*Please note some readers will find the content of this story upsetting. 

The aircraft was already taxiing down the runway as I marched up the aisle, casting my eyes over the cabin to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. A pregnant woman who should have had an extension seatbelt, or a piece baggage discarded in the aisle.

I was operating on less than two hours sleep, thanks to a desert safari the night before. I hadn’t even wanted to go, it was simply fear of missing out and no life choices should be based on fear. But we've all done it. 

At least I wasn’t hungover, I thought, as I watched Rebecca my supervisor subtly dab her brow with a tissue while she sat on her jumpseat exhaling long, slow breaths. She had post-pool party regret written all over her slightly sun-burned face.

I locked my harness and silently assessed the passengers sitting in front of me. Which one should I pick?

It was a choice I had to make on every flight and always sent a brief shiver down my spine. To think I was basically deciding, at a glance, which stranger was most likely to save my life. Who would I call upon to help in the event of a planned emergency evacuation? Who might be my ‘Able Bodied Passenger’ today? Who could I trust to take over as instructed if I were to be incapacitated? Who might I rely upon to ensure everyone gets out alive? And who would remember to take me with them?

Three people sat in front of me, oblivious to my internal assessments of their potential.

37 hotel was male, mid-thirties, but already asleep so it was hard to extract further intel through subtle chit-chat and I couldn’t see his eyes to get a proper insight into his soul. Next.

The man beside him was in his fifties and looked the type to happily throw one under a bus. I wasn’t picking him if I could help it. Next.

37 kilo. She was completely captivated by the little baby across the aisle from her, engrossed in a game of peek-a-boo. Now you see me, now you don’t. She seemed like the type who would save a life, even if it risked her own. Decision made.

It was when she turned back and strapped herself in that I spotted it. The crossed legs, tapping foot and pleasing smile - with eyes that darted around in every direction. Textbook.

Neither of the strangers in her row noticed. Not many people do, but I immediately recognised the fear behind those dancing eyes. It was hidden beneath a smile - fixed in place - to convince the world she was fine. Absolutely fine.

The survivor’s instinct was there, ready to defend, forcing her legs to cross and arms to fold.  And the adrenaline, always there, always pounding, made her foot tap ferociously, reminding her that there was still time to run. There was always the option to cut and run.

But what was she running from? Probably a nervous flyer.

She tossed witty little remarks to those around her, hoping they would respond. It might provide a moment’s distraction from the internal chaos.  Make her look calm? Or even feel calm? Maybe…

This did nothing to change my decision. In fact, I was reassured. Contrary to popular belief, I thought fear made someone a particularly good choice of Able Bodied Passenger. I knew she’d be uber alert to any threat and hang onto my every instruction. She would do exactly what she thought was required.

I watched her arm accidentally knock the man beside her off their shared armrest and she apologised through giggles, promising not to cause him further bodily harm before they landed. He responded by sighing loudly, shuffling in his seat and fixing a stare out the window to his opposite side. Her giggles silenced and she glanced down to her lap, where she yanked off a tiny little ragged nail, that was barely hanging on.

Nobody else was looking at her, all more interested in their own thirst, comfort, lack of sleep, or desire to find a good film. So only she and I noticed that her hands were gently shaking.

“Why are you travelling to Stockholm?” I asked so loudly that her eyes darted up in response, as though she might have to defend her decision. They were piercing baby blue. Glassy too, as if constantly moist. Which made sense. Pale blue eyes are much more sensitive to environmental factors.

I smiled at her while I waited for a response, so she knew she wasn’t in trouble and after briefly scanning my face for intent, she replied.

“I have a meeting with a consultant. Not one I can see at home.”

It had to be a short trip as life was so busy for her in Lebanon. What, between business meetings and planning her upcoming wedding. Her face relaxed into a real smile when she spoke about her fiancé. She didn’t know what she’d do without him now, though after their first date she hadn’t expected to see him again.

“Well,” I began in response, "Life rarely works out the way you expect.”

She paused for a moment then nodded silently before carrying on. They were getting married in the church where his parents had wed, forty-four years previously.

Then everyone stopped talking, while the engines crescendoed and we began to hurtle along the runway. If she was still considering an escape, then it was definitely too late. The decision had been made.

Her blue eyes closed, resigned to whatever fate might unfold, which now seemed completely beyond her control. She pressed her dark hair into the back of the headrest and gripped the seat so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

For a fleeting moment, everyone shared her tension amidst the noise and speed of take-off. Like a contraction it was loud, sudden and frightening. Then, as the roar subsided, we collectively exhaled a sigh of relief that none of us realised we were holding, while the cabin aisle levelled off and eased into the sky. Finally, this unnatural tube felt like a safe space, as white noise settled all around and cradled us in the womb of a fuselage, protected by clouds and so far removed from the realities of life below.

