“Stay right behind me,” I said, turning my head slightly so she could hear me over the low rumble of the jet engine outside.
“I am,” she said.
“If you feel dizzy, or if you start to feel shaky, you tell me immediately,” I said. “Do not wait for the monitor to make a sound.”
“I know, Mom.”
“I mean it, Allison. Even if we are in the middle of taking off.”
She nodded once, her eyes fixed on the heels of my shoes.
The line paused again, trapping us in the metal tube for a long moment. I could feel the cold plastic of the boarding bridge wall through my coat, a reminder of how little control I had over the next few hours.
“I will be right across the aisle,” I told her, trying to keep my voice flat and calm. “I will be watching you the whole time.”
She did not answer, her fingers tightening on the straps of her backpack until her knuckles turned white.
The line began to move again, and we stepped through the cabin door.
The air inside Flight 1402 was cool, blowing down in sharp, hissing streams from the tiny black vents above the seats. The cabin smelled of salted pretzels and the faint, chemical scent of carpet cleaner.
We walked down the narrow aisle, our bags bumping against the headrests of the rows we passed.
When we reached row fourteen, my heart sank.
In seat 14A, by the window, sat a man in a flannel shirt, his head already turned toward the glass, a car magazine folded back in his lap.
In seat 14C sat a woman with perfectly coiffed silver hair, wearing a beige knit set that looked expensive. She was adjusting a small velvet pillow behind her neck, her fingers moving with a slow, deliberate precision.
My seat, 14D, was directly across the aisle on the left side of the plane.
“Excuse me,” I said, leaning toward the silver-haired woman. “This is my daughter, Allison. She has the middle seat.”
The woman looked up, her eyes scanning Allison’s oversized grey hoodie before settling on me. She gave a small, polite nod but did not move her legs.
“I was wondering if you would mind swapping seats with me?” I asked, pointing to 14D across the aisle. “It would allow me to sit next to my daughter. She has a medical condition.”
The woman patted her silver hair, her expression instantly hardening. “I paid extra for the aisle seat on this side, dear. I have a bad knee and I need the room.”
“It is the exact same row,” I said, trying to keep my voice flat and polite. “Just across the carpet.”
