Entry 2 – The Lost Diary of V.V.

2:14pm

Somewhere over the Atlantic.

Ten Hours!

That’s what the man at the gate said. Ten hours to Amsterdam.

I’ve been on this plane for what feels like ten hours already. It’s been two.

The seat is fine. I’ve had worse. I’ve had better. The man next to me fell asleep before we even left the ground. I don’t know how people do that. I never sleep on planes. Too much time to think. Which is apparently what I’m doing.

They brought food. I used that word loosely. Some kind of chicken situation with rice and a roll that had no business calling itself a roll. I ate it anyway. You eat what’s in front of you. That’s a principal I live by.

The coffee is bad. Not bad like bad coffee. Bad like someone described coffee to someone who had never had coffee and this is what they came up with.

No smoking on the plane.

I’ve been informed of this policy.

Twice at the gate. Once during boarding. One by the man next to me before he fell asleep – which I didn’t ask for.

I tried the restroom.

Apparently that’s also covered under the policy.

TEN HOURS!

4:32pm

The man across the aisle ordered seconds.

Voluntarily. On a plane! Of airplane food! At altitude. Where nobody can help you.

More of what exactly? More mystery chicken? More pasta? More of the roll situation?

I have questions. Several questions.

I may never get answers.

He’s now on his third drink.

I respect the commitment.

6:47pm

I’m thinking about the Malibu. I don’t want to think about it, but I’m thinking about it anyway.

Vic said Amsterdam gets into you. Said people go there and don’t come back the same. I asked him what that meant. He just smiled. Vic and his smiling.

8:53pm

About four more hours.

I’m going to order a bourbon.

The flight attendant who’s been working this section all night has cherry red lipstick.

I love cherry red.

Some things you just appreciate from a distance.

Modesty Blaise isn’t going to read itself.

The man next to me opened one eye, looked at the cover, closed it again. Good.

– V