When We Get There

Chapter 6

When the plane landed, Ignacio was confused as the entire plane went into a frenzy of applause. Even his dad joined in, clapping and otherwise quietly cheering. A tall woman across the aisle from them stared at the roof with a hand on her chest, hyperventilating, while another older man nearby prayed silently into the headrest. Ignacio reluctantly joined in the clapping. When it subsided, he asked his dad what had just happened.

"People get very nervous on the plane. To them, it's a miracle that they've landed safely." Pedro explained, then shrugged. "They think it merits some celebration. Others, like you, are just fine."

"¿Por qué?" Ignacio asked.

"Why what?"

"Why are people scared?"

Pedro sighed, then quickly looked around. The plane was coming to a stop, and most people were too busy packing their blankets or staring out the window to pay them any mind.

"There's a lot of reasons people are scared." He said, a little agitated. Maybe it was towards Ignacio. "We have to respect them and move on. You'll understand more when you're older."

Ignacio furrowed his brow. He avoided the question. Ignacio wanted to know exactly why now, not later. Still, his dad had already moved on to tidying up his space. He didn't seem to want to talk about it much more. Ignacio kept quiet.

Moments later, the plane came to a halt, and different chaos took over the aisles. Dozens of people sprung from their seats, reaching for their luggage from the overhead bins. His dad, meanwhile, sat calmly, watching all the others clamor with amusement.

"Shouldn't we grab our things?" Ignacio asked.

"Even if I could stand, I wouldn't be able to get my bag. Besides, we need to wait for the people in front to go first." He pointed down the aisle, and Ignacio realized how long the path ran from their seats to the front cabin. His face sank. Pedro laughed.

"Ya pasa pronto. It could be worse. Keep reading. I'll let you know when we need to go."

Ignacio did and was able to finish two stories before Pedro tapped him on the shoulder. He stood, grabbed their bags, handed Ignacio his own, and then made his way down the aisle. The trudge to the end felt eternal, but finally, he stepped off the plane and into the Santiago airport. Already, it didn't feel all that different from Buenos Aires. The decorations had a unique carpet patterning and some distinctly colored light fixtures, but otherwise, it had the same sterile feeling. Even after the thirty minutes that Ignacio and his dad wandered through the airport trying to find their next gate, he didn't note many differences between the two airports. The most noticeable difference was the view out the many airport windows. Instead of just flatland and tarmac, a snowy mountain range surged to the sky in every direction. Ignacio thought they looked even more spectacular and intimidating from below than above. At least from above, you could imagine, even for a moment, that you were taller than mountains. The illusion was harder to uphold from down here.

At one point in their search, they had to ask one of the airport staff where their gate was. It turned out that they were in the wrong terminal altogether; it was alright, though, the woman assured, people got lost here all the time. While she spoke, Ignacio noticed that her Spanish was different. There was some minute difference that was noticeable, but impossible to pin the exact difference.

When eventually they found their gate, the plane was already boarding the last of first class. Ignacio wondered for a moment about the person who decided the order of boarding. Was there a rhyme or reason to it? Regardless, there were noticeably more people crowding around the gate this time. Easily one hundred people stood outside this gate alone, compared to the five dozen of the previous plane.