Brace Yourself

my submitted final draft! i added on my experience post flight that was just as scary if not more

Brace Yourself

You bop your head, fingers lightly tapping the handle to the beat of the drums and trumpets whispering in your ears. Your thumb picks up the low-tempo drums, your pointer adding in up-tempo keys, while your pinky and big toe follow with light cymbals. A smooth saxophone takes over, leading your flexed middle to ride along the handle in tuned rhythm. 

The airport lights above flicker on by, ghosts of people streaming on by both directions at unnatural speeds. Your feet walk to the beat of the chorus, suitcase humming behind in motion. As you reach the muted end of the belted path, your rhythm halts. You tighten your grip on the handle, bracing for the ground to shift. 

You can’t help but pop a grin when the chorus comes whining in, drowning out the sounds of families stressfully chatting around you. Oh, if only they could for a moment be on the planet you’re on! Be blessed with this youthful, independent bliss. Knowing you don’t need anyone but yourself and a good pair of headphones. You almost pity the dependents, those who you once were, while you and your riff move freely. The horns drowning in your ears make you feel untouchable–like rhythm itself is what keeps you standing.

“Have you seen the news?” Siri reads out a text through your headphones, turning down your music. Your heart hitches a little, but you take a deep breath in. Everything is okay. The world wants you to stop but you won’t. You’ve made it this far.

You keep walking down the cold tiles toward your gate.. No One Noticed by The Marias plays, the lyrics dancing in light familiarity as it loosens the grip on your handle. You have always had the cheesy knack to listen to songs with lyrics that match up with your life. “Fly to my city, excited to see your face-” hum in through the padding of your worn beats. The anticipation, the fear, the excitement—all the feelings that led you to here, whatever news he has for you, it can’t be that bad. God owes you a good time, and you’re going to hold Him to it. That unsaid promise ripples in anger as you look up for a split second mid step, making sure that thought was made known by whoever was listening. 

You finally make it to your gate, a cascade of nervous ease leading your leg to a jittery frenzy next to your bag. An announcement in an intercom makes it through your zoned out state, flashes of words coming in through your song. 

Maybe I, “Attention passengers on flight-” I’d kinda like it if you called me, “to Burbank. Due to increased high winds-” It’s not right, “rerouted to LAX after a two hour delay-” I’m so over being lonely, “tickets are still valid, if you have any questions-” Make you mine, “staff at the front with information on the-” I need a virtual connection.

“…it came out of nowhere. I heard it was a small fire that started in the mountains. Thankfully not where we’re going now, but Burbank is fucked.” A woman with a corgi neck pillow talks with a furrowed brow on the phone next to you. You move your headphones off your head, becoming aware of the slight panic bustling about. This is new. That pit of fear comes crawling back into your chest, so you take a big sip of cold water to make it cower back into your queue. 

“Are you still flying into Burbank?” a text jumps down from the top of your phone, the ding heard faintly from the headphones now sitting heavily on your neck. The screen with the flight info that just previously displayed “DENVER TO BURBANK” now flashed “DENVER TO LAX”. Dots are connecting as you clear your throat as you ask the woman next to you, now off the phone, what happened.

“Hon they delayed the flight. Two hours! Apparently there’s dis wind comin up through where we were supposed-ta be, and it’s takin a lil fire with-em! Crazy sonsabitches.” She shakes her head in southern disbelief, loudly opening up a nutrigrain bar that crumbles over her overfilled bag.

You ignore the mess, looking back up at her. You leg bounces beside you. “So we’re flying into LAX now—what’s the likelihood they cancel that?”

“High, dear. They almost cancelled this one. I’m surprised they’re even goin’ through wit it. If it weren’t fer me havin to be there for family, I would be relieved. I hate the city.”

“Crap, okay, thank you,” you say, fumbling to open your phone. You read the texts blowing up your phone. “Hey, did you get my message? Are you staying in Denver?” “I was about to leave for the airport but I don’t know if I should still go. They say it will be in LAX now, so if I leave now I’ll be able to make it.” “Read this.” 

“Oh shit,” you whisper. You click on the link they sent and it’s to the weather in Burbank. A hazard symbol followed by a warning of Dangerously High Winds is put in bold at the top. Your senses heighten as small chatter of hotels and last minute plans are talked around you. The blinking cursor straightens in the replying textbox as you confidently text and say to yourself that everything will be fine, and that there’s just a delay and flight change. 

“Two hours–okay. I’ll fill that time up somehow,” you think to yourself, looking around the side of the airport you’re on. You get up and wheel your bag over to the big windows, where you can make out the shadows of the Rocky Mountains in the dark. You knew they were gorgeous, having seen them on the flight there, but the night has taken them in for the moment. You sigh in boredom, then walk down the brightly lit hallway lined with shops of merchandise and essentials. After getting a coffee, and a pep in your step, you start observing the different ways of advertising the cold state. You roll your eyes at the amount of skiing logos following the state name. “Skiing is overrated,” you mutter, thinking back to the times you barely made it past the bunny hills. The thought of the snow stuck in the boots, clinging to your wet wool socks makes you shiver. 

“Anything I can help you with there, dear?” A lady’s voice asks sweetly behind you. You turn around, and find an older woman standing behind a decorated concession counter. 

“Oh no, I’m good. Just looking around.”

