The horror show started at precisely eight o clock that morning...
10-year school reunion whatap group
Katie (admin): Omg, I cannot believe it's been ten years girls! I'm sure we've got sooooo much to tell each other. I can't wait to see you all.
Emily: Ten years... and it's starting to show in the mirror. Would love to know how everyone is and what everyone is doing?
Bianca: I can't believe it's been a decade! And as you can see by this pic, I'll be coming to the reunion with a baby on board
Lilly: Congrats!
Sarah: How exciting. I have two. Ben is 2 and Angie is only 4 months, so I won't be looking my best girls...
Yanilla: Omg, me neither. My little one is only six weeks. I have permanent black rings under my eyes.
Lira: Concealer is a new mama's best friend.
Tracy: OMG, I am also baby- on- board! When is your due date?
Emily: Concealer is also a bride-to-be's best friend, no one told me how stressful planning a wedding is!
Sarah: Congrats! When is the wedding?
Emily: In two weeks, I'm freaking oooooooout!
Lulu: You're kidding, my wedding is in three weeks!
Rachel: I love a spring wedding. We got married in winter and I was so cold, my lips are blue in all my wedding pics.
Lulu: Omg, that's hysterical.
Rebecca: That's what photoshop is for.
Katie: This is so much fun! I literally cannot wait to see all you guys. I just got engaged, so I will be bringing my fiancé. Remember, partners are very welcome. The more the merrier. Champagne girls!!! Yaaaaaaaaay!
I tossed my phone onto my desk as if it had shocked the palm of my hand. The phone continued to buzz and shake, as if possessed by these bite sized bits of communication. These winky face emoji's and words with way too many vowel sounds. I wiped my hand on my pants, it was wet and felt sticky.
Just reading that string of upbeat messages was bringing back panic-stricken high school flashes. It wasn't that I hated high school per say, I just wasn't that fond of the people in high school. I preferred to lurk on the edges of their effervescent social groups, I'd rather sit in the library at break reading a book, than sit in the quad talking about what dress they were going to wear to the dance, or who was dating who, who liked who and whether it was okay to let him finger you after a few weeks of dating. At an all-girls boarding school there were three main things that occupied all conversations;
1. The opposite sex
2. Having sex
3. Having sex with the opposite sex
Nothing else seemed relevant in conversation. The global North could be sending missiles off into the sky to totally obliterate the global South, and they would probably still be talking about whether it was okay that Jessica was going out with Edward now, because she used to go out with Mike, Edwards best friend and was that breaking the 'bro code'.
I've never really gotten it, this obsession with men. Don't get me wrong, I like men, although I'm very specific when it comes to my choice in them. But for the most part, I'm not averse to the idea of them at all. Not only were men absolutely necessary for the evolution of the human species, but there're also other great things about them, apart from their ability to aid in procreation.
For example, I like to look at men. Not all men, obviously. But some men are so easy on the eye, that one just can't help but look at them. Like that man on the giant billboard on the highway in that jeans commercial. There have been a few occasions where I've been looking at him so intently, running my eyes over the perfect symmetrical 'V' shape that runs across his abdomen and disappears into his jeans, that I've almost missed the offramp. I emailed the Advertising Complaints Commission about this, suggesting that perhaps they should find a more suitable, less distracting place for the billboard. They never got back to me though, which I thought was terribly unprofessional.
I also like the way men feel. I like the way their skin is so different to ours. I like the way that running your hands over a man's skin is almost like running a hand over a foreign, exotic creature. A man's skin is twenty five percent thicker than a woman's because of the increased testosterone in their bodies, that's why it feels so different to ours.
Although, it should be noted, that I'm not the biggest fan of excessive body hair, especially when it culminates on the chest and back. I'd landed up in bed with a man some years back who's chest had been covered in so much course hair—almost boarlike—that when he'd been on top of me, I'd broken out in a severe rash from the constant rubbing back and forth and had to go to my GP the next day for a rash cream.
