The flight is full of clamouring teenage girls fresh from basketball camp. Loud doesn’t begin to describe it. Most of them spend the first thirty minutes before take off discussing where they will sit, then bursting into unexplained fits of giggles.
The brunette doesn’t want to sit next to the stranger. The tall blonde is texting, (I suspect) about another girl on the same flight. We soar through the air, a sherbet sunset over Mt. Rainier. The chattering doesn’t subside.
“I can’t believe the lady didn’t let me carry-on my bag,” the girl behind me whines, for the fourth time as she kicks my seat. Another one plunges her seat all the way back, almost destroying a laptop.
“Sorry,” she turns around to the panicked passenger, a teenage boy traveling with his mom. “Sorry,” again. Well at least she apologized.
I am headed home to Chicago to watch my best friend from when we were their age (15? 16) get married. Were we like this? Continue reading