Word: windowe
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...take a hurried glance out the window to check the weather. Just a few stratus clouds. That's O.K. The sound of jet engines drowns me as my virtual airplane heads down the runway. My legs are stiff, and I arch my back in anticipation. No g-force in this simulation. A small break for me. We level off. Sky is still good. I begin to relax. Look around...
...humongous noise sparks my body upward. Another glance out the window. Not good. We're in the middle of a thunderstorm. The seats ahead of me are shaking. I can feel the thunder in my bones. I know this isn't real, but I can't seem to control my fear. Through the din, I hear Dr. Hsia ask me how I'm feeling on an anxiety scale of 1 to 10: total relaxation to panic. I'm pushing 9. The storm thunders on. I am hating this...
...Another calm. I think it's over. Wrong. A third storm. Still nothing from the pilot. Seams are holding. I lean in to the window as far as I can. Nothing but black, punctuated by flashes and that dreadful crash of thunder. I'm wearing out my necklace. I want out of this. I close my eyes. Maybe that'll help me cope. Eyes pop back open. Need to see what's going on! Have to get through this. The pilot apparently is. Plane isn't breaking apart...
...look out the window again. Blue sky, buildings rising to meet us. We're coming down. I collapse against my seat. It's over...
...quite. Ten minutes later, I'm back in the air. Another storm. This one lasts the whole flight. I run through my bleak assumptions. This time, I answer them for myself. Pilot. Lousy communicator. Plane. Holding together. Made for this. Look out the window. The pulsing clouds remind me of Van Gogh. My hands stay on my lap. I play with my rings. I'll be coming down soon enough. I register between a 3 and a 4. I can do this...