I glanced at 37 kilo, whose shoulders were gradually relaxing as she blessed herself and opened her eyes. She noticed me watching and her cheeks reddened.

“Sorry, I’m a little scared of flying.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I replied, “Everyone is at some point.”

Her eyebrows raised.

“Everyone?”

I nodded.

“Usually when something else is going on in their life. You know, misdirected trauma.”

Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she processed my words and surveyed this crew member in front of her, so casually spouting pop-psychology. 

“What’s that little pin you’re wearing?”

I explained that we made a personal promise when we trained and the company gave us a little star pin to remind us of that commitment. 37 kilo is the is the only person who ever noticed its tiny but important presence.

“What did you promise?” she asked.

“To look after those as frightened as I used to be.”

Her blue eyes smiled.

“So that’s how you know,” she concluded and I nodded in reply.

37 kilo leaned back in her seat and continued to regard me, quietly assessing my character, as I had hers.

“It’s a good job you have,” she mused and I agreed.

“Yup, everyone’s dream,” (or so we were repeatedly told by our managers).

“You must feel so far away from real life up here. It’s like… a bubble…so detached from all the pressures down there…”

I was no longer sure if she was still talking to me, or thinking out loud.

“Yeah, the distance really puts things in perspective.”

“Ever wish that you didn’t have to land?” She asked wistfully.

This I could answer without hesitation:

“No.”

 ***

After the meal service, Rebecca asked me to check on the parents in my area, as she popped a couple of paracetamol. I passed the rows of screaming children knowing that their parents would ask if they needed my help. Instead, I walked straight to 37 kilo, less sure I could say the same about her.

She was engrossed in a film, wrapped up like a baby in a blanket. As I lightly placed a hand on her shoulder, she jumped with fright and ferociously slapped my hand away. I ricocheted back as she laughed with embarrassment and lifted her headset.

“Oh I’m sooo sorry,” she effused, “I was watching a scary film.”

I glanced at the screen showing some childlike animation and rubbed my hand which was turning red.

“No I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to scare you, I just came to see if you were doing okay?”

She smiled and nodded (though neither of us were really convinced) but 37 kilo looked a lot more relaxed than she had been on ground and I was glad her attention was enveloped by the film. So I carried on to business class for a cappuccino to keep me awake.

I didn’t see much of her for the rest of the flight. She was the type of passenger to easily blend into a cabin, through no obvious requirement for help such as age, or disability. She didn’t ask for anything extraordinary and flew quietly under the radar, doing everything expected of her.

That’s what horrifies me now, when I’m lying in bed, on another sleepless night. In the briefing room we discussed the unaccompanied minors, the visually impaired, the wheelchair users -  but nobody warned us to look out for the lady in 37 kilo.  She was carrying more than her luggage. And it could have been 34 charlie, 49 juliet, 54 golf, 63 hotel - they all flew quietly. Under the radar. Doing everything expected of them.  It gave me chills. 

We were briefed for a bumpy landing but the turbulence on descent was more extreme than anyone had expected.

“How was your flight?” I asked, while strapping into my jump-seat (and quite frankly keeping a safe distance).

“Peaceful,” she replied with a gentle smile, though her raised shoulders and clenched jaw told me she was growing nervous at the prospect of landing.

Across the aisle from her, the baby started to scream and his mother held him close. 37 kilo turned to look and her blue eyes winced at the cries, as though she was sharing his pain.

Throughout the cabin, passengers exchanged worried glances as the plane bumped aggressively. I knew they were silently questioning whether its fuselage really was the protective barrier we believed it to be…

I watched 37 kilo’s knuckles once again tightening their stranglehold on the armrest.  Every time the plane dropped, she let out a yelp, each one a little more hysterical than the last.

“Is this normal?” she asked. I smiled gently and nodded, though this was much more violent than I had expected.

Across the aisle, the baby’s screams grew louder, so his mother pulled him closer and started to quietly sing:

“Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows the baby will rock…”

37 kilo began to shake, trying in vain to laugh off the shrieks that escaped her lips while those baby blue eyes filled.

“When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, down will come cradle, baby and all.”

Then the plane fell sharply again.

“Oh my goodness! Imagine you were pregnant!”

I smiled without comment, but weirdly, she persisted.

“What would happen?” she asked, biting her lip. 

I returned her gaze, unable to see the relevance of the question. Thinking back to training college, I scanned my brain for any connection between turbulence and pregnancy. Sure, we were taught how to deliver a baby, but in that instance, turbulence would be the least of anyone’s concerns.

“I’m not sure it would make much difference?” I responded naively.

But the question had jarred…She certainly didn’t look pregnant?

We dropped again, so fast that most of us lifted straight out our seats. 37 kilo was reaching new levels of fear. She shut her eyes and grew quiet. Closing inwards with eerie silence.

Crossing many boundaries, I instinctively leaned over and took her hand. Her eyes opened and I locked onto their wide blue stare.

