Narrative First Draft
Purified Air
Her eyes found him, and immediately she felt her belly grow. “Mama,” she heard him say, lips full with cheeks that didn’t look like hers. After all, he wasn’t hers. Baby, a child she had no relation to, had sat down across from her, shoes off ready for flight. His father held his hand as his mother gently removed his socks. Enjoying the same artificially purified air, humans are united by their brains telling them that they would never need to apply the information in the emergency manual.
But she had thought about using it. She did her best to trace each word, laminating them into her brain. And yet, after a few minutes, she couldn’t remember a thing. The engravings soon became dull, leaving only the yellow mask said to be overhead. Interrupted by commercials, they welcomed her. They would refer to themselves as a family, urging her to let them know if she needed anything while placing an eye mask in her hand. She quietly tucked it away, covering it with the manual. She enjoyed forgetting it all.
Earlier that morning she had counted the strands of her hair that were laid wrong. She kept patting them down with no success. She found a total of twenty-three, each a different length, walking in different directions. She wrote down “brush” in her checklist under passport, flip flops, toothbrush, scarf, and lock. There she grabbed two tiny keys, locking away her suitcase, filled with too many pieces and not enough outfits. If the zipper was not closed, she could find ways to insert her eyelashes; perhaps they would be the perfect accessory. She crossed off “lock,” successfully walking out the door with her twenty-three misplaced strands.
Turns out, many hours were needed to collect herself. She stood there motionless, watching everyone engage in conversation, seeming to be fine. Here she was attempting to discreetly wipe the sweat off her face, making sure her legs were standing straight and an equal distance apart. Once they let her on, she squeezed between lines to find her seat, legs still an equal distance apart. She sat down, constantly questioning if she was in the right spot. Perhaps she had forgotten how to read within minutes and had gotten it all wrong. She sipped on her complimentary water, rationing it out in her head. She tucked it away next to her eye mask. This would have to be all she needed for this ride.
The air was now cool, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her arms. She followed each dot and landed on the window she had closed hours ago. She swiftly opened it, keeping her elbows as close to her chest as she could, and saw the same dots in the sky. They weren’t as bright as she thought they would be but were bright enough to make her feel guilty. Maybe others thought she was purposely trying to disturb them, shoving dots that were now shaped like a flashlight, in their face. She cautiously closed the window, straightening out in her seat. She stared at the aisle that looked uncomfortably empty, with no squeaking carts filled to the brim to mask the silence.
Soon her eyes found him again, and immediately she felt her head pound. Perhaps her brain was trying to break through and run away from whatever danger Baby sensed. “Mama,” she heard him say, his lips and cheeks looked just like hers, filled with blinding distress. Twisting and turning, his body grew, overwhelming her father’s lap. His mother scrambled to find the few things she packed that would remind Baby of good. Baby began plucking the leaves off his hands, letting his fingers find their way into all the holes in his mother’s face. His roots were overflowing, watered with too much frustration, Baby turned purple losing all of himself. He extended his throat, screaming away the hours he was forced to call a row of seats his home. His father gripped his hand, whispering sweet everythings into his ear, fighting to plant patience into the body of a boy who barely knew the ground.
There the man next to them took his sleeping mask off. His plaid shirt was now wrinkled from the few moments he had to himself. His face melted into a pile of “it’s okay.” He nudged Baby’s father, nodding to him ever so quickly. She imagined this man to be a father too, one with a couple of children and a wife, all bad-tempered. He was their balance, kneading perceived bad days into vanishing moments. He knew how to wipe away tears, brush hair out of eyes, and enjoy his bad-tempered children’s entire beings. He sat up in his seat and turned on the television. His smile found the mother as if to say, “This is normal.” Every few minutes he would replicate that smile and nod in their direction, making sure to return to his movie seconds later. Perhaps this was all normal, she thought.
Soon, another woman would come up to them, quietly handing them blankets then picking up Baby’s pacifier, soothing his parents more than him. She saw his mother’s shoulders lower, finally back on the Earth. Suddenly, she felt her face soften too, her hair melting into place. Baby kicked and kicked until he was too tired to do it all. His mother wrapped him up; her most prized possession deserved to be warm. She was tired too. She deserved to just sleep a little. She sunk further into her chair, cracking the window open just a bit because she deserved a little light too.
When the squeaking of the cart came back, she woke up. Baby was seated upright, mouth squirming, waiting for his bottle. The parents started doing their rounds, going to each row, and apologizing for Baby. But everyone wore the same smile on their face. They called Baby brave and sweet and strong. Some said that they never even heard one tap of his toes throughout the night. They kept their hands close to their chest, their eyes crinkled while staring at Baby, making sure he knew that they meant it all. Those that didn’t say anything, let their silence be enough. Right when the mother and father went up to her, she found herself wearing that same smile. Baby must’ve been frustrated, scared, and everything in between. So she kept that smile on her face, adorning it with hands close to her chest and calm eyes. She meant it all.