“First time in the Rockies?” I smile politely and nod, taking off my headphones and feeling the warmth of my ears wrap around my neck. “Well, then you should get a souvenir!”

“Oh, thanks, but I won’t be here that long.” I respond, looking at the decorated pins on a turning display. The cold, metal feel brings you back in a blink of nostalgia to the pins you once held at Disney with hands smaller than they are now.

“Connecting flight?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“To where, if I may ask?” You look back up at her, playing with the grooves of the Rocky’s with your thumb.

“LAX.”

“Ah, tryna get warmer aren’tcha!”

You chuckle and respond, “Yeah-”

“Goin’ to meet family?”

Your smile wavers. “Nope, going to see my boyfriend.” The word still feels weird in your mouth.

“Awe, well he must be a nice fellow. Maybe you can get something for him then!”

This woman is persistent, you’ll give her that. “I’m sorry, I can’t, I’m on a budget. I paid my way to be here, so I don't have much to spare.”

“Ah, I see I see…” her voice grows distant as you replace the absence of the pin with the familiar comfort of your headphones sliding back up to your ears.

“Thank you, have a nice day.” You say, walking out to get away from Ms. Capitalism. You open your bank account, seeing what you have left to spare. “Well, I don't have much to spare for you!” You mumble sarcastically under your breath, taking what's left in your Spending to the nearest Starbucks. Ain’t no way you’re spending your spare on paraphernalia of a state you never got to see outside of its airport.

A few moments of zoning out after ordering, and a voice calls and brings you out of the trance. “Anna?” A girl with pink and blue hair, bleached on both sides and braided, yells with her arm pushing out a drink with some lazy scribbles after an A. You know this drink is gonna be a good one when your index touches a warm, outerdripped caramel smear on the sleeve. 

You feel a patterned buzz in your side pocket and smile as you slide out your phone. Another tiktok, another worried text, another ticket confirmation. You click on Tiktok and scroll through the variety of content comedically relaying the cold front hitting the East Coast. You laugh to yourself as you scroll through the comments, reading, “This cold is personal”, “Someone tell the East Coast to take a lap”. You realize your content is still based back home, so you type in the search bar, “LA”. Videos of an oranger tint pop up after a couple seconds of the bored spinning circle. You scroll through a few celebrity edits, a “behind the scenes” look video, and a couple dance videos before finding your current location.

“Bro must think we’re back in Revelations” a commenter jokes under a video of a reporter standing their ground against shifting winds as a fire blazes behind them silently. “The Kardashians right now” another says, with the photo of the dog sitting in a house fire meme. “I didn’t know LA could get any oranger” said another. You swipe back up to the initial video, a reporter’s tone stating loudly, “This fire started as a bush fire on the 1st of this month, and was contained by the LAFD. On the 2nd, some firefighters expressed concern that not all of the fire was put out. But regardless, they were instructed to leave the site. This morning, we received calls from nearby residents that they detected a smell of smoke. Flames weren’t visible until about 10:15am this morning. Now, we are being told that the fire is spreading at about 3 football fields per minute!”

A text slides down. “I’ve been reading about the fires…are you still planning on going?” You roll your eyes, your chest tightening as you respond to your worried mom. You wish your guilty conscience didn’t force you to tell her about the trip. “Yes, I am. I trust the pilot’s intuition. I’m fine, don't worry. Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve always been good at navigating on my own and making my own decisions.”

“Yeah, I know, but–” You neglect to read the rest as another text comes rolling down.

“Anna, have you read the news? I’m worried for you.” From the mom of a friend you’ve been staying with over the holiday break. You copy and paste the same message you sent your mom. You stare at her profile picture after the message is sent, remembering back to her asking her husband to help me defrost my car. “It may take a few minutes before you can get out of here. I’m assuming you’re leaving early?” 

“Yes, I gave myself a 2 hour head start, just in case.”

“Smart, smart.” He nods, using the snow scraper on the back window of your car. “Taking United, I think I heard right?”

“Yeah–your wife said that was the most reliable option.”

“My wife!” He laughs at my formality. I laugh as well. “It’s going to be quite a different temperature over there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m excited to be somewhere warm for sure,” you respond, smiling as you use your glove to rake off the buildup of snow on your side mirror. “I’ll be in paradise while you guys freeze to death.”

Your friend’s dad laughs. “Well, make sure to send pictures!”

Moments later, you’re sitting in the driver's seat, feeling the wheels turn and slip beneath you. “C’mon, c’mon…” You feel glimpses of traction before you’re making your way out on the driveway.

“Good job!” You hear faint yelling behind your car. You wave back at him just before he turns and heads back inside. Your windshield wipers take a few moments before taking off the rest of the ice in your vision, snow coming down at a consistent, heavy pace.

“Hey, you good bro? I heard there’s a fire near the area you’ll be at.” A text comes chiming in moments after from your best friend, bringing you out of trance. You paste the paragraph from before again.

An alarm dings, covering all your other previous notifications. “Crap!” You say outloud, grabbing your bag as you start wheeling back to your gate, taking a seat amidst the bustling travellers who are mere moments before boarding.

