St Johns Kilmarnock School - Eagle Yearbook (Breslau, Ontario Canada)

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Janet of her Grandfather. She cannot hear the skin sliding but she can feel it. The man turns and, to Janet ' s surprise, asks for a drink of water. She can ' t help but watch the man. She doesn’t think of it at the time, but he takes her mind off her unabated fears. Her imagination begins to take over, asking her alot of questions. ‘Who is this man? Where is he going? Why is he on the plane?’ ‘You know why!’ ‘Who said that?’ ‘I did. You know he’s got a bomb. Why are you avoiding the obvious?’ Janet looks around to make sure no one has heard her talking to herself and realizes that it all went on in her head. She only thinks of it as a bit strange. ‘He’s got a bomb and you are on the plane that he is going to blow up.’ ‘Are you afraid?’ Janet becomes afraid. Her fear comes from the realization that she is on a plane, that she is very afraid of flying, and that a voice in her head is talking to her. She shakes her head to clear the jumble of thoughts and is once again able to focus on the man. ‘Killer.’ ‘Man.’ ‘Killer.’ She focuses on him and sees that he is still wringing his hands. His half empty glass of water wavers in front of him as the plane hits a little turbulence. Janet almost screams as she feels the minute jolt in her seat. Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them back and fixes her sight on the man once again. He wrings his dry hands, sips his water, wrings his hands, takes another sip. ‘He wrings his hands because he is nervous, and sips his water because his mouth is dry. Maybe he dislikes flying as much as I do.’ ‘Of course he is nervous. He’s got to plant a bomb on this plane. H e is going to extinguish alot of lives. Of course he is nervous.’ Janet’s eyes are glued on the man. Fear engulfs her as she takes off his coat. ‘He’s getting the bomb.’ ‘This plane is stuffy, my coat is off too.’ With his jacket off, he reaches into his pocket. Janet now has to go to the washroom. ‘Hold it, you’ll be dead soon anyway.’ ‘He’s only digging in his pocket. Maybe he needs kleenex.’ With the thought of kleenex, Janet looks at her hands. The piece of tissue has crumpled and small pieces are scattered on the floor. She looks back at the man. ‘Killer!’ ‘Man!’ ‘Killer!’ As his hand comes out of his pocket, she sees black and a flash of silver. Her body tingles, physically reacting to her fear. The black and silver is a digital watch that he casually puts on his thick wrist. It is a good thing Janet is sitting down. All strength runs out of her legs for momentary relief. Then the little voice steals the moment. ‘Don’t be foolish. Terrorists wear watches. Besides, it’s not even a watch, that’s a bomb. He is going to die with the other three hundred and eighty-nine people on this plane. He is wearing your death warrant on his wrist.’ ‘Go away!’ With his watch fastened, he begins to drum his fingers. They thump on the armrest. Each thump becomes a ticking in Janet’s ears, amplified and echoing in her head. Each tick strikes another key of fear deep inside Janet. She still has to go to the bathroom. ‘You are going to die soon, you may as well be comfortable. Go quickly. That bomb is ticking away the minutes of your life.’ ‘Perhaps I should tell someone. Maybe they can turn the bomb off. ’ Janet squeezes her eyes shut. ‘It’s bad enough that I’m sitting down in a plane, but to stand up and walk somewhere is my greatest fear and is really too much to ask.’ ‘Then just sit here and wait.’ ‘No, I’m going to tell somebody. Right now!’ Janet counts to ten in her head, sums up all her courage, and clears her thoughts. She unbuckles her seat belt and grasps the back of the seat in front of her. She pulls herself up on unsteady legs and looks around. She can still see the man. That makes her even more nervous. She walks up the aisle of the plane to where the washrooms are, as well as the flight attendants. She glances at the man as she passes. He is looking at her. His eyes seem to pierce into her, like they know what she is about to do. Janet is frozen like a hare on the road, staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