“Tell me about your wedding,” I ordered, in a soft, low tone, fixing a gentle smile in place. She spluttered out details of dresses and colour schemes, in a staccato like fashion, while her concentration divided between a polite response and the obvious distraction of imminent death.

Each time her attention was pulled by the baby’s scream, or another bump, I demanded her eye contact and fired another question. What flowers had she chosen? Who were her bridesmaids? Had she found her dress? How had he proposed?

Slowly her focus shifted to the answers, which became steadily more coherent. Her bright blue eyes held onto mine as tightly as she gripped my hand, while telling me about her vintage veil. She had chosen white lilies. The main course was veal.  Nobody would predict her gown. She was going to wear black.

As she listed the people invited, we thumped onto the tarmac and sped along the runway. At first, she jumped but then smiled, realising how close to the ground she hadn't known we’d been.

I let go of her hand and noticed it had finally stopped shaking.

The front door opened and ground staff began to remove passengers from the the comfortable womb we’d all shared. Her blue eyes darted to the exit which was blasting unforgivingly cold air throughout the cabin.  She started to shuffle in her seat and fidget needlessly with her hair. Around her, everyone else stood to gather their things, but she remained seated. Why? Usually passengers were desperate to get out, not desperate to stay. She turned to me with eyes as wide as a baby’s and asked, with child-like fragility:

“Will you be on my flight back?”

I knew I wouldn't, but I recognised the hope in her voice. It was vulnerable and innocent and I didn't want to kill it. 

"Oh maybe," I replied, "But if not, then someone else will take good care of you." 

She nodded her head quietly, but it looked as though there was something else she thought she wanted to say… well maybe…or maybe not…or maybe she would…

Once the premier cabins had emptied, the first few rows of economy were next to squeeze out.

All around her people lifted their hand luggage, preparing to move. She stood and pretended to do the same, but as the only person watching I could see she was simply fumbling with her coat, her pockets, the contents of her handbag…

Then as the passengers around her started to disembark 37 kilo dumped a bag on her seat she and stood over it protectively, as though any one of the others might take something from her. Was she looking for something? Pulling something out? It was hard to tell when she blocked my view like that. 

“Have you lost something?” I asked.

She turned back to me and stared with her big, blue eyes, for a moment hesitating, before finally whispering:

“I lost a baby four days ago.”

Now things made more sense.

Again, I took her hand as the pressure building behind those glassy eyes came spilling out with shattering devastation.

She’d never wanted children, it was an accident. But as her body transformed, she was blown away by the fact there was a little person growing inside of her.

Hers.

His.

Theirs.

She was ready to alter her whole world to accommodate this little life.

All around us, cabin crew began to roam through the cabin, scanning for unwanted items to be disposed.

I stroked her hand while she described the sudden love she felt for this little human she’d never met. It was overwhelming. And frightening. When she found out it was a boy, she felt like she’d known him forever. She’d bought him tiny little booties. In baby blue. No-one would ever be good enough for him…

A PA boomed through the cabins:

“Any passengers still onboard?”

Rebecca glanced in our direction, tapped her watch and picked up the intercom to reply:

“Just one.”

She hoped she’d be pregnant again within the year…

“Everybody deserves a second chance, don’t they?” she asked me while wiping a tear. As though I had the answers!

Then she lowered her voice and spoke about her upbringing. It was very strictly Catholic and her fiancé’s family were Orthodox. I scanned my brain, trying to find the relevance.

There were still deeply held views in their country, about marriage and family. Their, 'situation' was not acceptable. 

I could feel my brows furrow in confusion as she searched my face with wide eyes, scouring  for… understanding? Empathy? Absolution? I couldn't tell. 

With eerie stillness she pierced me with those baby blue eyes and whispered:

“Nobody would have accepted the little miracle, created too soon.”

Sudden comprehension shot through me like a bolt of sharp blue lightening, forcing every hair to stand on end.

“I had to end it,” she stressed, as my mind raced to process this fork in the road. She had altered his whole life to accommodate the world.

“Did your fiancé make you do this?!” I asked, scanning my brain for international support services for coercive control, counselling, perhaps even a refuge.

“No,” she replied, “He'll never know it was my choice." 

Her then steady hand dropped mine, which had started to shake.

The PA boomed:

 “All passengers must disembark immediately!”

Ground staff appeared by our sides and made clear it was time for 37 kilo to go. She was no longer welcome. Her safe space had been invaded. The flight, was finally terminated. And even though I knew she didn't want to leave,  she did everything expected of her, pulled on her coat and casually remarked:  

"I better go, or I'll be late for the follow-up appointment with my consultant."

Then 37 kilo picked up her bags and I watched as she marched divisively through the cabin, not once looking back.

I had my own responsibilities to see to, but as I turned around to clean up, my eyes settled on her seat, where a pair of baby blue booties had been left.  Discarded.