Listen to the author reading this story:
RIGHT NOW, two things are true: Esther is on a plane, and her grandmother doesn’t have cancer. She’s flying from Ireland, where she lives, back home to Denmark. Sitting in her middle seat between two strangers.
The cancer and the plane used to be connected. That is, she was meant to be on the plane because of her grandmother’s cancer, but now she isn’t sure what she’s doing. It was meant to be her cancer plane. Esther hated flying, always had. When she was younger, she’d pretend to be asleep the whole way. She had this idea that if an emergency were to happen, she wouldn’t really experience it. Sure, she would feel the shakes of the plane shuddering, would hear people going from casual conversations to screams, the open fright painted clearly on their faces. But the whole scene would play out like a dream. Just like riding a roller coaster, she would feel the vibrations underneath her, her stomach dropping as the heavy machine did loops in the air. The motions would feel exhilarating.
In the aftermath, she imagined herself waking up confused. The broken plane parts would be scattered all over the ground, moans and groans sounding like a chorus, and people’s flesh and guts would be entangled in an array of red and brown streaks. In her dream she was still sitting upright in her seat, as a short man with kind eyes, maybe wearing a uniform, was leaning towards her, saying how lucky she was to be alive. She imagined his name to be Miguel or Pedro, something nice, but his accent would frighten her, it told her they hadn’t made it to their original destination.
Even if she didn’t survive, she’d figured, how bad can death really be, as long as it doesn’t hurt? Esther knows she was a weird child.
Now that they’re in the air, everyone is safe for a while. Most accidents happen right after takeoff, or just before landing, Esther thinks. In a self-soothing gesture, she twirls her ring, moving it from finger to finger. She’s trying not to think about her girlfriend, who she’s left behind, or her dad, who will meet her when she lands. Earlier, when she’d just arrived at the gate, he’d called her, crying.
Her scans came back negative, he’d said.
What does that even mean? Esther wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
She doesn’t have cancer, Esther. We aren’t losing her!
His relief, the fear of losing his mother it revealed, had made her uncomfortable. They’d never been close like that. Growing up, she had always aimed to dissociate from places and people around her. A sense of secure detachment that allowed her to go through life unscathed. She’d spent years perfectly honing her ability to distance herself from the emotional vulnerability people demanded from her. Life had always seemed easier that way.
Even with all her practice, she hadn’t been able to save herself from now being pulled apart in opposite directions. Her girlfriend needs her, her family needs her, she wished she didn’t need either of them. It’s painful for Esther to have her loyalty and attention split between these two places, and it hurts her to feel so hopelessly inadequate in relation to both.
See right now, in a perfect world, she would’ve liked to spend her time in the air preoccupied with thoughts of her grandmother’s impending death. It would feel good, to lean back in her seat, eyes closed, and try and process how to deal with the grief her grandmother’s passing would bring. She could so clearly picture the person she would become, the perfect mould of a person her family desperately needs. Trying to control her face, fighting off a smile, Esther imagined herself helping her grandmother to bed. She would feel so fragile, Esther could’ve swooped her up and carried her, but that wouldn’t come across half as caring as holding her tiny hand, whispering sweet encouragements as she guided her to her sickly bed. She imagined her dad standing, watching, pride etched on his face. She would smile at him kindly, as if she had barely been aware he was there, too focused on her poor grandmother. She already knew just the smile, had even spent some time practicing it.
Esther had been imagining her family reunion a lot recently. Her girlfriend would tell her about her day and she’d picture various family members falling upon her neck, weeping. Begging her to never leave their side, things had been horrible without her, they would say. It would no longer matter how she’d escaped to Ireland, or barely kept in touch last year.
If only the phone call hadn’t happened. The stupid scans and its positive news, have ruined her ploy, and Esther is trying desperately not to feel resentful. Instead, all she has left to think about is the plane exploding midair. She tries to fight the urge to sneak glances at her neighbours. Both large men, how would they look after an explosion? She wondered if their guts would feel warm on her skin, imagined their bones protruding in odd angles like a sculpture, and finds that she doesn’t think she’d feel scared at the sight. It might even be a little beautiful, how her grandmother’s survival would become all of their doom.
In reality, the mechanics of the plane probably made it impossible for any type of accident to happen in a way Esther could predict. Many years ago, when she had been on her first flight to America, her mother asleep next to her, a magazine sprawled on her lap as a duvet, twitching and mumbling, Esther had awoken completely unable to breathe. She’d been certain she was going to die.
The air had gone from the cabin, she was sure of it. She looked up expectantly, waiting for the oxygen masks to drop. People are selfish, and cruel, in pursuit of their own survival, if the masks didn’t drop this second she knew anarchy would follow. There was a man sitting a few rows ahead of her, his daughter asleep, with her head resting on his shoulder. She’d seen the look in his eyes, as he walked past her seat. He’d definitely kill her for her oxygen. No one would question it, he could say she didn’t know how to put on her mask, call her stupid, even though her corpse would still be there to hear it. The flight attendants would believe him, why shouldn’t they. One dead out of 300 hundred aren’t bad odds. For a split second, she’d considered not waking her mum, although she wasn’t sure if it was to let her die peacefully or if Esther wanted her mask as a safety option.
Mum! Mum, please wake up, something’s happened. I can’t breathe.
There had been no reaction. Her mum had simply wafted her away, she was wearing so many rings this could’ve nearly been dangerous in itself, and continued sleeping, her chest moving with each breath. Hypnotised, she stared at the movement, before looking down at her own chest. She could breathe just fine, everything was fine. Humiliated by own predictability and hurt by her mother’s rejection, she had closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until the pilot announced they were landing. Esther doesn’t see her mother anymore, for unrelated reasons.