I usually like the way men smell too, except for that blind date I'd gone on with the man who'd smelt like a pack of freshly opened Vienna sausages. And then of course there is the whole sex part. Sex has always been somewhat of a mystery to me. The act is essentially the same in the way it is physically conducted, and yet it can vary so much from person to person. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what makes for good sex, and what makes for bad sex. And of course it is impossible to gauge what kind of sex it will be prior to having it. I've often wondered why dating apps don't have some kind of a rating system for that. It would save so much trouble. Landing up in bed with someone who you're just not sexually compatible with can be a very unpleasant experience. For example, had I known that one of my online dates had been into dirty talk during sex, I would never had slept with him. I'm not a fan of conversation in general, I find it awkward and hard to keep up with. And when you add sex to the mix and the man you're with is constantly describing in real-time, in graphic detail, what he's doing to you and what he intends to do with you next, it's very off-putting. I shouted in his ear that he should "shut the hell up" but this only seemed to encourage him as he told me what a 'naughty, naughty bitch' I was.
But when sex is done right, when all those intangible elements come together, I enjoy it immensely because it gets me out of my head. For a few blissful seconds the rampaging thoughts stop and the millions of conversations I have going on inside my head all at once, all the time, fade into the distance. And for just one moment, one amazing, glorious, awe inspiring blissful moment, silence.
Unfortunately, sex doesn't come around as often as I would like it to, despite the fact that I'm fairly attractive and pride myself on being sufficiently good at the act of sex too. The sex isn't the hard part, it's the converting of a meeting between two people into sex, which is the part I fail at almost every single time. I've never been good at dating. Sipping awkwardly on wine while making polite small talk in which you make very shallow attempts to grab at mutual straws just to be able to tick the box of "getting to know each other." This part always seemed like the most ineffective use of time ever. Superfluous, unnecessary window dressing that come before the undressing.
A photo flew onto my phone screen and I clicked on it. It took me back to the whatap group. I enlarged the photo and stared at it. Class of 2013. I ran my eyes over the faces, trying to locate myself. It wasn't that hard. I stuck out then too, even though we were all wearing the same school uniform. Flaming red hair always scrapped back into a high, tight bun on the top of my head. Everyone else seemed to have wispy bits of hair that hung around their faces. In fact I'd seen them purposefully pull those strands of hair out of their ponytails in the morning. I'd never understood this, surly you would want your hair out of your face for school. I'd also worn 'sever' glasses back then, as my mother had called them. Every holiday she'd tried to take me to an optometrist to buy a more feminine pair, but I liked the ones I had. They were very hard wearing, and I often dropped them. I scanned the photo for my only friend Jennifer. She also stood out with her dyed jet black hair and short pixie cut, pale face because she refused to sit in the sun. Speaking of Jennifer....
Jennifer: Gggrrrr! The whatap group!
Pipa: I know!
Jennifer: They'll all the same. Nothing has changed, other than the fact they seem to be incredibly prolific breeders. And marriers.
Jennifer: In fact, I think one of them is regaling a story of her waterbirth right now.
My phone beeped and I saw the start of the message Jennifer was referring too. I typed back quickly.
Pippa: She used the word "enchanting"
Jennifer: Last word I would have used, mind you, I've never actually had a conscious water birth, or any kind of birth.
Jennifer: I wish I was there so I could go
Pipa: You actually want to go?
Jennifer: Don't you?
Pipa: No!
Jennifer: Come on, morbid curiosity. Like slowing down at a car crash. You have to go and tell me all about it.
Pipa: Why don't you go if you're so eager
Jennifer: Well, I live on this little island called Australia, you heard of it?
Jennifer: Not to mention the fact that I'm currently in my psychiatry residency and am trying to douse the flames of a full religious war raging on my ward.
Pipa: The two Jesus's still there?
Jennifer: One of them thinks he might actually be Mosses now. He's trying to part things
Jennifer: Please go to the reunion...
Jennifer: I want to know what they look like now. In fact, buy one of those button camera's and stream it live to me.
Pippa: You seriously want me to go?
Jennifer: Yes!
