Flight — 09.11.16
S Lynn Knight


Thank you so much for this. Beautiful and heartbreaking, and also heart healing, all at once. I haven’t flown since 1995, when I flew from Spokane, WA to So. Calif. to see my mother six weeks before she passed away. The time before that was in 1986, for honeymoon to Hawaii, when my new husband and I sat next to what I am still sure were three want-to-be terrorists, with a mysterious last-minute-before-we took-off carry on huge locked legal style briefcase full of what they said was precious jewels which rested for hours beneath my feet in the middle of the aisle. I will never fly again. They only spoke Arabic, and took my pack of cigarettes when they ran out and got cranky, and I became afraid and offered. But it isn’t only fear, or the hatred of crowds and lines and pervasive personal intrusion, but also the whole concept of what is now at stake. Back in the late 1960’s, I flew from LA to SF and back for work Monday morning, practically every weekend, for $29 each way on PSA, and smoked cigs and joints, blowing smoke into the air intake on the wall beneath the window the entire way, without being afraid, even once on acid during a lightning storm in the sky. Fifteen years ago everything changed.

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