It couldn't have been the plane food. Or maybe it was. Delhi to Taipei, Taipei to Singapore and now Singapore to LA. A lot of those horrid little microwaved packages. She sat in the window seat barfing into a bag while a woman from Singapore next to her imperturbably perfected her lipline.
Eight hours of the flight remained. The woman from Singapore painted her face as though it did not belong to her. Without interest.
Why was she painting her face anyway? There was no one the woman needed to impress was there? She barfed again. Nothing but a thin yellow liquid. Bitter. A beautiful girl came by with a hot wash cloth. How kind. But she was giving them to everyone.
She turned her face against the window. The blind was down because it was light out there but they had to pretend it was dark because it would be early morning in Los Angeles when they arrived. There was an appalling smell of food. She pressed a handful of toilet tissue against her face and closed her eyes and tried to freeze herself. The Singapore woman had her table down. She was watching Gosford Park. Eating strange things with chopsticks. Blotting her lip line.
The Immodium was working. Her stomach was empty though still heaving up occasionally. She awoke with a river of drool escaping the corner of her mouth. A violent retch almost doubled her. Had the Immodium held? She wasn't quite sure. Time to disturb the woman from Singapore, the thin man with a fat, sari dressed wife sitting across the aisle.
When she got into the cramped little toilet room she never wanted to leave. How long could you stay locked in before they'd break down the door?
Her faded, ravaged face looked back at her from the mirror. My God, she thought. She washed her face. She heaved a couple of times into the john. She forced her gut, but it was imobilized. She stood up and started to black out. She sat back down with her head between her knees.
More apologies to the thin man and the woman from Singapore. No response. The woman from Singapore was watching Gosford Park for the second time. She slept then awoke shaking and sweating. I'm sick, she thought, I'm really sick. When she woke again the beautiful girl was telling her to straighten her seat back. She was nearly home. The woman from Singapore had the flight route up on her screen. Almost there.
Thick cloud over LA. But what was new? So why had they not landed? Why were they still flying? Then the voice of the captain.
It seemed they weren't sure of the landing gear. Nothing to do but land as they were out of fuel. Hope for the best. No cause for alarm. Ninety percent sure. Ninety? Why not ninety-nine? The woman from Singapore sat quite still. Her face without expression.
She felt too weak to worry. No point. The plane nosed forward through the opaque cloud then broke through to grey daylight. They landed eventlessly and the flashing lights of the fire trucks seemed to cheer them. Soon she would be home in her serene apartment. The passengers applauded politely as the woman from Singapore vomited dinner and breakfast into the barf bag.
Then she carefully repaired her perfect face and rose to leave the plane.