What you’re about to read was written 15 years ago, for an NPR fiction writing contest. I can’t remember the word limit…but the entry was to include the words fly, button, trick, and plant. It was a fun exercise! I don’t think I sent it to anyone, except NPR. So, here it gets some air for the first time. And, while tempted, I didn’t change even one word.

*****

“I don’t like to fly,” Jennifer said to the man next to her, an introduction of sorts, as he fastened his seat belt and took reading glasses out of the breast pocket of his suit coat. He smiled at her, indulgently. “I didn’t mind when I was younger, when I was a teenager. But now I have teenagers of my own. I don’t much like to leave them, especially in an airplane.”

“Where are you headed?” asked the man, reaching into the briefcase between his feet, extracting a Wall Street Journal. “Other than Wayne County Airport.”

“Ann Arbor. My mom’s not well.” The man made eye contact then, cocked his head. “Jennifer Smith,” she said, extending her hand.

“Dave Johnson,” said the man, taking it while he shoved the case underneath the seat with his foot.

“You look like you don’t mind flying.”

“Use to,” Dave said, laying the folded newspaper in his lap. “Now I don’t think about it. I travel for business.”

“What’s your secret?”

Dave removed his glasses and put them back into his pocket. Then he slipped his feet out of his loafers and planted them firmly, about a foot apart. Jennifer smiled; she’d heard about this, people taking their shoes off on an airplane. What Dave did next, however, surprised her.

“I know it looks crazy,” said Dave, unbuttoning his shirt. Jennifer looked down at her own shirt, a rose-colored waffle Henley with six buttons. She looked back at Dave, his shirt hanging open beneath his unbuttoned suit coat, revealing an ironed crew neck T-shirt.

“Is this some kind of trick?”

Dave laughed. “It’s weird, I know. My wife heard about it on Oprah, some Eastern mystic, I guess it was. Told the audience if they planted their shoeless feet and unbuttoned all their buttons for takeoff, the plane would reach its destination.”

“So I can button back up when we’re in the air?”

“That’s the theory.” He shrugged. “Works for me.”

On the intercom, a flight attendant announced they had been cleared for takeoff, and their departure was imminent. Jennifer looked over at Dave, who was reading his newspaper. She heard the jet engines accelerate. Quickly, she untied her sneakers, pushed them under the seat in front of her, and planted her feet on the floor as Dave had done. She untucked her shirt from her jeans and then undid the metal button at the waistband. As the plane started to move, Jennifer hurriedly undid her shirt buttons. When she was done, she reached down into her carry-on bag for her jacket and covered herself. She looked over at Dave.

“You didn’t undo your pants button.”

Dave looked at his lap. “Thanks,” he said, reaching under his belt buckle.

The plane picked up speed at a rate that always alarmed Jennifer. The engine noise crowded her ears. She gripped both arm rests and concentrated on swallowing. She closed her eyes as the plane lifted, its nose to the sky like an eager bloodhound. By the time she counted to thirty, they were leveling off. She opened her eyes and then looked over at Dave. The newspaper blocked her view of his head.

“Is it okay now?”

Dave lowered the Journal.

“Is is okay to button up?”

“Yes, yes,” said Dave, warm faced. “Of course.” He folded the newspaper and set it back down on his lap. He buttoned his shirt and his pants and slid his feet into his shoes. “How did it go? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Jennifer, stuffing her jacket back into her bag and reaching for her sneakers. “I feel great. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”