The airplane that took us from Halifax to Charlottetown sat 18 people. And we were two of those people on the plane last weekend, as we flew to Prince Edward Island.
From the back row we could watch the open cockpit, clearly seeing the pilots hands as he manned the controls and adjusted his sunglasses. The day was gray and drizzly, and the size of the windshield wiper made us laugh. They looked like something you might buy ‘As Seen on TV’ for 12 dollars after a night of drinking. I crossed my fingers that they’d hold up during the half hour flight.
Within moments we were up in the air. As the little plane shook, sixteen passengers whipped out Ipads and Sodukos. As we climbed higher the plane burst into blinding white sunlight, and levelled off over the puffy white clouds. It was glorious!
‘What the f*ck is wrong with you?’ I wanted to scream. ‘This is the best show on earth!’ Truly, it was. Mere inches below us was a sea of white puffballs rolled by lit by giant beams of sunlight. If there was a way of actually feeling closer to heaven, I don’t know what is. I felt like I could actually wave at my father. (Not The Father - my actual dad)
Still nobody looked, but I was riveted. I’ve flown many times before but never felt this close to the universe, and never able to see out the front window. I waited for the moment we’d head through the clouds and see the gentle island below us. But for now, the sun and the sky were performing miracles for a small select audience of four; the pilot, co pilot, my co-pilot (Jim), and I.
Feeling the jolt of cement beneath the wheels, the readers put the bookmark back into their novels, and stood up to leave. As we hustled out into the sunlight and on the tarmac, a few people pulled out their smart phones and took picture of the plane.
Their electronics devices captured the aluminum flying machine, but they’d missed the best show on then planet.