You line up with everyone else, fumbling to get out their tickets. “Have a nice flight!” A woman nods with a smile to a man now walking onto the plane. She relays the same thing to the ticket holder behind him as they board as well. An elderly woman in front of you shakily hands over a poorly printed sheet of paper with her plane ticket. Ink smears jagged and shaky, from a printer probably older than you. You can’t help but smile sincerely, thinking back to when your grandma made you print out all of your plane tickets. “So if your phone dies, or they have a bug in the system! You gotta have your own back.” she would say. You’re sure this lady says the same thing.

Your ticket is confirmed, and you wheel on to find your seat, taking note of the bag holders above you. A grunt is forced out of you as you instinctively plant your feet and straighten your back as you get your bag a little ways away from your feet. Your old coach’s words at the front of your conscience whispering, “feet apart, back straight, don’t strain.”

“D’ya need help with that ma’am?” An older man beside you asks, watching you try to lift up your suitcase and fail.

“Yes sir, thank you.” You watch as he takes the bag, hearing the clunk of your life in that bag sliding to the back of the storage hold. 

A man three times your size sits on the outer seat of your aisle, who tries to flatten his back to the seat as you shimmer by him to the window. A dissociation state takes you over as you watch the comings and goings of those on the runway. Flights departing, flights entering. The ominous looming of the dark snowy mountains. 

The intercom crackles on as people start settling down into their seats. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are heading to LAX airport, not Burbank. This is your third and last reminder. When we are an hour out, we will begin to have expected turbulence. Please do not be alarmed, but be prepared. We will continue to warn and remind throughout the flight. Thank you.”

You sigh, moving your bags around and getting comfortable in your seat. A conversation of two women in front of you rolled over into your aisle: “--heard it was because the Burbank runway was too short. The winds will make it impossible to land. But LAX has much longer ones, so it’ll be manageable.”

A mother in the seat behind you talks to her daughter, “The fires are small and contained, they’ll be extinguished by the time we get there. It’s good we’re going to LAX now.”

Your back relaxes to the cushion behind you as the plane begins to take off. The larger man at the end of your aisle has already fallen asleep, snores pushing out rhythmically. You grimace at the sound as you look through free movies on the display in front of you to drown it out. We Live In Time sticks out, leading you to shrug and click as you put in your wired earbuds. “Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh-can’t go wrong there!” You think, cracking your locked jaw before propping up your feet. The pain tells you you grinded your teeth the night before from the stress of your first time flying out on your own. You knew you’d make it, and everything was fine, but the nerves were as stubborn as you are.

Before you know it, a slow rumble vibrates your feet, and the view outside starts moving. A sort of weightlessness shifts in the air along with a pressure from above. Your mind can’t help but go back to the moment a few comforting words got you through these moments.

“Look, it’s just like a rollercoaster!” Your grandma would say, putting her hands up cheerfully. Your ten year old self would cower in embarrassment in the large airplane seat, but kept the notion stuck in mind as the plane took off to Florida.

Many years later, you’re tall enough to go on a ride. A green coaster, one from your dad’s childhood. Two loops, the first ever. “Keep your head back, or it’ll stay swung forward!” You hear him yell in your conscience, your head thrown forward before you hear his advice. The force of the pull leaves the neck strained the rest of the day, an old nostalgic feeling.

“Look, we did it!” A young boy in the seat in front of you exclaims, bringing you out of memory. You look out the window and find he was right–we were now soaring above, white fluffs of wistful beauty trotting along the night sky. 

The movie continues to play, familiar faces expressing a cascade of emotions before you. In between pauses of swelling music you hear the snore of the man from the outer seat, his head laid back as if it were glued. You turn up the volume, but a disclaimer pauses the movie. 

“PLEASE ADVISE THE ANNOUNCEMENTS” words displayed on the screen. Goddamn it, it paused your movie. Right when it was getting good. 

“Laaaaadies and gentlemen, this is your first turbulence warning. We are entering state lines and will be expecting some winds thirty minutes from now. Please be advised. Thank you.” An overly enthusiastic announcer speaks through the required crackle of the intercom.

The movie continues. The view outside is nothing but black, leaving the screen to blind you in your peripheral, so you close the shade. You look over to the man beside you to see if he cared whether it was open or closed, but he was still snoring. Completely unaware.

“There is something your daddy and I want to talk about…” the words speak softly into your hard exterior. But it’s cracking. “Nononono” you think, trying not to cry. The movie advertised it to seem to be so sweet! You don’t need this crap. You lift up your hand to change the movie but then a jolt of invisible force hits you from above.

The warning flashes on the screen again, stopping the movie you no longer wanted to watch. “20 minutes till turbulence.”

The airplane begins to shake ever so slightly. You wait for it to stop, but it doesn’t. You start to imagine your hands on the pilot’s wheel, trying to hold it steady as the winds twist and shove. You shake off the thought, reminding yourself that you’re in safe hands, and continue the movie in spite.

Every few seconds, another shake. Your phone slides, your water bottle knocks against the seat leg. Five minutes pass before a pause. Then ten, fifteen seconds.

You take one long, annoyed breath before pressing play on the movie again. Florence Pugh just got bald, which means things were just getting interesting. You’re tied to the characters now–you fear there’s no going back. 1 minute ‘til turbulence. “It’s not that bad,” you think, arching yourself rigid to take on the expected impact.

The plane jerks. A couple bottles roll down the aisle. Window covers snap open. Gasps scatter.

