The Plane Ride Down.

It's the day of the plane ride to my dad's. After about four hours of sleep, I wake up in my bed to the sound of someone yelling and shaking me obnoxiously. Though this is a necessary evil, just like every time I wake up, I feel an uncontrollable urge to slap someone, but instead I open my eyes and get up. It's only about thirty minutes until we have to leave for the airport, but I don't need to do anything. By the time I leave the house the only things I've accomplished are changing my clothes, brushing my teeth, and making some coffee for the ride.

We reach the airport with enough time to eat. We are told by the woman who takes our tickets that we aren't allowed any liquids on the plane because of some bomb threat. Liquids such as: water or drinks of any kind, lotions, foundation, mascara, and chapstick are not allowed so when we enter the security area half of my makeup bag is labelled dangerous so I allow them to be confiscated. I curse for leaving my lip balm in my bag and not in my pocket where it would have been left alone. The security guards are unaware that we're flying into D.C. and try to make our situation seem better by telling us that flights going into Washington may not even be allowed carry-ons. We tell them that that's our eventual destination and they grow silent.

The first flight to Vancouver is uneventful and quick. When we arrive, we end up walking around the airport looking for the right place to pick up our bags until a cool old man who works for the airport takes pity on us and cuts us past all the lines and sets us up with a customs official. I worry for a minute that my Canadian passport and American Greencard might come into question and contradict where I say I really live, but they don't so we make it through customs and make sure our bags get checked before we get on our plane to Washington D.C.

As usual, my dad bought tickets from the back row of the plane which I like because I've heard that when planes crash most often the survivors are in the back. I also like that most of the seats that haven't been purchased are toward the back and I can usually snag an empty row to sleep in. After being on enough five hour plane rides, these are the things that typically run through someone's mind. After more than enough plane rides like this with little to no sleep, you're willing to lie, cheat, and steal to get one of these rows.

"Shotgun empty row," I say as I sit in the window seat of the deserted row. My sister Leni who has slept even less than me shoots me a look that tells me she needs this much more than I do so I begrudgingly relinquish the row I'm sitting in and start looking around for somewhere else.

The only other deserted row that I see is the one directly behind me. I stare toward the front of the plane using my Jedi mind power to will the door shut, but as usual it backfires and more people roll in. They come in ones and twos: large people, sweaty travellers with glandular problems, smelly guys who don't even remotely resemble Christian Bale. I find myself uncontrollably staring at every person who comes on the plane until the doors shut and my row is left intact.

I thank Jesus silently and wake Leni up to explain that she and I both get a row. I'm ecstatic that me and everyone else can now sleep comfortably instead of staying in limbo halfway between sleeping and waking for the full five hours.

"Someone better get up and claim the row," I say as I stretch out and look for a pillow. As if prompted by this statement, the old Asian man sitting behind Nikki and my sisters stands up and shuffles into the row. My beautiful savior of a row. I can't help, but gawk as he shuffles slowly into my seats while maintaining eye contact with me as if challenging me. Suddenly Tal breaks down into a fit of hysterical laughter and we both hide our faces from both him and his wife. I try to get a hold of myself as I peer through the hole and stare astonished and angry at the seat thief. I wonder to myself whether I'm looking at a crafty old bastard who has been planning this since he heard our idea or just some guy who doesn't understand any English.

I stop this train of thought and begrudgingly turn to Len to ask if she wants her row yet. She sleepily tells me that after take-off she will claim it then flops back onto Tal's lap. I decide that it would be a waste if I didn't soak up all the glory of the row while I can so I spread out and begin rummaging in the seat pocket in front of me. Finding nothing of interest, I begin to focus my attention on the other trays and seat pockets when I notice what appears to be a red stain on the back of the seat to my right.

I stare at the red mark that looks as if it were smudged after it's initial appearance with what looks like part of a hand. After I inspect it for a few more seconds, I realize that this could only be one of three things: blood, vomit, or chili. I recoil away from the tray as I realize that they don't serve soup on planes, trying to remember whether I unknowingly brushed up against the smudge before I recognized the consequence. As I do this, my gaze falls below the tray to the pocket where I notice an unnatural bulge that isn't present on the other seats.

As I stare uncontrollably at the disturbing stain, I begin to smell something rotten-or maybe it's my imagination getting away with me. Disgusted, I break my hypnotic gaze with the seat.

"Len, do you want to sit here yet?" I shout. Talis and Nikki look over as Leni raises her head seemingly annoyed. Maybe they notices the desperation in my voice or maybe they wonder why I urgently want to rid myself of the supposedly prized row, but they look at me then directly at the pocket that I can't help but glance at.

"Dude make sure that thing isn't filled with barf bags," says Tal making a half-amused, half-incredulous face.

With the look of the seat back it's probable that they didn't quite make it to the barf bag, I think to myself as I stare at the pocket. The bulge is obvious and I can't help, but imagine the smell of stomach acid. I'm unwilling to look, but I need to know whether I'm sitting behind someone's bagged vomit or not.

After a minute or two of staring the pocket with no improvement to the situation, I start to think about my options. I could ignore my morbid fascination with the pocket and leave it the way it is; I could look in the pocket myself, and risk adding more vomit to the seat or; I could call the stewartess to clean up the mess and look in the pocket for me. The last option appeared to be the best until I considered the consequences.

Hypothetically speaking, if I told the stewartess and this mess turned out to be puke it could potentially be considered a biohazard and because of this I would probably be moved to one of the other available seats. This would be all well and good if it weren't for the fact that the only seats left on the plane were in my row and the rows occupied by the seat stealing bastard and the ones beside his wife. I can't risk a four and a half hour plane ride beside the one of these bitter old coots so I decide the I need to find a good way to open the pocket myself.

I look around for something to open the pocket. The only thing I see is a broken headset stuffed into one of the clean pockets. I decide that it will have to do. Using the earphones as tongs, I pinch them around the cleanest end of the vomit pocket. With Talis, Leni and Nikki waiting in suspense I slowly open the pocket trying to keep my hands and face as far away from the red stain as possible. I try to move slowly to avoid accidentally letting go and flinging fragments of vomit flakes or worse exploding the potential barf bomb that could be inside the pocket.

I must look strange because I notice that some of the passengers including the seat stealing bastard's wife are staring at me as I pry open the seat pocket. I look around as if searching for some kind of emotional support then peer inside. There's nothing but a rolled up magazine and some plastic forks. The barf bag is missing which confirms my suspicion about the stain, but I'm relieved to see that it's no where used and in sight.

I decide that because of the lack of a used barf bag in the pocket that it's justifiable to stay in my row. Leni doesn't want it and I don't want to sit with either half of the Asian couple so I lay down and try to sleep. Half the plane ride I wake up imagining my arm sliding off the row toward the stain. The other half I sleep with my hand in my pocket.