I rushed back to the airport with my ID in hand. It is a lucky thing that I arrive at the airport for my flight before the plane has even left its prior destination. This gave me time to uber home, grab my striped pouch and head back to the airport in time to make my flight.
I was tense the entire ride, but felt my breathing begin to regulate as I glided through pre-check and boarded the below ground train for terminal B.
When I got to the gate I was surprised that the plane waiting was a prop plane. I hadn’t ever seen one in Denver. Years ago I flew Cape Air to Provincetown from Logan. What should have been a 12 minute flight ended up as a five hour shit show. Our sesna had to make an unscheduled landing in Hyannis (because it had an emergency response team that P-town lacked.) The landing gear light was on, and our 21 year old pilot was literally flipping through the instruction manual. Needless to say I was doing some flipping of my own.
He had us assume the crash positions and circled really low. I lifted my head a few inches the way I had as an elementary student instructed to put my head on the desk. Out the window there were ambulances and huge inflated crash pads. There were three dudes on the tarmac with binoculars looking up at the belly of our airborne tin can. The scene did not inspire confidence.
After a safe landing we stood in a huddle in the Hyannis “airport” and watched our pilot refuse to get back on board. We had to wait for Cape Air to summon some other sap, probably straight from the beach. It doesn’t matter how many things I read about how safe prop planes are…I will never feel comfortable again.
Back at DIA I peered into the jetway and saw Steve. What was he doing in the jetway? As I took a step forward to ask I saw the gate agent next to him. She was cupping his cheek in one hand and leaning in. I was frozen. Then I wasn’t. Screaming “get the fuck off of my husband” I barreled towards the jetway only to be held back by the other gate agent.
Steve walked towards me.
“What is going on?” I demanded.
“I’ll talk to you when you have calmed down.”
His calm dismissal was worse than the almost transgression. I tried to follow him but I couldn’t see clearly through my tears of rage and lost him in the throngs of people.
I woke with my heart pounding. Steve was sleeping sweetly next to me and at first I felt a rush of relief. It was very quickly followed by the same rage I felt in my dream.
He opened his eyes and said “good morning love”
“Don’t you good morning me- you were terrible last night!”
“What did I do?”
“You cheated on me with the gate agent. At least I think you did. I couldn’t get you to confirm or deny it because you wouldn’t even talk to me, you better be really nice to me to make up for this.”
“I’ll be nice to you because I am always nice to you, not because I cheated on you in your dream.”
(See he admitted it, he did cheat.)
“Why do you do such awful things?”
“Why do you dream about me doing such awful things?”
Sometimes it is hard to be married to a calm and reasonable man. One whose landing gear never goes out.
The moral of the story as far as I am concerned is that prop planes suck, and never ever forget your ID when you are going on a flight in your dreams.