Lives Between Walls

Aurora always enjoyed the experience of flying. There was something so liberating about being so high above the ground, and looking down on the world – the buildings and mountains that used to appear colossal on the ground, now seemed like meaningless blips on her life’s radar. This also seemed to give her a new perspective on her problems as well. The puffy white clouds were like a thick curtain that covered them, if only temporarily offering solace from the piercing rays of harsh reality. One of her favourite perks was the window seat, even though she flew more frequently than most – given her profession – it still never lost its appeal to her. It seemed to appease her inner child. Of all the man made inventions, airplanes were what captivated her the most. Probably because man was not meant to be in the sky, so a plane defied the natural order of things. How such a massive object was able to lift itself off the ground was still baffling to Aurora. What sorcery was this? As much as they throw these big words around like ‘lift’ and ‘thrust,’ to try and explain it, it still made no sense. It may as well be magic at work masked by scientific terms to make people feel stupid for questioning, so that no one probes it further. It’s probably why when she was younger, she wanted to become a pilot – also heavily inspired by stories from her grandpa who used to fly fighter jets during World War II for the United States. The way he described it made it seem like flying was the most exhilarating experience on earth. “That P-47 Thunderbolt would be going so fast, Rumples,” her Grandpa always called her Rumples because of the way her face crinkled when she frowned, “they sure ain’t call it Thunderbolt for nuthin’. Five Nazis be trailing me, and then swoosh I dip ma nose right down toward the ocean there, doin’ 400 miles per hour before I suddenly pull up! And there they goes, flying into the sea them sons of bitches.” She couldn’t help but smile to herself at the memory of her grandpa’s manic hand gestures when he spoke about flying. It had been three years since his passing now. It still hurt because she had been closer to him than her own workaholic parents. He had been like the dad she never had.

The aircraft itself was a kind of cathedral in steel, its curved walls pressing inward, ribs repeating like the bones of a giant creature. The narrow aisle ran like a corridor through a fortress, designed not for comfort but for containment. Every row was a wall, every overhead bin a ceiling beam. It was impossible to forget that you were enclosed in a pressurized shell, hurtling above the earth. The engines droned like an organ beneath everything—steady, relentless, a vibration you didn’t just hear but felt through the soles of your shoes and the base of your spine. It was the soundtrack of confinement, a hum that filled silences between words, amplifying every glance, every hesitation. In its rhythm, her heart seemed to syncopate, as though the machine itself was dictating her pulse.

“Would you like to order anything mam?” Aurora was snapped out of her ruminations by a well proportioned middle aged caucasian flight attendant, waving a hand at her. “Oh, no thanks,” she replied brushing her dark brown hair behind her ear, “unless you have cuppaccino?” Aurora wasn’t really being serious about the cuppaccino, infact she had just been trying to break the ice and make conversation, having stolen a quick glance at the man’s ringless finger. The flight attendant responded with a warm lingering smile, “Unfortunately not mam, we just have boring old juice and water.”

“I suppose that’s what I get for flying economy.”

“Haha! Yes. But can I organise coffee for you if that will do?”

“And how pray tell will you achieve that?”

“Well, we have coffee at our kitchenette. It’s actually for the flight attendants, but I can make an exception for you.”

“Wow, I feel so special.”

“Our aim is to make all our clients feel special onboard this airline.”

“Well it’s working.”

Aurora watched the flight attendant walk away, stealing a glimpse of his callipygous rear end as he moved to serve the other seats. He wasn’t really drop dead gorgeous, and there was nothing that remarkable about him. He was just an average looking guy, but he had a certain charm from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice. He had first caught Aurora’s eye while he was doing the safety demonstration earlier on, as he had been standing a seat away from hers in the aisle, so she had had a front row seat to fully check him out. She had usually never been attentive for these dumb demonstrations. Her philosophy was that if you were going to die, you were going to die. But this time it was different. The space between them shrank to nothing in those narrow passages. Shoulders brushed, fabric whispered against fabric, and every incidental touch felt magnified by the tight geometry of the cabin. In any other setting, such contact would be forgettable. Here, pressed together by architecture, it lingered like static electricity. “Pull the safety belt like this till you hear a click,” watching him handle the safety belt stirred up her imagination, causing her to shift about in her seat. At one point, their eyes locked at the sound of the click, causing her to smile and quickly look away, brushing her hair behind her ear again – she was too old for these cat and mouse games. But she figured at this point, the flight attendant probably knew that he was the mouse, with the way she was making it so obvious.

