Ridiculous. There's nothing to be afraid of. Seat belt isn't too tight— doesn't hurt.
Why should putting on the damned seat belt be so terrifying? That, and the vibrations of the plane taking off.
Anxiety all out of proportion to the situation... so it must be something... what?...
flying up into and through dark clouds... fasten your seat belts... strapped down... straining forward...
odor of sweaty leather... vibrations and a roaring sound in my ears.
Through the window—in the clouds—I see Charlie. Age is difficult to tell, about five years old. Before Norma...
"Are you two ready yet?" His father comes to the doorway, heavy, especially in the sagging fleshiness of his face and neck.
He has a tired look. "I said, are you ready?" "Just a minute," answers Rose.
"I'm getting my hat on. See if his shirt is buttoned, and tie his shoelaces."
"Come on, let's get this thing over with." "Where?" asks Charlie.
"Where... Charlie... go?" His father looks at him and frowns.
Matt Gordon never knows how to react to his son's questions.
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