, or goal, or validation, to distract me from the fact that I don’t want to think about what I’m actually afraid of…”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Cleveland.”

“You’re afraid of Cleveland?”

“Well, not the city, but my new fucking job! My new career, my new digs in a new city. I always do this. Anytime I’m faced with a big decision or some new change, new city, new therapist, new coach, new ayahuasca retreat that’s gonna solve everything—I find myself in bed with an airline pilot.”

“Oh.”

“Not a pilot every time.”

“Ah.”

“But, often enough, that my Teresa has noticed a theme.”

“Well, thank you for the chat. With the time we have left, I’m going to stretch my legs and find the water closet.”

“You sure you’re not gonna join the Mile High Club?”

“The Mile High Club?”

“Its worth it, let me tell ya—”

Once again, a beeping sound comes over the speaker.

“Hello, this Captain Brenneman, again, as you may have noticed, I have turned back on the seatbelt-fastened sign, as I am requesting all passengers and in-flight staff return to their seats and fasten their seatbelt. We apparently had some trouble with our navigational system.”

The old woman sits back down and fastens her seatbelt.

“We have veered off course a bit and, in an effort, to clear some cloud cover, we are going to descend to an appropriate elevation to get ourselves back on course.”

“Appropriate elevation?” the old woman muttered aloud.

She looked at the old woman with budding excitement in the pit of her stomach.

The captain’s voice continued over the intercom. “Hang on folks, as we descend, we may experience some turbulence. It could get a little rocky for a bit, and some extreme measures may be needed to ensure that what I’m about to do, will not only keep the passengers on this flight safe, but prove to one particular passenger the lengths I’m willing to go to prove that last night was just not a one-night stand.”

“I don’t believe it…”

“Christ on a cross…” the old woman said as she was reminded of her gratitude for the invention of Depends.

“Folks, I’ve been a pilot for 29 years, and I’ve been dead inside for most those years, except for the past 9 hours today, when I awoke this morning next to a woman I think I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

She brought her hands to her mouth, covering it, as tears ran down her face.

“Though, I wish I had one of my husband’s heart pills.”

The captain’s voice came back over the speaker to say, “Samantha, there’s a good chance that after today, I won’t be pilot…”

Samantha unbuckled her seatbelt and standing, her heart pounding.

“Sit down!” a flight attendant snapped, as the stewardess made her way to her seat to buckle.

“But the chance that tomorrow, I’ll be in love with you even more than I am right now… One hundred fucking percent.”

“I fucking love you!” Samantha screamed.

“Alright folks, I hope you’re buckled-in, because just like they say in competitive speedwalking, ‘It’s 40 percent your legs, 40 percent your form, and 200 percent—”

“Completely fucking mental!” Samantha cried, while the old woman, eyes closed, sat back in her seat clutching her arm rests.

Her body, her veins, coursing with all the endorphins that come with falling in love, caused her to sigh heavily, as she bent down with excitement and peered through the window, as the love of her life, swept her off her feet.