She silently chastised herself as she turned to look outside the window again. It wasn’t wrong to admire something attractive, but perhaps she had spent a few seconds too long in the quick sands of admiration. She flipped her phone to a wallpaper screen of her partner of eight years, Duncan and their two juvenile boys to remind her of her allegiance and hopefully pull herself out of that quick sand. She missed them, perhaps the distance was getting to her. Duncan was her everything, it’s just that he was not there with her physically. Perhaps her career was not the most ideal as it saw her travelling from country to country from weeks to months on end – leaving her family. Being an ambassador for the United Nations was a god that demanded heavy sacrifices. She had explained to Duncan that even though working for the United Nations had been her passion, this is what the cost would be, but her partner had been more than supportive. Infact, he was more than willing to let her fly off to wherever she wanted as it gave him more time to spend on his hobbies, and hang out with the boys. He clearly wasn’t as emotionally needy as Aurora was. Something she was beginning to find out as her travels intensified after she was promoted to a higher position. She loved her career, she loved travelling, but she was torn between it and having her emotional needs met. In the ideal world, she would love if she could take her family with her on her travels, however due to the sensitive nature of some of her work, she couldn’t even disclose to Duncan where she was going oftentimes. “Tell me the truth Rora, are you an undercover CIA agent or what?” her partner would tease her. She loved the relationship she had with him, but she also loved the open skies. It was almost as though she was torn between two lovers, but it wasn’t an issue because one of whom was inanimate – at least that’s what she reasoned.

Rows repeated like verses of a chant, each identical, each holding its bodies in place. This repetition became a kind of architecture of desire—predictable, unyielding, yet within it, small ruptures of possibility emerged. A laugh that carried down the aisle, a shoulder brushing too long, a hand grazing past. The very monotony of the space amplified every deviation.

The sound of the squeaky trolley returning snapped her out of her ruminations. “Here we go,” replied the flight attendant. He had a kettle, sugar bowl, milk and a cup on top of the trolley. Aurora mused, “Thanks, but why bring the big trolley again just for lil ol’ me? Is it another way of trying to make me feel special?” The flight attendant gave a hearty chuckle as he poured hot water into her cup, “We have a policy here mam, if I just bring you a ready made cup of coffee from the kitchen, how are you to know that I didn’t add my own secret recipe in there?”

“Oh I see, you mean like spit in it?”

“Exactly, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“It’s a sick world out there. I’m not going to elaborate on the details of how perverted people can be.”

“But you look trustworthy enough.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Maybe I need to be deceived to learn my lesson.”

Both of them glanced at each other while doing that awkward half-chuckle that people usually did when they were thinking something, but didn’t want to say it because they’re not sure if the other person was thinking the same thing. Side-glances became their own kind of dialogue. A fraction too long, a look dropped and retrieved, the kind that said more than words could. The closeness of the cabin turned such glances into currents—charged, quick, impossible to ignore. Every look seemed framed by the ribbed windows and polished aisle, like stolen portraits within steel walls. Aurora, get a grip on yourself. But she couldn’t help herself. In her mind, when she was in the sky, the rules of the ground didn’t apply. She was free of their hold and she could allow herself to be herself and give in to the allure of the man in uniform. It was then that she also noticed that his name badge read, ‘Duncan.’ What were the odds of this man having her partner’s name. The universe surely had a sense of humour. Whether it was humour or a warning, depends on how Aurora chose to interpret it. “So how do you like your coffee?” He asked, “you look like you’d like it strong and black?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you look like a woman who is strong willed, and knows what they want. People who like white coffee are usually wishy washy. And I know because I’m one of those people.”

Aurora was flattered that Duncan had been able to conclude that about her, even from having known her such a short time. There was nothing more intimate for her than being seen. She was someone who covered herself up with so many facades, and layers to protect herself but at the end of the day, her desire was always for someone who who would be bold enough to peel them off of her – layer by layer.

“I appreciate that, but alas I like it white,” she replied playing with a strand of hair, she wanted to add, “white and caucasian,” but she held her tounge. What was happening to her? She quickly looked away, covering the side of her face that was heating up red with embarrassment, trying to reign in her flirtatious feminine energy. She was really trying not to make him uncomfortable with her vibe. Duncan smiled wittingly, “No problem mam.”

