The Flight Attendant

by Chris Bohjalian

She thought of that quote she’d seen on a blackboard outside a West Village boutique: “Remember that person you wanted to be? There’s still time.” She wasn’t completely sure this was who she wanted to be, but she found the work offered the same adrenaline rush as drinking, but without the hangovers and humiliations. It gave her life purpose. She knew, however, that the person who had most assuredly saved her life was Masha, because Masha was the reason she had stopped drinking and Masha was warmth in the morning when Cassie was home and they would wake together, and Masha was a euphoric squeal when she would return to her from a trip. Masha was the word moon, her first word, and how with her authoritarian little pointer finger she had looked skyward at dusk at a sickle moon and elongated that single, lovely syllable almost into song. Masha gave her something she loved more than herself—something that didn’t come in a glass with ice cubes or a paper umbrella or a straw.