Page 100 of The Last Man on Earth
The black pilot holds up a hand to stop me. “First of all, I just have to say, I’m a big fan, bruh.”
I nod.
“Second, we’ve been briefed, sir. You’re in good hands. We’re fully fueled, the weather is clear from here to Miami, and these big planes are a lot safer than the small ones.”
I nod, breathing in deep. They’re professional, and they’re calm. That eases my mind a little.
“We’ll get you home,” the white one assures. “Don’t forget, we wanna make it home, too.”
I give a tight smile and return to Ari. She’s gripping the arm rest like we’re already rolling down the runway.
I slide into the seat next to her and grab her hand.
“Pilots are cool,” I say. “It’s all good. We got this.”
She nods.
“Sure wish I had some weed right now, though.”
She laughs. “Honestly? Me too. I’m nervous.”
“I know. It’s gon’ be alright.”
“I’m nervous about the plane,” she says slowly. “And other things.”
I turn my head to look into her eyes. “Like?”
“I wanna ask you some questions, but then again, I don’t.”
“I know what you’re getting at,” I say. “And you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Okay?”
“You sure?”
“I wanna be with you. It’s us. Always.”
She blows out a sigh, her lips trembling slightly. “It’s just…it already feels different.”
I stare down at her hand, small in mine, and dip my head to kiss it. “It’s not. I promise it’s not. Not on my end. I’m locked in.”
She nods.
When the plane starts taxiing, she squeezes my hand until it hurts. I bow my head and pray loud enough for her to hear it.
“Lord, protect us. Protect our baby. Please get us home safely.”
I prayed over the baby when we were on the island, but Ari’s right. It does feel different.
I saw Dr. Souza this morning before we left the base. She said everything we’re feeling is normal, but also, not to get caught up in what’s normal and what isn’t, because normal is relative in the first place.
Ari falls asleep about ten minutes after we get to cruising altitude. The pilots are being real talkative over that intercom. I guess they’re doing their part to make us feel comfortable on the flight.
I watch her, my chest heavy. She looks peaceful. Content. And that’s the way I like to see her.
But it won’t last.
She doesn’t know what I know.
She has no idea what’s waiting for us back home.