You peek outside. Small dots of flickering flame string along a California mountainside. A child says, “Isn’t it pretty?” His mother doesn’t answer. Instead, cameras shutter loudly by the view. The plane tilts. Hard.

Your hand drops from your phone to the armrest. Knuckles grow pale. The view outside wobbles–a thousand little fires stitching together.

Your movie paused. “We are now entering expected turbulence. Please stay seated and buckled.” The intercom stops.

The plane drops. The child screams. You swallow bile and breathe through your nose as you clench your jaw. You look over in plea to the man on your aisle. He’s still asleep. You consider tapping his arm–no, you don’t. “You’re fine, you’re fine,” you reassure yourself. But you don’t believe it.

Another dip. Then another. Each one bigger than the last. The fire outside grows.

Flames weave into ribbons of orange across the black hills, like veins of an angry god pulsing beneath you.

“1mississippi2mississippi3…” The count steadies your hands, but the dips grow longer. The wind slams from every side.

You tilt. Your head hits the window, then the headrest, then the window again. Again. You keep counting. Every five minutes, a drop. Each drop is more dramatic than before. Three, then two, then one.

The descent begins. Rough. Relentless. The captain shouts through the intercom:

“EVERYONE BRACE YOURSELF. STAY BUCKLED. HOLD ON.” Lights flicker. An alarm wails. Gasps turn into cries. Cries turn into prayers. Prayers slip into guttural screams.

One person audibly throws up, then eight more mimic down the halls. The sound forces you to join in. You lift your feet–bile sliding under the seats as the plane lurches down, sideways, forward. Phones clatter. People stop filming. They start praying for the first time in years, looking up at the flashing lights, waiting for an oxygen mask, or God, you don’t know. Nothing answers, so you hold on.

You decide you can’t look outside. You already know: the world’s on fire. Your left earbud continues to whispering We Live In Time. There are no warnings to pause it now. You try to let it anchor you, but your body’s too busy shaking. Your fingers drum rhythmically on your arm rest to the beat of your unsteady heart, inner tune lost to drowning fear.

A child cries in front of you, “Are we going to land safely, Mom?” The silence after his question is worse than the scream that follows. Then the nose tips down.

You free fall. “1Mississippi 2 Mississippi 3 Mississippi 4 Missis– 5mis– 6–” Darkness takes up your peripheral. Your hands tingle as the blood rushes to your stomach. Screams rip through the cabin–a pure, raw sound. No crying or words, just terror.

Then–it stops. The silence sits heavily with us. Everyone gasps. Hollowed out screams follow. It sounds like everyone’s had the air knocked out of them–like someone told you to exhale and then, without inhaling, try to scream.

The plane sways. Not down, but sideways. 

A dramatic drag left,

–Then right.

The fires are closer now. Smoke begins to fog up the cabin. A bump. Then another, much harder. Your head slams into the window one last time, a bruise blooming. You think you’ve crashed. “Okay, you crash. It’s okay!” You think to yourself, imagining you throwing up your arms in humorous, shaky defeat. “If I make it out of this, I’m never taking my life for granted again.”

Lights still flash. The alarm still wails. The plane zigzags. You don’t know how close you are to the ground, or what waits beyond it. You brace again, for whatever comes next. Then–stillness.

You sit frozen for fifteen minutes, unmoving, in a dazed state.  The pilots and flight crew step out, faces pale and trembling. They ask if everyone’s okay, if anyone needs help. No one answers at first. A few people nod weakly. Someone faints. An old man wakes to a flight attendant’s arms and breaks into sobs. No serious injuries. Just shock. The kind that takes days to thaw. The plane rolls toward a loading dock. Engines hum low, tired.

Then the captain’s voice returns–rougher now, shaken. Words tumble through your ears like debris. “Right side hit first…crosswind shear…six-second drop…” He says sorry more than once. You catch maybe half of them. The rest floats above the aisle, ghosted by the hum of the engines. You sit there, staring ahead, realizing the bruise on your temple will tell more about the flight then he’ll chalk it up to be. 

You sit still. The cabin hums with post-shock chatter. People hug, laugh too loudly, cry quietly. The captain congratulates everyone for making it. He stands at the door like a priest after mass, ready to absolve. Applause rises. Scattered claps. Cheers. A few whoops. You clap too, slow and unsure, palms stinging, ears still ringing. The man beside you never looks over–you’re not convinced he was ever truly awake. The little boy in front squeezes his mom. “That was so scary! We’re so brave!” You try to smile, but your face doesn’t move. Behind you, a mother and teenage daughter wait to disembark. The mom’s eyes catch yours–ashen, swollen, haunted. Her hand twitches, halfway to reaching out–then she doesn’t. 

You still think about that to this day.

Your legs at some point bring you up, the same old man helping your bag down and placing the handle in your already stretched out hand. You try to say thank you, but you blink, and he’s already leaving the plane. You wince as you breathe through your nose, your jaw locked shut. The aisle smells like fire, metal, and bile. Puke crusts on the carpet edges. People in the terminal clap as you emerge–maybe for loved ones, maybe for all of you.  A nod from both captains. You can’t tell if you nodded back before the airport swallowed you in white light. Your heart won’t unspool. Your palms won’t dry. Your jaw is sore. Your left earbud–silent now. Somewhere between you and Florence crying the movie shut off.

