It begins with my car whose battery light keeps flashing even though the battery and alternator are fine. So take a plane to teach, because the only bus to Boston gets me there ten minutes after my first class begins. I plan to take the bus back. I arrive at the station, and get in line, with fifteen minutes before my bus departs. I wait for one slow transaction to end, try to quickly to get a ticket, try being important, run, and find the bus departed two minutes earlier. The only bus to my destination. Maybe the next bus driver will drive you there, the ticket seller suggests when I return. I calculated the chances of a bus driver driving an hour and a half out of her way, three hours total, called the bus station to make sure, and decided to catch the last plane to my destination.
From the bus terminal, I went my favorite cafe, where after telling the story, I was rewarded with a coconut macaroon on the house. This is why this is my favorite cafe.
And why I love to fly.
Taking the little plane to the Cape from Boston is the height of a certain kind of luxury. I have been taking this flight so long, I wind up running into friends. At the end of the flight, the pilot says thank you, and we say thank you back. We are all in it together. Twenty minutes over the bay, looking for whales or dolphins, sometimes falling asleep, despite the noise of the propellers. Just when you feel ready for the trip to end, which given your attention span these days, is truly ridiculous, you sight land.
This is peace during flight-time. privileged peace, to be certain, but peace.