Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(22)

Even so, I had nothing else to do, so I kept stealing glances at him. I couldn’t tell how old he was; his hairline was just starting to recede and his sideburns were threaded with gray, but acne scars pocked his cheeks slightly, which gave him the air of a teenage boy. He sat facing forward, saying nothing, which was aggravating, although the aggravation itself was grating because my goal was to be left alone and there I was, not even enjoying this rare triumph.

Finally, he said something into a headset, then yelled back at me, “Green light. We’re going up.”

Up we went. Once again I found myself over the turquoise sea, staring at the lush green landscape and long yellow beaches that make up Puerto Rico’s northeastern coast. I was curious to learn more—in my haste, I hadn’t even bothered to buy a travel book—but the pilot proved to be a piss-poor tour guide. “You can’t really see the rain forest from here, but it’s out there . . . ,” he droned. “To your right is Fajardo, which is where the ferry runs from . . . that lump of land in the distance is another island called Culebra.”

Even so, there was something magical about the altitude; we were up in the air, but so close to the water that I could see passengers on the boats we flew over. In spite of Maxine, my headache, and the unpleasant events of the past week, my spirits rose significantly. I had made many wrong decisions recently, but this trip? It couldn’t have been one of them.

As the plane began to descend, bringing us closer to the water, the pilot looked over his shoulder at me. “Isn’t it great up here?” he shouted.

“Yes!” I shouted back. “I love being away from the rest of the world!”

He smiled. “Exactly!”

Buoyed by my newfound sense of well-being, I was feeling generous. Gregarious, even. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Shiloh,” he shouted again.

That’s an unusual—I didn’t have time to finish my thought, because there was a loud thud-thud-thud, followed immediately by a shredding noise, which coincided with the plane lurching from side to side.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as stomach acid surfaced in my gullet. “What was that?” I whimpered as I stared out the window at an inauspicious plume of black smoke billowed out of an unidentified location.

“Nothing,” he said, but then he started yelling into his headset. “Carib Carrier seven three two. Emergency. Bird strike to air intake. Requesting landing at VQS. May attempt water landing. Alert Coast Guard.”

We began to drop. Rapidly. At which point I began to freak out ever so subtly. I grabbed my phone from my pocket and texted Paul: I LOVE YOU. XOXO. Then, as further evidence of my mental infirmity, I texted an identical message to Tom, adding, IT’S -OKAY, exonerating him just in time for my demise. I considered calling my father, who didn’t text, but realized that this would amount to him listening to me scream as I flew into the sea.

The man I now knew as Shiloh yelled at me again. “Tighten your seat belt, tuck your head between your arms, and lean into your lap. Now!”

As the plane careened toward the water, I had a singular thought, and this thought branded me a liar.

Because all that stuff I told myself about not caring if I was strangled and being ready to see my mother again? Lies. Damn lies.

No, as I begged God for a miracle, the truth rang clear through me: I don’t want to die.





TWELVE


The plane skidded clumsily and hit something—the ground? the sea?—with a tremendous crack. My head smashed against the back of the seat in front of me, then jerked back as we tipped precariously to the left. I held my breath, waiting for the worst, the engine to explode, the water to seep in and deliver me to a watery grave. But all was silent, save a faint rumbling coming from the front of the plane.

Shiloh let out a whoop, then turned to me. “We made it! You’re okay?”

“Am I okay? Are you fudging kidding me?” I spat. To say his celebratory mood ticked me off was pretty much the understatement of the century. “You almost just killed us. We almost just died.”

He undid his seat belt, then reached back to unlatch mine, like I was a child. “We need to get out of here in case the engine decides to blow. And for the record,” he added, quickly opening the panel door and all but pushing me down the stairs, “the flock of pelicans attempting to get a bird’s-eye view of the propeller almost killed us. I just saved your life. Do you have any idea how hard it is to land a plane like this on the side of a beach with absolutely no warning? If we’d stayed in the air another two minutes while I attempted to make it to the airport, you would be fish food right now.”

Continuing to yap, he took my hand and pulled me through the shallow water we’d landed in. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the plane was smoking, at which point I yanked my hand away and started to run for the beach—just in case God was still making up his mind about whether I should be granted a few more months on the planet.

“Hey!” Shiloh yelled, running after me. “Wait up!”

When the sand turned to patchy grass, I figured I was safe and collapsed onto the ground. Shiloh jogged up, and only then did I realize there was a trickle of blood coming from his face.

“I think your nose is bleeding,” I said, shielding my face in case he got too close.

He reached up to touch it. “So it is.” He wiped it with the corner of his shirt, then sat next to me and tilted his head back as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thanks.”