You drift toward the exit in a dead, unfeeling moment that stretches on forever. You keep waiting for the beat to return. For the sax to cue you onward. But there’s only breath. Shaky, hollowed breaths. Maybe…Maybe you do need someone. You shake off the harrowing thought, but it still lands heavily on your heart. Your vision swims, blending together the colors of bustling strangers and white light. Then–a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey there, stranger.” You whirl around, jumping at the sound. “Hey-hey, are you okay?” You feel two large hands lay on your shoulders.

“Oh, hey babe,” You try to laugh, but it comes out more in a shaky wheeze. You see the concern on his face, and the cheap flowers he’s holding. “Could you keep holding those? I don’t have a free hand.”

“Sure thing.” He exclaims, walking to match your pace beside you. You don’t know when you started walking–your legs just started moving. Your ears whine possessively as the world shakes to your rattled vision, your arms and legs unable to shake off the goosebumps and tingling sensation you had since entering the airport. “--crazy like I haven’t seen that before. They were like holding onto each other and shit–”

“Sorry, what?”

“Wow you’re so out of it.” He laughs nervously. “I was saying I was watching those who were on the flight with you, and they were looking real rough. I’m surprised you don’t look worse to be honest.” A pause. “Not-not that you look bad!! You never look bad-I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” you laugh. You wonder if your smile is visible now.

“Good. But did you hear the part about the girl throwing up? And the guy that fell over?”

“Yeah, I did,” you lie. Your head is pounding. He gets the hint from the way you keep charging forward with your mouth clenched and your hands shaking. There’s silence for a moment as you go down the skinny side escalator, and relief washes a bit over you as you see the bathroom sign below.

“Hold this.” You give your suitcase over to Leo without stopping as you charge for a stall. You look back for a moment before the brick wall blocks your view while in motion and see him standing there with the flowers and suitcase, uneasy and fixated on you.

Your heart is hammering, your eyes are watering, and your mouth feels dry and pasty as you slam the stall door, not even caring to lock it. Everything is loud, even though it’s the most quiet it’s been for hours. There’s two toilets–no no, there’s just one. Your stomach gargles, rippling warmth going upward. Your legs shake and give as you hold on tightly to the porcelain seat as hard as you did with the armrest on the flight. “What, did you think you were going to die?” You whisper under your breath, trying to take your mind off the impending nausea. “You’re here now, you’re safe. You’re okay, you’re okay.” You blink and you’re walking out the stall, instinctively getting soap and washing your hands in front of a cracked mirror. Your face is pale, but the color is swimming back. Your eyes–wide, almost unable to relax. You look a little green, but you ignore it. You already tried throwing up, and it didn’t work. It’s just pestering you now.

You look over to the girl a few sinks down, who’s fixing her hair in the uncracked mirror in front of her. You wonder if you talked to yourself outloud. The thoughts were so clear, they could’ve been. You hope you didn’t, and she didn’t hear. “No, she would’ve said something.” You think, imagining her hearing you losing your mind in the stall a few doors down from her. You know if you heard that, you would’ve offered to give that girl a hug. This girl, however, seemed very interested in the volume of her hair.

The lights shift from dim to blinding as you walk back to your boyfriend, still stuck in the same state you last saw him. “You were there for almost 20 minutes–are you okay?” He asks, giving back my suitcase. 

“Oh–I thought it was just a minute. Sorry.” You give him a nod towards the airport doors as you both make your way out.

“Did you throw up?”

“A little.”

“Aw, man.” His footsteps follow behind you as you push open the doors. Your focus is on leaving and getting a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, you don’t get that relief.

“Oh my god.” You exclaim, taking in a big whiff of smoke on the curbside. You swallow and unlock your jaw, breathing in the ashy air through your mouth.

“Yeah–I don’t think you heard me back there, but I said it was bad out here. Was like this before you landed.”

“Wow,” you look around, taking in the city lights and palm trees. You note that they look different than the ones you’re familiar with in Florida–longer, skinnier, less leaves. As if the trees were afraid of the ground and trying to reach the sky.

“Well, welcome to LA!” Your boyfriend laughs, pointing towards the direction you should be walking to get to his car. Cars honk, suitcases thump in trunks, siblings argue curbside, and worried families run through the sliding doors. Another whiff of smoke. Your lungs start constricting, the painful nostalgic feel of your asthma getting irritated. “--bad for you, but I have masks–or I think I do–in the car.” Leo’s voice drones in as he makes his way beside you again.

You look over at him slightly, but keep walking. A hand grabs your hand lightly, stopping you in your tracks. A finger lifts up your chin to big brown worried eyes as he makes his way in for a kiss. You swerve, his face hitting your neck.

“I threw up!” You say, your jaw clenched to keep it all inside. “So don’t kiss me on the mouth…sorry.”

“I can kiss you everywhere else though.” He smiles, taking the flowers and holding them behind your back as he does. Cars honk and people whoop out their windows. You smile and laugh, the color you didn’t realize you lost coming back to your face.

A few minutes later, you step in the car, checking the glove compartment for a mask. After filing through random white folded papers, you sigh and give up. “Not there?” You here beside you, the driver’s seat door creaking closed. “We can get one at a gas station, no biggee.”

“I can’t believe I’m in LA,” you look out the window to the parking garage gap where the top of a palm tree is leaned halfway in, barely touching the front of a parked car. The wind makes it bend towards and away, proving that the shifts you felt outside weren’t just in your head. Seems like the world is just as disoriented as you are.

