ELEVEN HOURS of Soul Searching

A Puppet Without A Master

A slim looking lady that might be seventy as well as a hundred years old makes her way towards our row. She moves friskily as for her age; nearly floats between the seats.

'What a day. What a day. Who would have expected? No warning signs, no heads up. And the time's just gone crazy.'

As she walks, she gesticulates feverishly with her hands and rolls her eyes in disbelief. Whatever happened to her this morning shook her to the core.

'Oh, no!' I murmur under my nose.

'That is not good. That is not good at all. You are for a treat this time.'

I have a name for this type of people - Oblivious Babblers.

They don't particularly care if someone listens to them, or what others got to say for that matter. Most of the time, they talk to themselves because they feel lonely and lack communication and companionship with other people.

I squeeze the headphones involuntarily in case this one feels obliged to tell me her whole life story.

When she finally stops next to us, I take a closer look at her. She reminds me of my very own grandmother, just with a better sense of fashion. She's wearing light jeans and a loose navy blue cashmere sweater; her grey hair put neatly in a bun, small pieces of jewellery completing the entire look.

'So, here I am,' she whispers.

She looks at me with an odd nostalgia in her sparkling eyes. Despite her age, she's still a beautiful and refined woman.

'Excuse me, young man,' she says politely, but Miguel won't even budge, occupied with his prayers, headphones on his ears. 

So without further ado, she pokes him with her long skinny finger, and the same instant, he jumps to his feet as if she has thrown a bucket of cold water at him instead.

'Whoa, that's a whole new level of skittish.'

The lady pulls away, completely taken aback by his sudden movement.

'Oh, my!' - She exclaims in astonishment - 'Didn't see that coming. Sorry!' 

She mouths to him the last word in the most charming way possible. He looks nervously around and walks away to use a toilet, still quite disturbed.

The woman takes her place next to me, enveloped by the unusual floral, earthy and ambrosial scent. I find myself taking a deep breath, unable to get enough of it. 

'At least she smells nice.'

'What a lovely fragrance,' I compliment her, trying to start a conversation.

'Oh, that?' She asks, bewildered. 'It's peculiarly wonderful, isn't it? Hope it's not going to disturb you too much. It's part of the whole package, I suppose.'

'She's lost me at 'the package'. What package? This one is an oddball, I am telling you.'

'No, it's not too strong. It's just that it's rather unusual. That's all.'

She smiles mysteriously, and I don't dare to say a word more.

'Call me, Cherrie, dear. It was my stage name actually, given to me by my sister in law. And it stuck for good.'

'And here comes the life story. Put your headphones on, before it's too late.'

'Charlotte,' I reply quickly. 'So, you were a performer.'

'I was many things in my life, was lucky enough to do what I loved the most.' She stretches her legs under the seat in front of her. 'Good heavens! Finally. I thought I would never get here.' 

She settles in her chair and groans with contentment. There's undescribable bliss on her face. That's how happiness would look like if it were a person.

'What's with the boy?' She asks, taking out from a little basket - her only luggage - a ball of yarn and a crochet hook and starts to work the stiches of something that looks like a scarf. 'He looks as if he's about to leg it any minute.'

'He must be an anxious flier.'

'Obviously. I used to fly a lot myself. You see, my ex-husband took me with him to the most incredible parts of the world. And although he left me unexpectedly, I will always be grateful for that opportunity.'

'If you must listen about someone else's life for eleven hours, this one seems to have at least an interesting one.'

In the meantime, Miguel comes back. He must have splashed his face with cold water, as he's dripping wet.

'More likely put his head inside the toilet.'

He gives me a quick, suspicious glance, checking if I hadn't mutated into a bloodthirsty creature when he was away. Then puts his headphones back on and curls up in his seat, becoming a bundle of nerves again.

'If the flight is bumpy this poor guy is going to lose it.'

I fasten my seatbelt, switch off my phone, and once the machine raises in the air with a speed of 170 mph, I feel finally free. 

How paradoxical that is, considering the fact I am trapped with other 170 passengers in a pressurised cabin 35 000 ft above the ground, and yet, I feel liberated.

I don't need to rush anywhere or answer never-ending phone calls and emails. I do not have to worry about what to cook for dinner. Nor how to do what I want without attracting unnecessary attention.

It's like I am above it all - my problems, obligations, dilemmas they all seem small and irrelevant from the distance of thousands of miles.

My muscles relax. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My head is clear from all the intrusive thoughts that usually pop into my head without any warning.

Every second brings me farther away from the house, that used to be home, Josefina - the loud and bossy housekeeper and my cat Fiona that had a hissy fit each time she saw me. I must have been on her territory all this time. 

Each mile breaks the bond that has connected me with my ex-husband, workmates, clients or the sweet elderly seller in the street market I used to visit each Sunday.

I will miss my clients, that became friends, and friends that abandoned me when I needed them most. My neighbours and other incredible people who had a small or more significant impact on my life. 

It hurts, knowing I won't see most of them again; that I won't be part of their lives any more. 

I imagine how the invisible strings snap. Some take more time, as they are more like chains, but finally, they give away too, and I am a free puppet without any master. 

No one pulls my strings any more—that's how it would be if I disappeared completely from the surface of the earth. Some people would shed a tear or two, but the world wouldn't stop turning. I am the boss of my own life—the life I am not willing to live any more.