The Flight to Nowhere                                                                                                   by: Robby Perry

“This is my favorite part.” I said out loud, as the plane started to gain speed rolling down the long runway. The buildings I could see from my window seats seemed to be running away from me. As the plane push forward toward the end of the runway, the engines were hot, the flaps were adjusted, and the plane seemed primed and ready for flight. But, as quickly as the journey began, the plane came to a sudden and abrupt stop shortly before reaching the sky.

 “I wonder what’s wrong,” I asked Sarah, as she sat beside me in the refreshingly cool cabin of the Boeing 737.

The weather the last couple of days had been unbearable at times. In the early morning I would venture out into the streets of the city, but by mid afternoon the ever present yellow sun would cook the rubber of your shoes to the asphalt. The waves of heat were visible. They bounced off the already tortured ground. So, the tiny vents of air we were able to point directly in our faces, as we sat in our standard issued airplane seats, were a welcome amenity we longed for just hours before.

The plane was sitting on the runway in Merida, the capital city of the state of Yucatan, soon to be on its way to Mexico City. We were due to arrive in Mexico City in two hours. From there we would race to our connecting flight to take us to the boarder city of Nuevo Laredo. Once in Nuevo Laredo, Sarah and I planed to walk across the boarder into Laredo, Texas were we could catch a bus to my home town of Oklahoma City.

We may have been due to arrive in two hours, but it became apparent very quickly, that would not be the case. Neither Sarah nor I understood many of the words the flight attendant said as she walked through the aisle explaining the problem. I could see on the faces of the other passengers her words were of no importance. Everyone still seemed clueless to why we had stopped.

After what seemed like hours, but was in reality was probably thirty minutes, we began to taxi to the runway once again. Nervously, I waited as the plane began to roll down the runway for the second time. Looking through the cabin I could see the faces of the people on the flight with me. Most of them were business men and women on their way to the city; there were also families with children scattered among them. I could see in many of their eyes that they were scared and a bit more apprehensive this time around. I cannot lie. I was concerned, but I had faith that the pilots would not fly unless they felt it was safe, even if this was Mexico.

For many the take off is the worst part of the flight, but not me. I love it. I was excited to get into the sky. I was really looking forward to seeing the never-ending stream of lights in the worlds’ largest city but, even I was not excited about the fact we had to do this all over again.

As the plane began to increase its speed, I knew the moment of lift-off would soon be upon us. Fear of the worst circled through my head. I found myself with sweaty palms and a pounding chest from the beating of my heart.  The plane was quickly reaching the desired speed for take-off when again the plane stopped without warning. It was as if were a part of a film that had been rewound and played again. Yet, this time the faces of the passengers expressed deep concern, panic, frustration, and in some cases fear.

The caption turned the plane sharply to the right and rolled toward the terminal. The flight attendants again walked through the cabin speaking to us but, I could once again only understand a few words she said as she walked by in a rush. I asked for anyone who spoke English to translate the jaded, frustrated flight attendants words.

“A problem with the air conditioner light was the reason for the second delay,” said a man seated in the front of the plane.

I don’t claim to know the inner workings of Boeing 737, but I know an “air conditioner light” would not keep a plane grounded. As I thought this to myself, I realized the air conditioner was on and working fine. I had been enjoying the refreshment of the cool air, and had the vent open since I sat down. I still to this day have no idea what the true problem was, but I can assure you it was not an “air condition light.”
Once again the plane sat at the gate from which we had boarded over an hour and a half earlier. We were forced to wait on the idled plane for what seemed to be another hour before deboarding the untrustworthy aircraft.

From the tarmac we were then lead into an empty terminal and told to wait while the airline mechanics fixed the problem. As I sat in the lonely terminal with my wife and few other English speaking travelers, waiting for our plane to be ready, I replayed the events of the past few hours in my head over and over again. The frustration of the days’ activities overwhelmed me. I lit cigarette after cigarette, a habit I had turned back to only days before.

