1. Missing Grip

I couldn’t sleep on the plane flying in. Brain hadn’t taken a rest for some days. I couldn’t recall if I’d ever slept on a plane in all the time I’d spent on planes. No, I hadn’t, I recalled all of a sudden. I’d nearly dozed off on a flight to Paris once, but was distracted from the doze by Emer gripping on my arm. It was a good feeling having that grip on me. I missed that grip now. Sleep was a thing I found difficult to do in the air. I was jealous of the ones I could see and hear in their snoozing. There was a man sitting across the aisle from me who I believed in an instant was following me in the commotion of my disquiet about the whole journey. Maybe it was just paranoia brought on by the lack of sleep, but I was sure for a moment or so that he was following me. I’d spotted him in Heathrow, sitting at the bar with his newspaper. And now he was on the same flight, sitting right across from me, snoring his head off. I could have done with a kip myself. I’d been on the bloody plane for a good eight hours at least, and had been on my feet for a good sixteen before that. But nothing was helping. I’d tried to watch a film earlier, but it was all shite on offer, so that was no use. I’d not a book to read either, and the magazines, mostly travel brochures, I’d worn out in the first fifteen minutes, they were so fucking tedious.
It came over the speakers then that we would soon be landing in Beijing. I wriggled with the excitement of finally getting off the plane, but then sat pondering what the fuck I’d gotten myself into. Beijing. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t even sure if Emer was there anymore, let alone knowing exactly how I would cope to begin with just finding myself in China of all bloody places. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the commotion of my disquiet as we fell slowly towards land amidst the snorts of folks abruptly waking up.