Loop 3
The second the loop restarts, I pull out my earbuds, stick my phone in my back pocket, and jump out of my seat. Within seconds, I'm standing in row 17 next to Evelyn. She shuffles into the middle seat, moving Margaret's purse, and I sit beside her.
"Shit, that's the worst. Like the worst thing I've ever experienced in my entire life." The adrenaline is flowing through me, and my mouth is in overdrive. "And now we have to do it every 28 minutes?"
Not waiting for an answer, I reach under the seat, grabbing the pacifier. Evelyn raises an eyebrow at me, but then I'm handing it to the woman in the row behind us. I crane my neck and look over at the overwhelmed mom, balancing a fussy baby on her knee. "I think you've lost this," I say. She smiles in gratitude.
"You didn't tell me the pacifier is sticky." I grimace, wiping my fingers against my jeans.
Evelyn is startled. She tilts her head in surprise.
"What?" I say with a shrug. "I'm a quick study."
"Wow," she mutters. "I won't tell you how many times it took me to find that pacifier in the first place. You're making me look bad."
"Well, you didn't have help. Without someone to help you figure things out, or bounce ideas off, it seems impossible. But together, I'm telling you, we're going to figure this out."
Evelyn's eyes widen at my optimism. Despite how awful this all is, I'm feeling a tad bit calmer this time around. There's the slightest sense of hopefulness running though me. A tinge of positivity. A feeling that, between her and me, we can put our heads together and figure this out. After all, I scored an almost perfect score on my math SATs. Figuring out complex problems is what I excel at.
That's all this is. A difficult problem. And there has to be a solution.
The pilot starts his announcement. "Sorry folks, we've lost Internet connection..." Meanwhile Evelyn smiles at me, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Then she looks away and fidgets uncomfortably.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Nothing." She stares out the window, watching the bright colors of the sunset begin to fade.
I certainly don't know her well, but I've never seen her this troubled before. In fact, she's been irrationally upbeat. But now she's acting different. Something is clearly bothering her. And I can't help but feel that it's something beyond the obvious loop hell.
"What's going on?" I press.
Evelyn's lips open, like she's about to tell me something. But then they close again. "It's probably nothing," she finally manages.
Probably nothing? I don't like the sound of that.
A strange compulsion forces me to reach over and grab her hand. Her fingers wrap around mine automatically, without thought, and a sudden chill runs up my arm as my stomach tightens and drops. A little like the nosedive, but a much more pleasant one. One I wouldn't mind experiencing over and over again.
But then Evelyn pulls her hand back, her breath quick. Words begin tumbling out of her mouth. "The first couple times I didn't really think anything of it. I mean I just thought it was you, you know?"
I shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Heather appears in the aisle next to us and offers us a bag of pretzels, but we both shake our heads. My attention is fixed on Evelyn as Margaret, against the window, shifts and mutters loud enough for us to hear. She clearly wants us to take our conversation elsewhere, but I'm not moving an inch until I hear what Evelyn has to say.
Evelyn continues talking, the words tumbling out in a chaotic freefall. "I assumed that it felt strange because things had changed, and it was different now because you were a part of it. Kind of like when someone is in a car crash and somehow time slows down." She's talking so fast, it's hard to keep up. "The wheels skid out from behind you and you're spinning but it's all in slow motion, like time is crawling, and you can remember like ten different thoughts within that fraction of a second."
I exhale. "I don't have the faintest clue what you're talking about."
Evelyn blinks, her brown eyes steady on me. She rubs her temples and takes a deep breath, composing herself. When her eyes meet mine again, she forces a smile.
"It's probably nothing," she then says again, and I'm not sure if she's trying to convince me or herself. "Look, if we're going to figure this whole loop thing out, we should probably get to work," Evelyn adds, shifting the subject as if nothing just happened. As if she could just erase all the words she just said, and all the worry on her face.
"I should introduce you to some of the folks around here and get you situated," she chatters on, trying to get as much distance between her and whatever it was she was trying to tell me. "I have an idea. I'll give you a tour."
"Of the plane?"
"Where else?" Evelyn replies, but she's still avoiding eye contact. She pops up and shimmies past my knees. I reach out and lightly touch her hand, stopping her. Again, I feel that energy buzz through my fingertips.
"I can't let it go. You seem really concerned," I try again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me."
Evelyn's mouth twitches, and the plane starts to bounce. "Just come on," she brushes my words off and she's in the aisle now. She smiles again, but it's uneven and wavy, like it was drawn with a Sharpie. "There's a lot of people to meet, even though they won't remember who we are in about sixteen minutes. But you will."
Not knowing what else to do, I trail behind her.
"You already met Mags who sits in the window seat next to me." Evelyn says in an upbeat tone like I'm the new kid in town, and she's showing me around. "She's a widow from Portishead, a coastal town in western England. Her husband passed three years ago after 35 years of marriage – bless his heart – so she decided to travel and see the world."
Turbulence sways the cabin back and forth, intermixed with some rattling. I hold onto the headrests of the seats on both sides of me and stumble forward, trying to keep up with Evelyn. She's moving down the aisle completely at ease, as if she's used to it.
Because, I remind myself, she is.
She's very used to it.
"Logan Vayakin over there will lend me his Nintendo Switch for ten minutes if I get him talking about his cars – an old Mustang convertible he's been fixing up for years and a Chevy something or another. He can rebuild an engine from scratch, take apart a transmission and put it back together again. Impressive but completely useless information for airplane loop-solving mysteries."
"Wait," I clench the tops of the seats as I follow her. "Sorry, I can't let it go. You can't say cryptic stuff like that, and then take off without explaining it. You said, the first couple times I thought it was you."
I hurry up to her, unsteady on my legs, as the airplane bounces underneath me. "You thought what was me?"