The thing is, to Esther it feels unnatural, being up in the sky like this. And being gay and all, she doesn’t use that word lightly: unnatural. She’s all about being progressive and accepting of society’s various constructs and developments, but for some reason man’s ability to build a machine that can fly between countries, is the one concept she cannot get behind. She’s read Lord of the Flies, she knows people aren’t to be trusted.
They’re about half-way through the flight, when the turbulence begins. The man to her left doesn’t even seem to notice it, too busy ogling the gay flight attendant passing them. Back when Esther and her girlfriend were doing long distance, they would both fly all the time. Because flying meant getting to see the person she loved, Esther almost ended up liking it. She could sit through a flight, terrified of the turbulence, but once she saw Aisling come running towards her, Esther could feel her worries disappear. She’d always greet her with flowers, no matter how many times Esther said it was unnecessary, her grin betraying how pleased she was to receive them. They’d kiss then, not caring who saw, and she’d feel right at home.
In Denmark she had rarely been happy. Depressed really. No one had been there for her, but she doesn’t know if she can blame them for it. She’d refused to leave her room, refused to let people in. She was frightened people would take one look at her and realise what she was: broken. For a long time, Ireland had been the perfect refuge; instead of hiding in her room, she could be outside in a foreign city and still feel safely hidden away from the judgemental eyes of the world.
That was all tainted now, though. Her love and her city, it all felt wrong. The cancer had ruined everything. Forced her to realise how fragile her little existence had been, how she could never escape anything or anyone. It made her feel naive to have thought she could leave her past self behind and be happy. A person is not meant to hear about cancer, or non-cancer, of a loved one over the phone. Virtual hugs and kisses are not a real thing. Not to go all Ted Kaczynski on the world, but had she lived 50 years ago she could have sent her family a few handwritten letters and be done with it. Surely they would have appreciated her effort to let them know she hadn’t forgotten about them. Maintaining relationships already feels so difficult when it’s in person.
The turbulence kept getting worse and worse, Esther’s fingers were tightly wrapped around the armrests, is she about to die? It might make things easier, but she is too awake to welcome it.
Last night, when her girlfriend had offered to drive her to the airport, she’d almost said no. Things had been tense since Esther booked her ticket, casually letting Aisling know it was one way. No point in spending money, when her family might need her for a long time. It would only give her girlfriend false expectations. Aisling had tried to be understanding, but it was clear she took this as a betrayal of their relationship. Esther was certain Aisling secretly wanted her not to go.
I don’t mean to be unfair, but when were they ever there for you when you were sick? She’d said accusingly, as if Esther’s family’s behaviour had been her fault.
This can’t all be on you, Esther.
While Aisling was speaking she‘d tried to touch her hand to Esther’s cheek, but Esther had instinctively stepped away, feeling defensive.
That’s fucked up Aisling, they’re my actual family, Esther hadn’t realised she was raising her voice until she saw her girlfriend flinch.
You should have heard my dad, when I said I would come home, she continued softly.
He really needs me to help him solve this mess. He even said sorry for how he’d been when I was sick.
The last part was a lie, but it was clear to Esther, Aisling thought she’d been Esther’s great saviour, and figured some acknowledgement of his lack of action would make Aisling feel vindicated in her self-righteousness.
Even now, desperately trying to distract herself from the turbulence, she can’t bring herself to think about the fight they’d had after. It hurt too much. Esther had tried to explain further why she needed to go home, but Aisling just didn’t get it. Had even accused her of using her grandmother’s death as an opportunity for reconciliation. She’d called her morbidly opportunistic, and naive too, since her relationship with them was beyond repair.
Her observation was cruel. It felt like getting slapped.
Esther had tried to be forgiving of Aisling’s ignorance, but she’d felt herself withdrawing. The whole way to the airport, Aisling had been staring straight ahead, eyes on the road, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill. Neither of them said a word. Wanting to fill the silence, mostly to make sure Aisling didn’t start talking about her feelings, Esther had leant forward and turned on the radio. She’d tried to make herself feel sad because Aisling was, because they knew things would change, but found that she only felt tired. Once they arrived at the airport, Esther had said thanks for the lift, hesitantly she’d reached over to kiss the other woman goodbye. She’d moved slowly, giving Aisling every chance to pull away. Then Esther exited the car and walked away without looking back, thrilled to be alone again. It was honestly exhausting to constantly be guilttripped like that, she really never thought Aisling would be so unkind.
This is your captain speaking, we’re slowly getting ready to start our descent towards Copenhagen, and will land in approximately 20 minutes. Tak for at flyve med os i dag!
Esther can feel her chest tighten. Accidents happen shortly after takeoff, or right before landing, she thinks again. In Dublin, her girlfriend was driving home alone to their apartment. Her dad was already sitting in the airport, waiting for her arrival. The gay flight attendant whispers something in his manager’s ear. Her grandmother didn’t have cancer. In their designated tower, the air traffic controller stood up to take his break. Somewhere her mother was sitting down to dinner with her new husband. Did she even think about her daughter anymore? Esther hoped not. With a sigh, she sat up straight, tightening her seatbelt, prepared for landing.
Freya Thygesen is a Danish writer, currently based in Copenhagen, where she is finshing her Bachelor’s degree in English from University of Copenhagen. CANCER PLANE is her first published work. She is inspired by the cerebral writings of authors such as Eliza Clarke and Sally Rooney.