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so it seems this writing on the airplane thing has become a habit.

November 25, 2010

Six hours pass slowly and I look down at our continent, traced in amber light. The glowing beads seem like they have been placed there delicately, one by one. I think about the bricks of amber beads I played with as a kid. Bricks formed from threaded wires. The wires arranged into a rigid lattice flat and square so that when many of them were stacked together, they formed a brick.

Below the concentrations of lights are changing. Sometimes an entire network, bright and organized. Then an entire amorphous fragment. Some of the lights are so dim that you cannot tell what is land and what is water.

There was another game we played in pre-school. With water droplets. You had to be so careful with the dropper, so as not to splash the water everywhere. I remember the intensity of the action. It was less difficult than the game with the tweezers. That took forever. Playing with the water, precisely handling the dropper, I imagined myself a scientist. I imagined that I was in the midst of an experiment and that it was very important that the procedure be followed as closely as possible.

We spoke in extremes then. “You will be my best friend forever” and Fariel’s favorite: “Do _____ or else” (I later realized that she must have picked this up from the villain in Alladin). Life was certain and had a pattern to it. Bright and organized and though we hadn’t yet learned the steps, we had some notion of what they were, could pretend. We could count on things, count beads on bricks, count the droplets falling from one volume into the other.

The engine shifts pitch, over an octave. Perhaps a tenth and I think that we must be getting closer, that maybe this means we’re moving slower and therefore all most there. I’ve lost track of the time. No more devices. Think about cold wind on closed eyes. Zooming around the city like it is ours for the taking. Hills and lines of people wrapped around buildings. Party kids and homeless people stand in single file. Close my eyes and hear the bounce of car tires over train tracks. Learn that rubber on concrete makes the same pop even if the source of the sound is completely different. Sounds completely different from tires that fall out from the sky. Never graceful. Never pleasant. The worst part being the frantic deceleration that follows the thud clunk bam out of the sky. Like, hit the breaks okay? Because we’re here and I’m tired.

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