Teachable Moment: Purified Air

Naomi Guerrier 

Professor Wilson Ding

Writing II

22 September 2023

Purified Air

Her eyes found him, and immediately she felt her belly grow. “Mama,” she watched 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 the mask away, covering the manual with it. She enjoyed forgetting it all. 

II

Earlier that morning, she had counted the strands of her hair that were laid wrong.  She found a total of twenty-three, each a different length, walking in different directions. She patted down each one as she wrote down “brush” in her checklist right under “lock.” There she grabbed two tiny keys, securing 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,” wobbling 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, making sure she was standing straight, legs an equal distance apart, picking at invisible cuticles. Once they let her on, she squeezed between aisles to find her seat, legs still an equal distance apart. She sat down, squishing her thighs together, constantly questioning  if she was in the right spot. Perhaps within a few minutes, she had forgotten how to read and had actually gotten uncomfortable in someone else’s seat. She sipped on her complimentary water, rationing it out in her head. She tucked it away next to her eye mask, hoping that she would enjoy forgetting her ever growing thirst too. 

III

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 squinting 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 watched him say, his lips and cheeks suddenly looking 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 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. He nudged Baby’s father, nodding to him ever so quickly. Written on his face was a calm, saying “it’s okay.” 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 being. His face melted as his smile found the mother. 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, an attendant would come up to them, quietly handing them blankets and then picking up Baby’s pacifier, soothing his parents more than him. She saw his mother’s shoulders lower, finally back on the Earth. Baby kicked and kicked until he was too tired to do it all. The mother and father wrapped Baby up; their most prized possession deserved to be warm. The more she watched them, the more her face softened, her hair melting into place. She felt tired, too. She deserved to sleep. She sunk further into her chair, cracking the window open 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, calling 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 who 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 all normal.