Falling

by T.J. Newman

The plane had leveled off and now floated eastward, a mass of humanity hanging in limbo.

Please go back to your seat and inform him of the great news—Coastal will be giving you a bunch of free miles for this truly harrowing personal trauma you and no one else has had to endure.”

“At-a,” Daddy said, holding up his palm. “One more word and authorities are meeting the aircraft.” “But—” “Karen, I swear to god,” he said. “My name is Janice.” Daddy wrinkled his nose. “But is it?”

She knew men like him. Big on ego, small on tolerance.

a wrinkled and untucked Hawaiian shirt rode up to betray a sliver of potbelly. The slop of manhood was George’s smartest and most senior controller. It was this or storm chasing, Dusty Nichols had said of his decision to become an air traffic controller. Those were the only two jobs he could think of that didn’t require a tie or regular bathing.

Compartmentalization was the only way to remain in control during a crisis.