Loose EndsLauren Nalls
My dad used to take me to watch planes land at a small airport when I was a girl. He had me convinced I could tickle their metal aircraft underbellies as they flew low overhead. On his steady shoulders I knew I was safe, one hand wrapped tight around his forehead, the other stretching as high as I could reach.
Sitting between the wings now, heading west, I look out over the night sky. Brilliant flashes of lightning illuminate the insides of thunderheads like glowing popcorn. Never have I looked down upon a storm from thirty-seven thousand feet. Its beauty is surreal.
“Would you care for something to drink, sir?”
A plump man, across the aisle from me, slurs words that resemble, “Another two vodkas, babe.”
“Ma’am?” The flight attendant turns to me before she compl
