Why Don’t They Serve Xanax on Planes?
I’m flying over Colorado, specifically Aurora. At least that’s what the Google map in the headrest of the seat in front of me says. I’ve been on the plane for four hours. Four hours and I’m only in Colorado. I change the channel, the stock market is down 257 points. I change the channel again. Michael Douglas is trying to escape The Game. I change the channel again, it’s a repeat of Law & Order.
The plane shakes. Turbulance. We drop five hundred feet. My heart stops. It starts again.
All of a sudden I’m acutely aware that I’m in the middle seat. Trapped between two people. Trapped in a plane. Trapped 30 thousand feet in the air. I want off.
I can’t breath.
I want the pilot to make an emergency landing.
I want to be on the ground now. Now.
Stop. Calm Down. Breath.
It’s just a panic attack. It’ll Pass. It’ll pass.
Don’t look at the walls. Don’t look at the people next to you.
Just stare at the TV.
Breath.
I change the channel.
Nancy Grace.
Don’t worry. It’ll pass.