Jennifer: Besides, it might actually be good for them to see someone whose sole purpose in life is not to give birth and walk down the aisle. Think of it as your educational duty as a fulfilled single, career women.
Pippa: I'll think about it.
Jennifer: Aren't you even a little bit curious?
Pippa: I suppose I am, but school wasn't exactly a high point in my life, as you know
Jennifer: And look at you now, youngest ATC graduate in the country because you flew through your on the job training, on track to become a junior supervisor, doing one of the most stressful jobs in the world and already a legend in your field, first day on the job and you successfully navigated an emergency landing!
I wiggled in my chair. Compliments made me uneasy.
Pippa: I better get back to the screen if I don't want another emergency landing.
Jennifer: Come on, take the compliment, just a little bit
Pippa: Fine. Taken. Thank you.
Pippa: Have to work
Jennifer: Chat sometime then
I put my phone away and turned it off. ATC operators are strictly prohibited to look at their phones during a shift. I turned my eyes to my screen. It was full of planes cutting their way through the skies, some so close to each other, passengers would hate to know. To the untrained eye, the screen looked like chaos, but to me, it was a beautiful web of intricate patterns and shapes. Almost like an artwork. I've always seen patterns in things; license plates, house and street numbers and even in road maps. So this, I could handle, but I wasn't sure I could handle a ten-year school reunion. I scanned the screen until my eyes found my favourite plane. I waited eagerly for the familiar voice. I didn't have to wait long.
"Good morning City Tower, this is Flightbird six zero zero."
I smiled at the sound of the familiar voice. It was my favourite voice, tonally. It had a low tone, but soft, if that makes sense. Warm even.
"Good Moring Flightbird six Zero Zero. How's the view today?"
"Beautiful sunrise from up here City tower. We are inbound to Johannesburg Airport, heading over the golf course. Request vectors for ILS please. Flightbird six zero zero."
"Fightbird six zero zero, turn left heading two niner zero."
"Copy City Tower, turn left heading two niner zero. Flightbird Sex Zero Zero."
I waited with a sense of anticipation to hear the voice again. And as soon as the sound came through, I sat up a little straighter.
"City tower this is Flightbird six zero zero, established ILS, runway zero seven left. My favourite runway."
I smiled to myself. I'd learned that pilots were very superstitious beings, and Capitan Boyce-Jones was no exception. And for him, his lucky charm seemed to be runway zero seven. I'd never understood the whole 'being superstitions' thing. And I'd noticed that superstition wasn't just reserved for those airy-fairy, hippie types, very rational people, like pilots and my father—a surgeon—was superstitious. My father only ever wore blue socks when performing surgery. I have no idea why, but he has an entire drawer at home dedicated to his 'operating socks'.
"Flightbird six zero zero you are cleared to land on runway zero seven left."
I looked out the tower window and his plane came into view. I knew so much about his plane; first developed in 1967, it is the best-selling commercial airliner in the world, 30 meters long, 28 meter wing span, fuselage height of 4 meters, maximum take-off weight of 115, 000 lb's, powered by two CFM56-7B engines, but I knew nothing about the man who flew it, even though we'd been speaking every day for the past four months.
"How's the weather down there. Flightbird six zero zero."
"Flightbird six Zero zero, wind two fifty at ten knots. Should make for a smooth landing."
"Copy City Tower, wind two fifty at ten knotts. My landings are always smooth. Flightbird six zero zero."
I wasn't going to admit that he was right of course, his landings were always smooth. I watched out the window as he glided the plane down to the runway.
"Flightbird six zero zero, this is City Tower, please vacate left onto Alpha taxi way and contact ground control on zero two zero point six."
"Copy, and vacating left onto Alpha taxi way and contact ground control on zero two zero point six. Flightbird six zero zero"
This was the part of our conversations I hated. I usually hated small talk, but for some reason I liked talking to him. And when he had to change frequency for ground control, I always felt a little pang in the pit of my stomach.
"Have a great day City Tower. And happy spring day."
"I forgot it was spring day. Bye Flightbird six zero zero."
"Bye city tower."