Takeoff

The airline people at the terminal announce that our flight has been delayed an hour beyond the scheduled departure time of 6:00PM. The reason: a backup of landings at our destination, brought on by a low ceiling (no elaboration forthcoming about this). In the waiting area, the passengers groan and roll their eyes. Some get up and head for the restrooms, for a snack, to get some reading material, or just to take a walk to dissipate their frustrations.

A half-hour passes, and there is another announcement. We brace ourselves for the worst, but no, there is a calling out of names of wait-listed passengers, who are asked to come to the front counter. It will be a full load on this plane.

We finally board at around 7 o'clock, in an orderly fashion according to the large printed number in the middle of the boarding pass. The airline's advertisement proudly mentions increased legroom on its flights. But for the extra few inches of space, the passenger would have had to pay a premium. Mercifully, today's flight is going to be a short one. We can bear the discomfort and save a few dollars.

The flight attendants go through their safety routine, and then the captain's voice comes over the address system — the air traffic controller has just informed him that the aircraft's departure will be delayed for another twenty minutes. The captain apologizes, though the delay is not of his making. He wants us to know that. He shuts down the engines.

The minutes tick by, and then the captain sounds happy to announce that we have been cleared for takeoff. Outside the little porthole, it is already dark. We taxi toward the end of the runway. There we wait for another flight to depart or arrive (we can't tell which is which), and then our plane moves forward slowly, as the three red lights on the grass verge to our left go out. We move past banks of blue lights. Now the plane makes a ninety-degree turn on the tarmac. Out the window we see the avenue of lights marking the length of the long black runway all the way until they converge like an inverted V thrusting into the night.

There is a loud braking noise as the plane shudders to a standstill, but only for a moment. Now the great engines are revved up to full takeoff power. The plane gathers speed, bumping a little over the slight unevenness of the runway.

You feel this urge, like a sudden desperate hunger, for this great shuddering machine to leave the ground, to rise, to lift off, as the darkened landscape slides by outside your window. When will we be airborne, you wonder? How many more feet of runway does it need to get off the ground? What hazards might there be ahead, unseen but imaginable, that could prevent this giant metal bird with its heavy burden of people, fuel, and luggage from overcoming the gravitational pull of the earth?

Then comes another thump, but with it there is an accompanying, and gratifying, sense of release, and you realize that the thump is nothing other than the sudden easing of the plane's massive weight from the hitherto heavily stressed and slender cushioning struts of the undercarriage. We are, finally, airborne.

Some moments later, a whining noise can be heard, as the plane heads upwards in a steep climb. The whine is followed by two more thumps as the undercarriage, with their multiple rubber tires, retracts into the bays beneath the fuselage.

The plane streaks ever upwards, at such an angle and at such a speed that you can feel your eardrums tightening, and then, reaching cruising altitude, a height greater than that of the earth's highest peak, it levels off, and the captain's voice comes over the intercom once again, announcing that though he has switched off the seat-belt sign, and passengers are now free to move about the cabin, they are asked to fasten the belts again whenever they are seated, as a precaution against unexpected air turbulence.

On this flight, no food, no movies, no earphones for music. Just a soft drink in a plastic tumbler, drunk quickly so that the flight attendants can collect the empties in time for the preparations for landing. No nuts (which are now verboten because a small handful of people out of the millions of air travelers may be allergic to them), and no pretzels, either. In short, there are no frills on this flight.

For reading material, if you have not brought any with you, there is always the seat-pocket safety instructions ("in the event of a landing on water, the seat cushion may be used as a flotation device").