In minutes, she had returned to the ground, no longer relying on purified air and an emergency manual. There she found her suitcase slightly open, zipper crooked with newfound scratches. Perhaps everything was normal.
Hi Naomi,
The beginning of your essay confused me with your use of pronouns. I think it’s important to clarify who the “he,” “she,” are but I like the unique approach to write a narrative in third person. The expectations I formulated as I read the first paragraph are that the baby could be adopted or a step-child to the woman, but these expectations aren’t met but I realized that wasn’t the case at all as I read further. If I read correctly, the family with the baby are not people you know but disturbances during your flight but you realize that things don’t go perfectly and that disruptions are normal. I find myself having to frequently go back to the previous paragraph to reread because it’s hard to keep up with your story. What is the purpose of the emergency handle? Was the baby calling you, his mama or just calling out for his mother? There seems to be multiple jumps, making the essay’s flow rough. First the characters are at the airport/on the plane, then it jumps to back home where you’re packing, then back at the plane; this makes it difficult for readers to follow when you’re not providing explanations/details for it.
Instead of saying, “Every dot,” you could instead say “every bump,” since it’ll let readers know you’re referring to following your goosebumps.
There’s a lot of details you’ve added that I feel like is hindering the story you’re trying to tell, and I like how you’re trying to do a lot of “show not tell” but at certain points, it’ll make the story more clear if you’re being more explicit instead of beating around the bushes. I also see that you’re trying to use light/stars as a symbol, there’s an opportunity to further expand on that.
I also can’t pinpoint the climax of your story, where is the turning point of your story?
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful essay.
Hey Naomi,
Thank you for sharing. Your essay seems to lean towards being a dramatic narrative. The shape of your story follows the typical shape, but I see that you place emphasis on the rising action, building on the tension and stress that the characters felt, and then relieving it with the reassurance from the sub characters in the falling action.
The lede is clear here: in the exposition, we are introduced to a nervous character on an airplane, who seems to be observing a baby. The reader would be expecting someone to be grappling with her anxiety. This expectation is fulfilled and resolved.
My main concern is with the third paragraph. I don’t really understand the point of it. I interpret the paragraph as that no matter how much a person can prepare, they could still feel like something’s missing. I understand that the zipper and suitcase are important as symbols in the story, but it’s unclear exactly what it presents. The third paragraph says that she wished she had more space to feel fine, and at the end it says that her suitcase was slightly open with newfound scratches on the zipper. I interpret this as mishaps are normal for everyone. Overall, I am still uncertain about the meaning.
I would work on condensing the third paragraph to combat this, as well as the paragraph about the reassuring man.
Maybe this is just me, but I didn’t realize that the mother and narrator were two separate people until a third read. This may be something for you to work on clarifying. It took me a few reads to fully grasp what was happening because of confusion about who the characters were.
The narrative flow is smooth and steady, and your choice to use minimal dialogue is effective in standing out between your series of descriptions. I liked the numerous parallels that you employed, like the idea of keeping things close to your chest, and the idea of grounding yourself. To me, this setting makes perfect sense. Planes always warn of turbulence, and when the character is in the air, she feels turbulent.
I see no grammatical problems, and I’m not sure what more I would add if I were you. Your essay is loaded with symbols and emotions. I enjoyed reading your piece.
Jacey Ngo
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Naomi:
Upon reading your third-person dramatic piece, I was confused the first read. During the second read-around, I understood it better. The descriptions painted the story out, allowing me to follow the story. To me, the lede was the story of a chaotic vacation or something of the sort. However, as the narrative progressed, I noticed that Baby was like a symbol present throughout the story. It seemed like an emotional state, yearning for constant attention and the need to be released and calmed. This emulated the feeling of being overwhelmed and helpless. I was able to feel the shape of the story: down, down, down, and then the gradual lifting. Starting with the feeling of missing something in a fully packed suitcase and ending with the feeling that maybe an imperfect suitcase is normal. This helps with the sense of completeness of your teachable moment.
I would suggest that the description of boarding the plane be shortened a little. It helps build up the tension and anxiety of boarding a plane, but it shakes the flow for the rest of the narrative. I feel like the light could be used a little better as a symbol. The light could be a parallel of the surrounding blindness as an output of the jittery and narrow situation. My overall suggestion is to shorten the first four paragraphs to help with the flow and make the main focus the climax, falling action, and near the end of the rising action.
Thank you for sharing a unique approach to your teachable moment.