Down through wind and clouds the plane shakes. Rain slaps the wings and wheels. The red lights blink in wisps and diagonal mist. The bad news: the plane has yet to land. The good news: the plane is still flying. And I reckon I know what they’re thinking on the ground. There won’t be much to see. Just all the upgrades, service fees, and me. I pray the same prayer I pray everyday like an addict certain one more will take the edge off. The things my parents and grandparents could afford float by me in memories the clouds bring out. I tell myself, no matter what they say, I’m more than numbers on a screen. A body that still can be. Just wait until something solid is back underneath me. The air is my only resistance.
—William Auten, “During Our Descent”
“During Our Descent” — a lyrical story in this month’s newsletter.
And sign up as a subscriber to my newsletter. My fiction and updates reach your inbox once a month. Extraordinary stories (fiction short and long) about ordinary Americans.