I look nervously around. The 'fasten seatbelt' sign is illuminated. All prepared to taxi yet stationary. The curved cabin pressured door of the plane next to me opens a mere inch or two. What lies behind that guarded and protected door? I don't want to see, but I have to know! I need to have my fears confirmed or dispelled, but yet again I am made to wait as my thoughts flash back.
Instinct, or paranoia forces fear upon me. Remembering their faces, etched on my mind, smiling wishing visitors 'a nice day'. The ticket sales people on the ground floor. One male, one female. Young? Yes, about twenty two years of age. The elevator operators welcoming visitors at eight forty five in the morning. I can see their faces clearly. What has become of them though? Brought back to the present as the plane door hesitates to open. The door is taunting me and laughing as it observes how the torture perilously teases and haunts my thoughts. The cameras bustle, click and flash. I feel so close to the door and yet so far. Like a prisoner being held captive, staring at the fields and mountains not even a mile away. All they can do is sit and stare at the never ending horizon.
Flashes, lights, security wearing illuminous jackets. Red, white and blue lights thread and weave, patriotically through the cabin door. The door is almost fully open now. The elevator of the twin towers zooms, smoothly along a vertical summit, just as rivers flow to the sea.
The operators 'happy to be here' faces are impressed on my mind. 'Takes about forty five seconds' I remember them saying, for the elevator to soar up the one hundred and seventy storeys, like a soldier climbs a 60ft rope.
'The top of the world' the sign read, as I stepped out of the elevator it certainly, seemed that way! A strong and untouchable mountain. A symbol of American might and power! Higher than the sight seeing helicopters, the sprawling metropolis of Manhattan below, a model village to be played with. Yellow cabs crawl in slow motion, snaking their way along the dense jungle like floor. Silence from behind the thick protected glass, impenetrable concrete and steel, yet strangely precarious and vulnerable. The plane door is completely pulled back. I daren't look, but my eyes are hypnotically transfixed. Must not..look..away!
Still waiting, but for what? No sound from that perfect electronic voice. No information, and so once gain I am left to my own uncontrollable imagination.
The Twin Towers, I can see all their faces now. Ticket sales, operators, a gift shop worker from Chicago working her vocation in the gift shop at 'the top of the world'. I still remember as though it was yesterday. I was there two weeks before September 11th. Two weeks to the day! Two weeks to the time! What if the planes had crashed two weeks earlier.
Waiting! Stomach churning, thoughts and memories shred themselves apart in the pit of my gut. Heart pounding! Shallow breathing! Waiting! Blazing lights, flashing cameras. Fear ebbs away like the morning tide. The light is cut off by the silhouette of a tall figure, as though an invasion of my brain all thoughts cease. Time freezes, sound deafens, but the cameras keep on flashing and the fear is replaced with anger as the realisation of the stupidity of my anxiety kicks in.
The person? Someone famous. Who? It does not matter. I have know time anymore to keep up with the latest gossip, a different person is at the top each week anyway. They come, then they go, like birds, they come for the summer and go for the winter, it's a simple fact of life. I look at my Cartier, wrist watch. Almost an hour has passed since the first announcement from that perfect, English electronic voice, although it feels like eternity.
During that eternal hour, I have waited. Waited because an extraneous pop star had the power to control that hour of my life! The 'fasten seat belt' sign remains illuminated. The anticipated electronic voice announces
"Flight 107 is now ready to depart. We apologise for the delay. Please switch off all mobile phones and electronic devices. Thank you."
I am again, resigned to waiting. Mainly I wait for other people, tonight it happened to be a celebrity. Do I really want to return to New York, to those memories I wish to forget, but cannot. To once again endure the monotonously serving for other ungrateful, patronising so called friends off whom I am still waiting for approval, waiting for acceptance, waiting for respect!
The cabin doors are all shut. Once more, closed off from the penetrating realities of the outside world. Safe, within a metal womb. Flight attendants conscientiously carry out their duties, checking seat belts, and demonstrating safety procedures. The stagnant, air is warm and stifling. The musty odour from the previous long-haul is still lingering, stubbornly within the fabric of the plane, mingling with the sweltering passengers. The air rapidly feels nauseating.
Well, I should look on the bright side of life. I would rather be sat here, safe and protected, for the time being, than with those shallow, condescending, superficial people I call my friends. I begin to relax as the plane takes the troubles off my shoulders for the journey and it pushes off the ground and begins its own struggle upwards. I sigh as I look out of the window, the lights of the city gradually dwindle like candles running out of fuel.
It seems now that I am not the one waiting, I am on my way to a home, to a life that has waited for me in my absence. Maybe I am not the only person who waits. Perhaps my specious friends are waiting also, for life to deal them a better deck of cards.