A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island - an Epic Love Hate Saga

Episode 11: I just hate little boys!

She looks at me over her shoulder, blinking rapidly. I extend my hand.

"My name is Tiberiu. Is it also your first time? I mean, it's my first flight. But you? And you?"

She smiles a bit awkwardly.

"We'll arrive safely," she says with her fake smile. "Be calm!"

"Of course we will," I reply, nodding like a wise old Chinese man stroking his long white beard. "We'll arrive alive and the plane won't crash. Don't think about it."

"But I wasn't even thinking about it!" she says a bit annoyed. "What's gotten into you? What's with these ideas? Of course it won't crash. She crosses herself and adds: God forbid!"

"God help us!" I confirm. "I mean help us, God, to keep us safe. Something like that."

"Why are you so nervous?" she asks as she fusses over her little one's diapers. 

Just look! The plane hasn't even taken off yet and she's already messing with diapers. I knew boys are shitty.

"But I'm not nervous."

"Yes, you are! Look at you shaking."

I look carefully. My left knee seems to have a life of its own. It shakes up and down as if it were connected to a power source. I extend my right arm and look at my palm attentively. My fingers tremble. I feel like water is starting to flow over me. Am I nervous?

"Well, um... Nervous? Maybe a bit," I whisper with a voice I don't recognize.

I look at my neighbor who is calmly attending to her offspring. Now she's powdering him.

"I'm nervous because the customs lady took my lighter," I confess.

She starts laughing. Her teeth are very white.

"Well, of course. Smoking is not allowed on the plane."

"That may be so. But people still drink something, right? Seventeen hours of travel are not exactly few."

"Possible," she says, eyes on her child and mouth at me. Then she stands up, abandons her child like an unfit mother, and leaves me talking alone. I look at her in amazement. Now she's talking to the stewardess. She's explaining something to her. Aha! The stewardess turns her head and looks attentively at me. Aha!

That snitch. I look amused at the baby next to me and communicate:

"I think your mommy doesn't like me very much. Ah, women..."

The stewardess approaches smiling. In less than a minute, I'm relocated somewhere, at the back of the plane, and I'm the only one on three seats. Not bad. The only downside is that behind me is the toilet, and for seventeen hours, I'll smell like crap and piss.

But let's not be negative. There's also a bright side: here, in the back, there's peace and quiet. The only noise is made by the stewardess who started explaining to us how to use the life jacket and where exactly to exit after the plane crashes.

I'm calm. 

I know well that I will survive. I know that for sure. I read on the internet a statistic that clearly showed: the seats at the back of the plane are the safest places in the world.

So I grin, calmly fasten my seatbelt, and recline my seat to the maximum. I'll try to get some sleep until takeoff.

On the back of the seat in front of me, there's a pocket. I notice a corner of a magazine sticking out. I pull it out. There are two magazines. In fact, there's a magazine about flower care and a small brochure.

Flowers? Weeds? Crap!

I hate weeds! Weeds are crap. Not just the ones in the magazine. They're crap in general. Yeah, I hate weeds!

Plus, this magazine is all written in German. German sucks! What a crappy magazine! I quickly flip through it. Flowers. More flowers. Yellow roses on the cover, white roses in the middle. And yellow roses... red...

Roses of all colors everywhere, on every page. Weeds with thorns and spikes. And explanations in German. 

I'm really glad I wasn't born in Germany. German sucks. It's thorny. I toss the magazine aside onto the seat to my right.

The brochure, on the other hand, is acceptable. It's okay. It's written in a civilized language, in English. I can understand everything written. Some European cities are presented. Clocks, tourism, museums, churches, and universities. Monuments, parks, happy children, and people smiling. 

Damn! Why are they smiling? I don't like it. They're definitely hiding something. What could they be hiding? They don't fool me with their smiles.

I flip through the pages absentmindedly. I read here and there. The lines dance, and I feel my eyes closing.

Yes. More churches, more monuments, museums again. Small pictures. Large pictures. And very small text. Crap!

But who cares about Europe and its old cities and Europeans smiling while hiding a knife behind their backs? Me? Oh, no! I go to the beaches in Thailand. That's where the future is!

Europe belongs to the past. It's a crappy relic and... and full of knife-wielders and it's cold. Snow. Brr!

But Thailand... oh, Thailand. Sunshine!

I yawn, and it's getting harder and harder to read. The lines are swirling before my eyes.

I slowly slip into the world of dreams.