As we raced down the runway for takeoff, the sun was coming in the window to the right. I was about to ask the woman next to me to close the shade when she thrashed my book out of my lap and clung to my right hand saying, "I don’t want to die. Please help me." Needless to say, I thought she knew something I didn’t, like she’d planted a bomb in her suitcase or had seen a furtive passenger. I felt the thrill shiver of terror a we rose like a giant butterfly shedding its chrysalis, the earth. By now tears were running down her face. I suggested she shut the window shade (she’s still holding my hand tightly) but she said, never. It was necessary for her to watch out for other planes. Delightful trip! Thank God it was only three hours to London on Concorde. As she continued to yank my arm, I looked about for other seats. There were one or two but I was rather scared of leaving and upsetting her more. Who knew what she’d do. She did. She excused herself and headed to the bathroom, I thought. Relieved to be rid of her, I nestled into my book. But after half an hour when she still wasn’t back, I called the stewardess over and mentioned she might be sick. The stewardess smiled knowingly and said she was up in the cockpit, as usual. As usual? It seems she was well known on the NY-London trip. The pilots had a photo of her in their locker room and knew how to soothe her. She needed to know weather systems. Turbulence was the bane of her existence, and once she insisted on doing the food service to keep busy on a bumpy flight. Needless to say, she wasn’t very adept with the shaking hands and teary eyes but they humored her. They seemed to almost like her. I looked at her carefully as she returned smiling. She was quite lovely with no tears - her makeup repaired (before or after the cockpit, I wondered), and in her hand was a photo of her on the pilot’s lap. She could hold onto that, not me, if she took another turn-of-terror. But now she was smiling and charming, sipping (or rather gulping) wine - a trued Jekyll and Hyde. I went back to my book. She held my hand during dinner as we bounced about a bit. I ate left-handed -- good for my diet -- and she held it again as we landed. On the ground she said good-bye and whisked away as though I’d never seen her terror.

Five years later, watching TV one night, I saw her again. I recognized her instantly. How indelibly she’d impressed herself on me. Obviously the charisma, recognition factor was admired by others. She’d just been sworn in as head of an air safety panel. As she’d said to me about our plane, "100,000 moving parts and all built by the lowest bidder." I was glad to have her watching over us all.

By Tina