A Sonata of Solitude

Chapter 3: A Cantabile of Change

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:---do I wake or sleep?
--John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

Chapter 3:
A Cantabile of Change

"Valued passengers, we have now begun our descent. Stewards, please be seated."

Sound.

The footsteps of people hurrying back to their seats, airline staff ensuring orderly conduct.

Voices, a dull miasma in the background. A couple hundred people each engaged in their own private conversations, eagerly anticipating our imminent arrival. The faint roar of the engines outside the windows, propelling us across the azure sky.

Carrying me far, far away.

Yet, not an escape -- for you were being carried along with me.

Two seats to my right, uncomfortably pressed in by the narrowness of the leg space. Your eyes trained on the screen in front of you, your discomfort was apparent on your face. A wave of sympathy came over me; even in high school, you'd been taller than me. I was feeling restricted -- how much worse must it have been for you?

Trapped like sardines, space growing smaller and smaller by the year.

Glancing backwards over the seat, I did a quick headcount. Thirty students had checked in on our flight; yet, I was only counting twenty-nine now. A swell of panic struck me; after a brief moment of frenzied searching, my eyes flicking back and forth across the rows, I noticed the light for the bathroom at the back of the airplane was lit.

An educated guess: the missing student's location resolved.

Making a mental note to check back in a few minutes' time, I turned forward again, and stowed my laptop in the bag that had been stuffed beneath the seat in front of me. Pushing it in again with my feet, I sighed. The flight, while not long, had been uncomfortable.

The floor was noticeably slanting forward now as we descended, my bag shifting as the centre of gravity of its contents moved. Out the window, the sparse clouds had given way to the blue-green waters bordering Naha, the capital of Okinawa prefecture. Pressing my face against the glass window, I thirstily drank in the sights -- the overflowing expanse of water, the island far below.

We're really here...

As the ground grew closer and closer, the buildings and cars and people adorning it growing larger and larger by the moment, I glanced over at you: and saw that your knuckles were white as you gripped the armrest next to you, glancing nervously past me out the window.

Is he... afraid of flying?

The revelation had caught me off-guard, a mixture of concern and surprise flooding my breast as I looked at your hands, gently shaking. Quietly, I had vowed to myself to learn more -- but later. There was no opportunity just then, because the plane touched down roughly, and you had surreptitiously lowered your head, your brow pressing against the seat in front of you.

The movement was a familiar one, and my heart clenched in sympathy. While I had no idea what experiences with airplanes had caused your fear, I remembered the first time we'd flown. The five of us with our father and Ebata -- as the plane descended, with the pressure changes inflicting their ravaging pain on our young sinuses, I'd taken on the "emergency position" that had been demonstrated at the beginning of the flight, terror filling my young mind at the thought of the plane crashing upon making contact with the runway.