“Well, you haven’t even seen any of the good stuff yet, so you just wait!” The car turns on, and you back out of the spot. Each turn is jerky, the brights being flicked on and off whenever a car passes. 

“Could you drive smoother? Sorry–I’m still really nauseous.”

“Oh yeah, no worries. I know I drive like a city kid.” He laughs loudly, his voice Mexican and his smile Italian. You take a deep breath, but the air struggles to get past the tightness in your throat. It shakes and swallows the nerves with you.

City silence holds your broken state together enough to make it to the nearest gas station. “I’ll be right back,” you hear as the driver door opens to a comically overlit gas station. You get out before the stillness chokes you and take a deep breath of smoke and survival. You breathe in, chest heaving and foot tapping as you look along the skyline to see where the fire was coming from. You seemed to have lost your sense of direction since landing, which frustrates you enough to pull out your google maps. You realize after scrolling through the familiar unknown shape of California that you have no idea where you came from and where you’ll be going.

The door rings as Leo opens it from behind. He smiles, and you smile back in a faint waver.  “Where’s your mask?” You ask, rustling through the bag.

“Didn’t get one. Don’t need it.”

“You sure?” You still say, a little bit of anger rising inside you quietly.

“Yeah–I’ve got strong lungs. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” You give up. You’re too tired to argue for his safety, and bitterly hope he does get some mild discomfort from his blind arrogance.

The car roars as the acceleration rises before being led onto the interstate. Minutes pass of screaming silence as you zone out to the flickering orange of the wildfire on the mountain coming your way. “How ‘bout some music?” You hear him say, trying to redirect the tension of the world collapsing around us. “How about…some R&B?”

“Sure,” you smile without it reaching your eyes. Your leg falls atop the cupholder, awaiting his hand for when the mood is set. 

The road lines blend closer together as your boyfriend leans terribly comfortable into the gas pedal. You try to match his relaxed posture, bopping your head to the beat in hopes for the brain to relay the relaxed signal. Your hand shakes a bit while you do a sad version of the frat flick to the young Michael Jackson. Your leg bounces in between gravity shifts of violent wind changes. Every 4-5 leg bounces was a 180 shift–but it wasn’t as predictable as it was back up in the air. The rear view mirrors screech as the wind moves them ever so slightly, revealing periodically the lights of the army behind you. You make note of the momentary glimpses you get–a few cars on either side. A couple out front, a car’s headlights shining in the side mirror. But after a few cars stop passing. More lights are trailing off onto exits as the car continues moving forward. The acceleration gets higher. You assume your head is rattled, so everything feels faster than it is. You look over to him, and he looks back. He smiles, one hand on your leg and the other on the wheel. You catch a glimpse at the dash, where it flashes the speed rising. 81, 82, 83, 84…you watch the numbers go up. You swallow the little bit of puke that comes up, and look out the side mirror again. The headlights behind you are growing smaller and smaller. A few cars whizz by, looking as though they’re driving backwards when they’re driving the limit you should be going. You tug on your seatbelt, your chest easing slightly at the responding resistance. 90, 91, 92…

“Ooooohhhhhh yeahhhhhh,” you hear your boyfriend say lowly, trying to mimic the deep voice rumbling in the speakers vibrating against your leg. You laugh, getting mad at your nerves and trying to focus on enjoying the moment. It’s not everyday you get to be on the other side of the country with your long distance boyfriend.

“Look, there is nobody here!” Leo exclaims excitedly a few minutes later, nudging my shoulder. You didn’t realize you zoned out to the glovebox again. You look around, and he was right–the cars in front and behind were gone. No lights to be seen. The other side of the interstate, lines going the other direction, were packed full of cars flying by. All big vans, family cars, with shadows of boxes filled with presumably essentials tied down to the front and back of their vehicles.

You look over nervously to check the speed. You watch for a minute as a 95 teeters back and forth from a 94. Your eyes flick back up to him, who’s singing loudly to a Bruno Mars classic. Something about a door being open? You’re not sure. You wonder if your state is visible to him. You wish it was. You don’t want to have to ask him to slow down. You don’t know how he will react.

“Dad, slow down please!” You remember saying, your little self in the back seat with a cushion underneath you. The seatbelt is annoyingly slicing your neck as it struggles to wrap across you.

“Hey! Don’t be rude.” You remember your dad relaying, driving recklessly through stop signs and cutting jagged corners. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Can you just let mom drive for once, please? She’s a good driver!” Your brother whines beside you.

You watch from beside the seat your dad gripping the wheel, knuckles white, jaw muscle tickling as the car screeches slightly side to side. Your eyes widen as you watch his hands will the motion.

“Be careful!” Your brother says again, moving the seatbelt from his neck where a frictioned red line was forming.

“I am being careful–there was something on the road. Y’all need to stop stressing me out,” Your dad says, going steadfast on the freeway. You watch your mom look over at your dad, a hint of shock and anger in her eyes. You both know there was nothing in the road, but neither says anything. You know that if you ask, she’ll defend his lie, even though she knows it’s not true. 

“It’s to keep the peace”, you can hear her say, again. “Don’t you want that?” The tension doesn’t go away until you make it to your bedrooms, doors closed but never locked.

