Vol de Nuit
“This is your captain speaking” I hear as I look around my seat and curiously push the dimly lit buttons with the diagrams on them of what I may want to do for the next 10 hours.
I love the deep voice of the captain especially when he’s British: so reassuring and yet sexy as if any minute he’s going to offer me a cocktail and anything else I might want.
“Ladies and gentlemen” he says “our flight will go over Newfoundland tonight. We expect no delay in our landing at London Heathrow and it is our hope that you will enjoy your flight asleep or awake.Thank you for flying with us.”
I am longing to hear that captain’s voice again.
I want to be in the capsule of transportation.
I want a lady with make up on and coiffed hair to offer me a blanket and a billet-doux.
I long to be taken across the Atlantic, flying high through the clouds while someone else is in charge.
Maybe I’ll fly to Charles de Gaulle and exit through one of the tube escalators up and escalator down into the customs area where I will be met by a chauffeur who will take me to a five-star Hotel in Paris where I will acquire several new outfits and a chauffeur.
At night when I can’t sleep I think of all those opportunities. My daughter kept saying to me, “Mom!Go live in France for a while. They’ll understand you there.”
I know it’s too late and that’s OK but I still love to imagine the sound of that voice “Good evening ladies and gentlemen!Welcome to flight 27 from San Francisco to wherever your heart desires.”
I am wearing my travel clothes so I will look perfectly chic when we land.
I’ve been wearing them for five months.
I’ll never stop dreaming just as I’ve never stopped breathing so if I never stop breathing I can’t guarantee I won’t in-jest something that could easily kill me.
So that’s why I’m happy I’m a good imaginer.
I always travel light and rarely breathe.