“Please call me Aurora.”

“Is your surname Borealis?”

“Like I haven’t heard that a billion times.”

“It’s a really beautiful name,” he replied with a small little smirk, one side of his lip raising just a bit, as he handed her that cup of coffee.

Suddenly the plane jolted unexpectantly, leaving a large coffee stain all over Aurora’s white silk dress. Her eyes widened in horror, looking at an apologetic Duncan. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry mam.” Aurora was fuming, and how could she not be angry, this was an expensive dress and getting that stain off would be a mission. “Argh! Why!!” She cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Duncan tried his best to appease her. The rest of the passengers were looking on in sympathy, with an underlying sense of relief that it wasn’t happening to them – as is always the case with onlookers. “Hey, let me bring you a towel or something,” Duncan tried to reassure her. Aurora snapped back, “I don’t need a towel, I just need to wash off this coffee stain before it settles!” Did this person know how much this dress was worth? “Okay, okay, please, let’s go to the staff quarters, there’s a basin there and a change room so you can do as you see fit. We’ve also got some fresh towels in there,” replied Duncan with a slight tremble in his voice. Aurora could tell that he was afraid of the repercussions of his mistake. And she realised that the incident had not been his fault, the plane just hit turbulence at the wrong time. She grabbed another dress from her purple suitcase in the overhead storage compartment and the back corridor funneled them into a room no bigger than a closet. The walls were so close Aurora could hear the faint thud of her heartbeat echoing inside her ears.

Duncan pointed out the changeroom to Aurora that had the basin in it. “You’ll let me know when you are done,” said Duncan as he walked away. “Hey Duncan,” Aurora held him by the wrist as he was walking away, “I’m sorry I got a little worked up, I know it’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you.” When she reached for his wrist, her arm brushed the fabric of his sleeve, the warmth of his skin pulsing beneath. The hum of the engines here was louder, rawer, as though the steel ribs of the plane were vibrating with their proximity.

“Oh no, it’s okay, I totally understand Aurora. I would have reacted the same if the roles were reversed. Well, of course I wouldn’t be caught dead in a white dress.”

Aurora gave an involuntary snort at the unexpected comment.

“I’m sorry Aurora. Is there some way I could perhaps make it up to you?”

Aurora could think of a hundred different ways he could make it up to her.

“It’s no problem.”

A hundred different postions.

“Alright then.”

In that cramped changeroom.

“So umm… do you want to let go of my arm now?”

And no one had to know.

“Huh?”

It was then that Aurora realised that she still had her hand clasped around his wrist. She quickly let go putting her hand to her mouth, “Oh right, sorry.” Duncan smiled awkwardly, brandishing his hands, “Oh no no no, it’s okay, totally. Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright then.”

“Alright let me leave you to it then.”

“Okay then.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“I think I will manage quite fine by myself, changing into another dress thank you very much.”

“Of course, of course.”

After Aurora had freshened up and put on a different dress, she was back in her seat, staring out the window again. She felt so alive, her adrenaline was rushing after that encounter. Questions now flooded her mind – who did she really want to be? Was being married with children really for her? And this wasn’t even about her being attracted to the damn flight attendant, it was what he represented that she was drawn to – the freedom of the skies. She was born to fly, and to enjoy all the thrills that came with it. Why should she get her wings clipped just because of what society expected of her? “Ms Aurora?” Duncan came past her again, “All good?”

“Yes I’m good thanks.”

She deserved to be happy.

“Again I’m sorry about everything.”

Why should she allow her wings to be clipped?

“It’s totally okay Duncan.”

But then again.

“Hey, I would still like to make it up to you.”

There were things that were more important than happiness.

“What did you have in mind?”

Like being a woman of your word,

“Well, you can give me your number and when I’m off duty I can meet up with you. We can do supper perhaps?”

And being loyal to the people you love, even at the expense of your own happiness.

“Sounds tempting Duncan, but unfortunately I can’t. I’m married.”

That is what made you a quality person. To be able to look at yourself in the mirror and love what you see.

“I can respect that.”

Aurora watched him and his beautiful rear end disappear into the front of the aircraft aisle. She thought to herself as she stared out the window, “Sometimes you just gotta sigh, and say bye.”