“Woahhh,” Leo voices, bringing his head down to look further up through the windshield. You rear your neck to look up with him.

A gasp rips at your tight chest, an uneasy feeling settling in further. Fire has encompassed most of the mountain in front of you. You can see the shadowed tops of the peaks, thanks to the slight tint change from the sky. The stars, however, were almost blended in with the black, as if they were shy of the Pacific.

“Is that what you saw up there?” His eyes stay on the mountain and off the road. The car drifts over the lines a bit.

“Yeah–it was much worse though. It was spread over multiple mountains.”

“Woahhh that’s so cool!” He says, looking over at you. His face changes when he sees yours. “I mean–scary!”

“The road?” You say, nodding towards the lines, the marks hitting steadily down the center. Except you didn’t say it–the words stop before you open your mouth. You imagine him yelling back, like your dad. Making it to be an argument instead of a request.

“Babe.” Your eyes fixate on the fires raging in front of you, the same zigzag pattern you saw up in the air now flattened and more spread out. It grows a little brighter, a little wider, every minute. “Are you sure we should do this? We’re literally going towards–”

“We’ll be fiiine, it hasn’t spread down off the mountain yet!” He says, using his spare hand to hold your clammy one. “The media is making a big deal out of it because the houses being burned down are the stuck-up celebrities. Of course the news is going to make it seem bigger than it is.”

“We’re literally going towards danger.” Your tone flattens in a way you rarely hear from yourself.

“Babe–chill! We’re gonna get off an exit early to avoid the area being hit. Our AirB&B is not in the direction it’s spreading–we’ll see it, probably smell it, but after a couple days it’ll all be gone. We’re gonna have a good trip–I’ll make sure of it.” He looks down at his phone as his car leans over the lines. “This’ll calm you down.” Leo states, propping his phone beside the directions display.  Candy Rain by Soul for Real comes on, a young boy in dramatic black and white lighting singing to the soulful beats. “MYY LOOVEE!!” Leo bops to the music, looking over at you at every mention of love. You laugh, trying to relax. “‘Cause of youuuuuu-ohhhhhh,”

You smile and shake your head in disbelief. “You’re cheesy.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures!” He responds, his full lips turned into a tight smile as he turns up the music until it’s bumping the seats to the base.

White specks hit the windshield. While forcing your head to bop, and lying to yourself that you know everything will be okay, you lean forward to make out what it was. Your instinct tells you it’s snow–but in California? “It looks like it’s snowing!” You say in awe.

“Yeah–makin’ you homesick?” Leo jokes, poking your shoulder. “Is this what it looked like for you this morning?”

“Yeah–except it was heavy flakes. The kind that sticks.”

“The kind that sticks?” He responds, confused.

“Yeah–the kind that makes you have to shovel out your driveway to get the car out.”

“Isn’t all snow the same?”

“Oh no,” you laugh. “It most definitely isn’t.”

“Um-okay!” He laughs back, putting his hands in the air in defeat. 

“The wheel!!” You yell, your body back to being upward and tense.

“Alright, this song clearly isn’t calming you. Let’s pick another.” He says, as if the song is what’s stressing you out. He uses a hand to type in something and a picture of Michael Jackson takes up half the google maps screen.

“I haven’t heard this one.”

“Yeah? Oh man, this is his best hit!” He starts swerving the car to the beat. “Doo-ya! Doo-ya! Doo-ya! Grrr-ra-ra! Grrr-ra-ra!” He rolls his r’s, his spanish accent slipping out.

“Turn right on exit–” “CHEWY, JUMP US INTO HYPERSPEED!!” Your ignorant boyfriend yells, unaware he interrupted the gps as the ashe getting more violent with the wind.

“Babe this exit!” You yell over the base. He nods in motion and without caution screeches over more than five lanes to make the sharp right. A hand flicks the windshield in tune with the bop of his head as the wipers get more frantic with the falling ash. “Sorry, I’ll turn this down. I’m just so excited to see you!” He exclaims, Michael fading slightly with the wind as the car slows down.

Your phone starts buzzing in the cupholder, a haunting amber alert screeching from it. You grab it, checking the notification. EVACUATION ORDER–wildfire in your area code detected. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. Seek a safe route away from flames.

“I thought you said the fire wasn’t where we’re staying,” you say, your phone shaking with your hand.

“Well, it may have spread a little in town–but there’s no way I could’ve predicted that. It still isn’t going to be where we’re at though–we might just see a little on the way. It’ll be fine.”

Half an hour goes by and not a single person or car is seen out and about. Going down a few streets, you watch the palm trees bend towards and away from the road. A few minutes in, you hear limbs cracking to the bend. You watch a few full branches fall on driveways and rooftops. Leo turns down the music as he sets up the wipers to match the heightened ashe. Through the pacific blizzard, you still make out the devastation that awaits every corner. Trees were no longer bending, but fallen. One street, a full palm has fallen into a doorway, revealing the flickering lights of an abandoned hallway inside. The next, one fell through a whole roof. Ashe piles on an inch or two as if it were sticking snow. 

The music is now completely off. The speed is down below 10mph, and the silence is deafening. You look over to Leo, but he’s no longer as bright as he was earlier. Even with his dark complexion, you see a faint paleness peaking through his cheeks. You dare yourself to look ahead again.

