Flying Under the Influence

by Jonathan

I love to fly. Even the long lines and security checkpoints don’t bother me much. I’m used to standing in line. In fact, at West Point I wasted huge amounts of time standing in line for no reason. Those long, winding lines at the ticket counters don’t phase me one bit. The way I see it, you can wait here, or you can wait there. Either way, you wait until the plane takes off. No rush.

For me, the longer the flight, the better. This is for two reasons. First, the longer the flight, the bigger the plane, which usually means more legroom and a smoother flight. Second, longer flights usually involve more food. I’m a sucker for free food. Even the simple beverage service is enough for me. I was raised in a home where soda was as scarce as water in the Sahara, and so even when I would rather drink water, I ask for a Ginger Ale.

Amanda, obviously, is a little bit different. She gets physically ill when we go near airports. Any plane she sees landing may as well be on the verge of crashing. Once, she came home while I was watching the film Air Force One on TV and decided to watch it with me in spite of my objections. Big mistake. Amanda collapsed into uncontrollable sobbing no less than three times during the course of the film.

Needless to say, Amanda requires a bit of coaxing to get on a plane. I spend the weeks before a flight trying to pretend like we aren’t going anywhere. Vacation, what vacation? We don’t ever have to get on a plane. Ever. Of course, Amanda thinks about the upcoming flight enough herself that we inevitably talk about it anyway. Usually, I feign ignorance. When she presses me, I admit that I have purchased a plane ticket for her, and she accuses me of placing her life in jeopardy on purpose.

At this point, Amanda’s survival mechanism kicks in. She begins to scour the Internet for alternative modes of transportation. We spend countless hours discussing changing our itinerary to ostensibly less hazardous forms of travel. Did you know that you can pay to stow away on cargo ships? Also, if you drive to Alaska, there is a cruise that can get you to Japan. It’s too bad the land bridge over the Bering is gone... we could have gone by horseback, then dogsled, then camel, and finally Chinese junk.

As Amanda contemplates the flight, she becomes a little bit distant emotionally. She spends lots of time brooding by herself. When we are talking together, she randomly interrupts with questions about the safety of air travel. When we arrive at the Atlanta airport, Amanda is restless and agitated. She keeps stealing glances at the exit and asking me to watch her bags. Several times, as we progress towards our plane, she decides to turn back. Sitting tensely before the departure gate, she refuses an array of tasty breakfast foods purchased at a premium in the terminal. I try to calm her nerves as she jangles her legs and stares straight ahead. No amount of reassurance can assuage her anxiety.

Fortunately, a benzodiazepene derivative could. Klonopin, or clonazepam, is a drug prescribed for Amanda’s anxiety. Apparently it worked better than the last drug Amanda used when flying to Japan. Sledgehammer better. She took one pill approximately 20 minutes before takeoff, and then we boarded the plane.

As we find our seats, the drug at first seems to have little effect. Amanda looks at the exits and out the window. Fortunately, it is a clear, sunny morning. I brace myself, however, for a rough takeoff (not the plane, of course). Then, suddenly, Amanda starts laughing uncontrollably. Heath Ledger-style. Her heaving laughter echoes in the otherwise silent cabin, where other nervous flyers undoubtedly are making emotional preparations. At first it is funny, but then it becomes a little bit embarrassing. I expect to have someone lean over to the stewardess and say, deadpan, I’ll have what she’s having. “What’s so funny?” I ask. More laughter. And even more. Amanda doesn’t notice that we are in the air. The laughter stops as she falls asleep on my lap. (Lucky us, we have three seats to ourselves) .

Then I did a handstand, half-naked, in the aisle as a part of an hour-long breakdance routine, while the flight crew and other passengers stood around me clapping, chanting, and cheering. Just kidding. But I could say that I did... Amanda has no recollection of anything that happens over the next 24 hours. And the 24 four hours after that are a vague blur. Scary. And sad. I planned a lovely first day in Kyoto that went off without a hitch, and Amanda only really remembers what she sees in the pictures. She slept most of the flight, taking Klonopin intermittently, and continued to sleep during the 3.5 hour train ride from the airport to Kyoto. And all evening in Kyoto. And on and on until about 3 am. Hello jetlag.

For my part, I was supportive. Emotionally, and physically. E.g., sometimes I had to hold her upright. She was flopping all over the train car, asleep, with her mouth open. It was pretty funny. I found out later that she took one more pill, reaching the max daily dosage, about 10 minutes before we landed. The irony of the situation is that the landing was the smoothest I have ever experienced: I didn’t know we were landing until we were on the ground.

I’m glad Amanda doesn’t remember the flight, and that she now feels like she can handle flying. I like her to be happy and calm. I’m sad that she doesn’t remember the first day we spent in Kyoto... it may have been the best day we’ve ever spent together in Japan. For the first time, I have known the loneliness of being the only one who remembers.