(frequent flyers)

the lady sitting next to me ordered a salad that looked as if it were growing mold.

she was skinny and blonde, the type of ideal woman in yoplait and chobani's target markets. she looked like a low-carb diet. i'll call her "amy."

first of all, who orders a salad on a plane? we were in business class, not anything fancy and not for too long of a flight--it was only five hours, a nonstop flight from north carolina to oregon. the stewardess had to go out of her way to find some silverware for the meal because no one buys ten dollar tofu and moss salads when they're not flying first class.

but "amy" did.

i wanted to scream at her and her matching sweatsuit. just order a sprite like normal people and take your vomit salad away from my person.

but as usual, i said nothing. for 5+ hours.

this is not strange for me--i could go days without speaking (if anyone would ever let me).

the boy sitting next to her had been sitting across from me in the wait area. i like to listen in to other people's conversations and while i worked on a.p. psychology homework, i internally translated his conversation with his mother. it was nothing special, just some comments about some primos in other places. she took cell phone calls chatting about the novios of her neighbors.

i like that most people don't expect me to know what they're saying. my only talent is being a fly on the wall.

they were split up on the plane and he took the window seat in my row. let's call him "matt."

"matt" had a problem. i could tell he was a little more than anxious as his right leg constantly tapped with fervor the entire time we were in the air.

 i wonder if my anxiety could take form would it be the rapid slamming of this stranger's foot or the chipped nails of the man across the aisle or the grey hairs of my mother.

i wonder if i looked like the normal one compared to my companions, with my blue hair, brown skin, and nose rings. i was content just to look out other people's windows and read on my kindle as we flew cross country to the land of beards and vegan elitism.

when boarding, i sat in the wrong seat, next to a pretty military lady who got first boarding privileges. "miranda" had an impeccable bun that i wish i could do myself with my kinky hair. when i expressed my embarrassment of having to relocate, she chuckled and her teeth were the stuff folk singers croon about.

"don't worry about it," she said and at that point, i swear i swooned so hard the plane experienced some sort of land turbulence.

i quickly moved away from this bootcamp babe and like a modern day rosa parks, walked to the back of plane, to "matt" and "amy" and other nervous conditions they never warn you about.

and instead of a salad laced with capitalism, i ordered a sprite out of anxiety (though i don't like soda) and took a couple sips (though i refused to walk through the narrow aisles of the plane to pee and held everything in for five hours) and tried not to worry if "matt's" obsessive twitching would make my soda cup topple over.

and instead of a sprite, i swallowed down gulps of fear over navigating a new airport by myself and swallowed thick gulps of fear over experiencing a totally unfamiliar coast and swallowed immense gulps of fear over having the chance to be somebody new for a week.

and instead of worrying about "matt's" compulsive leg shakes and "amy's" assumed obsession with zumba classes and "miranda's" charming grin, i put my nerves on the wings and began to fly.