No one was on the road. Y’all roll around to a commercial road, but the power is down. Gas stations, shops, and restaurants all dimmed to an abandoned darkness with chairs, street signs, and electrical poles bending dramatically in every direction. The car continues to roll forward. The fire on the mountain has now engulfed the entirety of what you can still see of the shape against the night sky. The hues of deep orange and yellow flicker in taunting beauty, lighting up the streets just enough to see the road past the ashes.

You turn a corner. An electrical pole has fallen over by a vape shop, leaning down the lines with flying sparks, small fires starting on beaten up cars beneath. The smell of burning rubber sprinkles in through the vents, along with the rest of the world.

Minutes pass and the car’s straight line grows jagged as random items litter the streets. A dining table, a parade of half used liquor bottles, a shattered doorframe, and ceiling tiles rumble under the car. A low tire pressure alert pops up in your peripheral at the same time as another evacuation notice screeches from both phones. “Ignore it–we’ll be fine.” You hear him say beside you–the first words he’s spoken since taking the exit. 

The car turns with the GPS onto a straight-shot neighborhood. With the wipers on max, ash coating the ac vents like an addict’s powdered nose, you watch disbelieving horrors unfold around you. 

A dog–a small beagle, like your own, runs out into the street. Its legs are dragging, crushed and unusable. It screams, the sort of scream that’s beyond bark, but bloodcurling. A terrified, abandoned, dying howl. You stop blinking. A cat down the road does the same. It screeches in a higher pitch, looking around for presumably its owners, who have clearly left them to the fire. Garages are left open with personal items spilled out onto sloped driveways, blankets and cups rolled over by a car and smashed into the pavement by a frantic departure. A lone toilet paper roll lays abandoned in a front yard, a cat playing with it while meowing stressfully. Front doors lay open, keys still in the lock. A car or two is spotted parked on the side of the road. Y’all get closer and realize you were mistaken. The front of a honda civic lies crushed in by a palm tree–half the car shattered across someone’s lawn. Another car some ways down stays parked on the side, hazards flashing as if recently abandoned. Not a single person in sight.

The wind shifts. The car slows to a crawl. The ashe switches directions with it, your boyfriend’s hands both on the defiant wheel. You sit up, reminding yourself that the car is new enough to have an airbag that works. Sparks fly from the right–another power line fallen, flames licking the bottoms of leaves, leaving embers onto the sidewalk. The path clears and the mountain is fully ablaze. For a moment, you think the sun is rising. You instinctively check the time–3am. You find yourself missing the sun.

“Babe–look.” His voice is grave. Your eyes draw from the mountain and back onto the road. A car lays smashed from the front end by a palm. A dark wet puddle lays still under a back wheel on the street. A sob breaks out of your clenched jaw as you see a furry foot coming out from beneath it. Leo’s breath shakes.

A large palm tree surpassing a grown-over medium lays across the road comes into view, its trunk completely unrooted from the ground and taking up half the road. The car stops. “I guess we’ll go over it,” Leo says after a minute. You try to speak, but no words come out. Instead, your hand reaches for the handle above.

The car roars and creaks, trying to make its way over the thick trunk. A back wheel slides, but then takes hold. It sure was bigger than any speed bump you’ve ever felt. More trees lie ahead, but none nearly as big as the previous. The rolls around, over and beneath fallen trees. Another unseen cat screaming from within an empty house. About every other fallen tree had a car smashed beneath it. At the end of the road, a car lays sideways, its side door laying into the concrete. “It’s like spin the bottle,” you joke. Neither of you laugh.

“We’re almost there.” The words fade in beside you before being drowned out by the wind. Your eyes follow various skid marks leading into the littered road, trying to distract from the blazing hell above. The car goes over, under, around, a few more trees, and other various household items before turning down a street that opens up to the sky. Your world stops moving, and you’re on the sidewalk. You watch your boyfriend try and fail to put in the code to the gate of the AirB&B a few times before looking out to the full view of the mountain you haven’t seen since the interstate. Sparks of fire flicker and spread quickly across surrounding mountains,  but the main directly ahead stays vibrant. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, pretending the smoke isn’t there. Your lungs protest, and your eyes sting. Ash falls on your eyelids, and for once you're thankful for your thick lashes.

His hand leads yours through a back alley, the gate closing behind and an exposed wire taunting the walkway. You both find your way to the door, Leo fumbling with another key code. Your phones screech again with another evacuation notice, a new area code listed from the last.

Both heads hit the bed–lungs burning, ears cracking, throat tense. The bed smells of cheap detergent and dust, and you smile at the irony of today. Leo laughs, his belly shaking the bed. You relay a laugh back. Soon you both are laughing loudly, hitting playfully on the shoulder before falling back into the covers, eyes tearing up the remaining ash and disposing it onto each other’s wavering cheeks. You nab a few kisses, tasting smoke and sweat, before rolling over atop the sheets, his arms laying atop you. The heartbeat slows for you to hear your breath, as distant as the car alarms down the street. The guesthouse groans to the wind, an eerie silence settling between distant sirens and roaring winds. The warmth of your back against his chest reminds you that you’re alive, allowing you to unclench your jaw as your head leans back into his. A deep sleep starts taking up the edges of your vision as a familiar lyric hums you softly to sleep in your mind.

“Hold me, console me, and then I’ll leave without a trace.”