I had never imagined that a moving object of that size could move, let alone fly.
The plane was going from Newark, NJ to Heathrow, non-stop; it took me a while to get it that there was no place we could stop, since a plane of that size did not have pontoons. And even if it did, what purpose would there be to landing–would we hope to view life of the open sea?
So we sat, four on the left window side, four on the right, and at least a zillion of us in the middle seats. It taught me that I disliked anything but the isle seat.
Weeks went by.
Actually it was hours.
And we were there; a bunch of beach kids on the other side of the pond.
We picked up fake British accents and bought real British music to take back at the end of the month. Thank God the concept of weight limits on luggage was still many years off; my bag weighed more than I did. No small feat, that.
We did the
year-longhours-long flight in reverse, again trapped inside the giant bumble; a thing that should not fly but did for lack of knowledge to the contrary.
Our fake accents left slowly.
Our love of England did not.
Home was different when we got back.
At least it was for me.
The pixies at the Daily Post are trying to make me misty this morning with their probing. I wonder if they are in fact aliens…
Tell us about the farthest you’ve ever traveled from home.