The conversations were of good times, lasting memories, and last chances to learn about new friends. Underneath the pleasantries and the memories, fear remained. No one talked about it much, but the idea of getting back on the plane for the third time concerned us all.

We were soon told to board the jet for our third attempt to leave this city behind. I knew I was not the only person who did not feel we should be getting back on to the potential death trap, yet up the stars I climbed. I walked down the all too familiar aisle and found my seat.  As I set there I watched as the people passed by me, I saw their eyes and I could see the fear. Some had masked their fear with alcohol, thanks to the bar in the airport but, it was still present like a fog in the air.

Sarah took me by the hand as we began to taxi away from the gate. Her hands were as clammy as mine. Her grip grew a little tighter as we began to accelerate. I hoped for a smooth take off and pleasant skies all the way home. I closed my eyes and I prayed.

Faster and faster my heart raced as the giant steel bird reached for the sky. The passengers, as if on que, took a collective gasp as we reached the end of the run way. With a clinging grip I grabbed the arms of my seat as the planes speed peaked. I could hear the prayers of the people around me. As I looked around I could see ladies holding rosaries and children crying.

The nose of the plane rose from the ground only to fall back to earth as the aircraft slammed to a stop. Our nightmare had continued. As a collective group, we’d had it with this plane. There was no one among us that would dare get back on that plane again.

When the plane had stopped completely, I felt it necessary to express myself with words not suited for a younger crowd. I proclaimed. “I want off this plane, and I am never getting on it again. I demand a new plane to take me to Mexico City.” Leave it to me to state the obvious in a time such as this.

The empty terminal we all new too well, was once again our purgatory.  Like cattle we were herded through the corridors and into the waiting room. Many people found places around the perimeter of the room and sprawled out on the floor using their bags as head rests.
The room quickly found itself with a cloud of smoke hovering along the ceiling. The sound of lighters chirping, or matches striking became common in the back ground noise of the room. The flight attendant entered the room, and she was peppered with questions from everyone. She spoke for a couple of minutes and then quickly exited the room through the back door.

I began to ask everyone if they spoke English. Finally, I found a business man to translate for me. He told me that there was a problem with the plane and the airlines would be diverting a plane from Cancun to pick us up shortly.

After standing around the terminal for at least an hour, the attendant came back in to speak with us. She told us to go to the restaurant in the airport and have a free meal while they wait for the plane to arrive. The details of the dinner is a story I will not get into here, but lets just say it was disappointing. After dinner we meet back in the terminal I had come to loathe.

The terminal was in a wing of the building all its own. The long dark hallway leading to the terminal was empty. The waiting room was a scattering of familiar faces. Shortly after returning from dinner we were given the news we would be on a flight in 20 minutes, and would be staying the night in the airport hotel in Mexico City. We had missed our flight and would have to wait until the following day to get home.

There was a since of great relief among the passengers when the news was released; we were really going to leave. Most had missed their connections. Many had missed their meetings. Through it all, we were lucky to be safe, and I knew it. I think the other did as well.

I sat at the window waiting for the plane to arrive that would take us to Mexico City, a city I was due to have left many hours ago. The plane landed and arrived at the gate sending a wave of excitement though me. One by one the passengers boarded the plane.

The plane had been diverted and was half full already, so our seating choices were limited, but we all found a place to sit. I listened as the attendant went through her preflight routine but, I found myself mouthing the words as she said them out loud. I had heard the speech many times already; I knew the words by heart.
As the plane began to move my sweaty palms returned, my body tightened, my heart pumped in double time. Fear of the worst dominated to my thoughts. Slowly, I felt the nose of the plane start to rise. I felt as the draft lifted the plane from the ground and then catapulted us into the sky. When the plane was in the air a giant roar came from the crowd. Those of us, who had been a part of this difficult day together, celebrated the fact we were now on our way.

The passengers already on the aboard the flight had no idea why we were cheering. They were lost as to why we would all be clapping our hands and whistling. As the plane gained altitude, the buildings on the ground look like small toys, and the cars appeared as ants marching in a line. The bright lights of the city faded into the distance, and finally we were on our way to Mexico City.