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by Christy Simard A drizzle of rain completes the perfectly dreary Friday, while the flat grey sky casts a dull light on Toronto. Blacken- ed snow dresses the sides of the highway, presenting fresh layers of rotting garbage as it melts. Janet Steele’s white Mustang GT is coated in a layer of slush, sand, and salt that seems to have become permanent decor this winter. The windshield wipers make a rythmic squeek as they clear the collecting drops of rain. As Janet approaches the airport several planes pass over head. “I wonder how many people on each flight are white- knuckle-fliers like me?” She parks her car in the Park-and-Fly lot, taking notes of the level. 2D. That means two flights of stairs to get to airport level. She collects her purse and carry-on bag then checks for her airline ticket. Low heeled shoes echo hollowly on the pavement as Janet walks to the staircase, clutching the ticket with a slightly sweaty hand. Passing through the entrance to the steps she bumps into a bulky man wearing a charcoal grey trench coat. Their bodies collide, and Janet loses grip of the ticket, sending it fluttering to the dirty floor. The man stares for an instant then continues on his way without a word or a smile. As she stoops to retrieve the stray tricket an elderly woman passes, nearly knocking Janet down. With the smell of the woman’s perfume lingering in the air, she is able to recover the ticket and get on her way to ground level. A few moments later, she enters Terminal II of Pearson International Airport. The white tiled floor gleams under flourescent lights. People rush here and there, looking very tense, dragging their luggage, or their children behind them. With an hour left before boarding the plane Janet decides to get a cup of coffee and relax. The styrofoam cup burns her hand but she pays it no attention. Rushing through her mind is every plane crash she has ever read about, every terrorist she has heard of, and every possible thing that could go wrong while she is on that plane. An irritating voice interupts her thoughts. “Flight 503 is now boarding, gate 35. Flight 503 now boarding.” Janet’s eyes flutter as she comes back to reality, like a child waking from an afternoon nap. She looks at her hands. The left hand is holding the now cold cup of coffee, and the fingernails of her right are bitten ragged. Janet has no idea where her mind has been for the last thirty minutes, but by the look of her fingernails, she is sure she wasn’t thinking happy thoughts. She stands, leaving the cold coffee on a table and brushes the wrinkles out of her blue linen skirt. While walking to the boarding gate she asks herself one last time, “Is a two day trip to see a good friend in Florida something worth getting on a plane for?” Her answer is negative but she continues toward gate 35. Once seated in the plane, Janet peers out the window. She sees that the drizzling rain has stopped and the sky has cleared a little. Good. Without rain and heavy clouds it is unlikely that they will run into a thunderstorm, or something horrid like that. Janet removes her coat and buckles her seat belt, even though there are still people boarding the plane and the ‘please fasten your seat belt’ signs were not yet lit up. When the signs do light up, Janet’s heart picks up speed, and her lightly damp hands become sweaty, shakey, useless extensions of her arms. It is a good thing her seat belt is done up because she hardly has enough control in her hands to blow her nose. She fumbles with her purse, then fumbles with the tissue, then gives up trying and fiddles with the kleenex between shakey fingers. By the end of this flight there will be nothing left of the tissue but a few scattered shreds. The engines roar as the pilot fires them up. Janet’s heart roars, pounding in her chest and ears. The wheels of the plane roll down the runway. Janet rolls the kleenex in a ball between her fingers. The plane bumps along before lift off. Janet jerks her foot up and down, another nervous habit. Her head is pulled into her seat as the plane picks up speed. Her cheeks pull to her ears and her stomach twists and turns in the sickening knots as the plane lifts off. When Janet is sure the plane has stopped it’s ascent, she opens her previously closed eyes and relaxes her grip on t he armrests. Looking around she realizes that the handle of her carryon bag is in the aisle. Not wanting a stewardess or the pilot to trip on it, she leans forward and puts it under the seat. As she does this she sees a flash of grey out of the corner of her eye. She follows the flash, and there, one seat up on the other side of the aisle is the man she bumped into on the staircase when she dropped her ticket. Unable to look away, she gapes at the figure sitting straight in his chair. He is, by all means, ugly. Janet can think of no other way to say it. When talking to her friend in Florida the only word for this man will be ‘ugly’. The top of his head looks as though it would shine in the sun, and is sprinkled with pale liver spots. What little hair there is left on his head wraps the back of it from ear to ear. His nose is small and pudgey, totally wrong for his huge frame. His full lips are almost colourless and slightly chapped. They do not move, except to part for a sip from his plastic cup that is probably full of a strong whiskey. When his drink is finished, he hands the cup to a stewardess and folds his table into the back of the seat in front of him. When this is done he looks around. First he looks up at the roof of the plane, then he leans across the passenger beside him and looks out the window. He turns and looks at Janet for a split second that seemed like minutes to her. She stares at his large meaty hands that he wrings in a way that reminds 98

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Finally she jerks around and begins to run, as well as one can run down the aisle of a DC- 10 airplane. When she reaches the stewardess she is shaking uncontrollably and out of breath. She grabs the women by the shoulders and begins her speech. “You have got to listen to me. I’m not making this up. There is a very strange man on this plane, and very dangerous. I’ve been watching him since I got on the plane, and, he’s got a, a . . .’’ She breaks off. Thinking back through the last little while, she tries to recall what proof she has. ‘The watch!’ “Yes,’’ Janet speaks again. “He’s got a watch and he took it out of his pocket and he’s drinking water and he stares out the window and he wrings his hands and when he’s not wringing them, he drums his fingers ...” Janet stops again, looks at the stewardess and waits for the voice to help her. It’s gone. The stewardess looks understanding, although she has no idea what Janet is raving about. She offers to walk Janet back to her seat. “No thank-you,” Janet utters in a soft-drained voice, “I just have to go to the washroom and then I’ll go sit down.” Janet goes into the compartment. The stench of toilet cleaner wafts up her nostrils as she sobs and gasps in confusion. As she stands in the head, she is thankful that she had false suspicions, but tries to figure out an explanation for the little voice inside her head. Of course she has no idea that she had just conversed with fear. Illogical fear. When Janet gets back to her seat and sits down, stepping on the remaining shreds of kleenex. The stewardess comes and asks Janet if she would like anything. “Scotch on the rocks please.” When she gets to Florida she will share this in- credible story over more than a few drinks with her friend. Then she will take a bus home. EPILOGUE Saturday morning as Janet flipped through a local newspaper while basking in the warm sun, a headline caught her eye . . . PLANE CRASHES IN THE GULF OF MEXICO A plane blew up in the sky over the gulf of Mexico yesterday afternoon. No survivors have been found. It is thought that all passengers were killed in the explosion or drowned. The Air Canada flight 503 departed from Toronto Pearson International Airport early yesterday morning. It had a stop over in Miami. Official believe that this is where the terrorist got off the plane. It is believed that a bomb brought down the plane halfway between Miami and Mexico. Inspectors have no leads . . . 100