Plane Ride with The Boys

“Is Ravi not done yet?” Prius asked impatiently.

“I’m back!” Ravi shouted, running through aisles of occupied seats.

“We’re about to start boarding man. Why’d you take so long to find shampoo?”

“I use a special type to maintain this beautifully dyed platinum hair,” Ravi sighed, dramatically running a hand through said hair. “They don’t sell the same brand here, and it’s much more expensive as well.”

“It’s your fault that security confiscated it.”

“No it’s not! I don’t even understand why they have this three-ounce rule. How much is three ounces, anyway? We use millilitres in this country.”

“Now boarding first class passengers for flight one-fourty to Tokyo,” the boarding staff announced through the intercom. “I repeat, now boarding first class passengers for flight one-fourty to Tokyo.”

Needless to say, that didn’t mean us. Despite Coco winning a small lottery (the amount of which she never specified), we were still frugal enough to stick with economy class tickets.

Watching planes fly outside the window walls, we waited in the crowded boarding room of a large airport. What brought us here, you might ask?

We were on our way to Japan for a short graduation trip. Since we only started planning last week, we could only organize for five days where everyone was available.

“Even after how early we arrived, in the end we still felt rushed,” I commented. “Why didn’t you put your shampoo in your luggage?”

“How was I supposed to know airport rules were so unreasonable?” Ravi complained.

“Now, now,” Coco consoled us. “We’re all ready in time for boarding, and that’s all that matters. These rules are put in place for our safety because of a tragic incident that took place twenty years ago. A plane got hijacked, and many people died. A lot can go wrong on airplanes, you know?”

“Man,” Prius said. “What would we do if our plane gets hijacked?”

“It’s a sensitive topic, Prius...”

“Don’t you daydream about bad guys breaking into the room sometimes?”

“Oh, I totally do that!” I piped up. “Like criminals showing up in the classroom, and then I imagine myself taking them down like it’s some action movie.”

“Yeah! That!”

Prius and I hi-fived.

“Well, I suppose we’ve taken kickboxing lessons together...” Ravi contemplated. “But realistically speaking, we wouldn’t stand a chance if they had any weapons.”

“Bummer...”

“Now boarding pregnant women, and parents with small children for flight one-fourty to Japan,” the intercom said. “I repeat, now boarding pregnant women and parents with small children.”

“...Man, do we qualify for any early boarding criteria?” Prius asked.

“Uhh... well, we’re in boarding group A since we sit in the back,” I replied. “It makes sense though. We’re young and healthy. We can afford to squeeze in with the rest of the crowd.”

“Can they call for passengers going on grad trips?”

“We’re not that important.”

“Now boarding economy class, group A,” the intercom said. “I repeat, now boarding economy class, group A.”

“I guess that’s us,” Ravi said, grabbing his carry-on bags. “Let’s go!”

The airplane aisles were insanely cramped, even in our relatively large plane. Seats were a surgical-mask shade of blue, illuminated by the glaring, rounded plane windows.

Since Prius wanted me to prepare for a solo trip, he forced me to book the tickets. That’s why I did my research—longer flights like ours had the luxury of fancier touchscreens and an extra middle aisle that perfectly fits four people. Unfortunately, the best I could do was three seats in a row in one of the side aisles. One of us had to sit alone.

Since Prius wanted to prepare for a solo trip, he forced me to sit alone. Damn you, Prius.

Hastily stowing away our bags in the cramped overhead compartments, we sat down as quickly as possible to not delay the line. I’m sure many people were as restless as us to get the flight started.

Alas, despite all of our hurrying, the flight was not to be started soon.

“I am very sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” a male voice said over the intercom. “A piece of the aircraft has fallen off. We’re going to call the technician to see if he can reattach the piece before liftoff.”

“...”

The cabin was quiet, with a few whispers here and there. Of course, such news about their impending flight would terrify most people. What personally scared me the most was how nonchalant the pilot sounded—as if something like this happened every second flight.

What do you think would happen next? The technician arrives an hour late? He forgets his tools? Tries to attach one of the turbines with double-sided scotch tape?

To my utter dismay, that’s exactly what happened.

Let’s not talk about it.

o

After being put on a separate flight four hours later, we the economy passengers were compensated for our inconveniences with expired pretzels, while rumours spread that the first-class passengers received complimentary bottles of ice wine. Were these the frustrations that socialist revolutionaries held against the inequity of capitalism? This was the first time I’ve seen consequences of the wage gap occur before my very eyes.

We were frustrated, to say the least, that the circumstances of our flight were beyond our control. To make up for it, we decided to try and maximize our comfort in places we could control.

“Prius and I both need aisle seats,” Ravi explained. “The spaces are way too cramped. We need more leg room, so you sit in the middle next to Coco.”

“Sure thing.”

“Please buckle your seatbelts, as the plane is ready for take-off,” announced the pilot. “I repeat, please buckle your seatbelts. The plane is ready for take-off.”

By the time we started moving, I could hear Ravi’s deep breathing. His eyes were closed and a travel pillow hugged his neck.

Turning around, I could see Prius was already chatting it up with a cute girl through the cracks between our seats. She was wearing a frilly white blouse, and her long hair bristled against her shoulders as they laughed together. Since the breakup was only three weeks ago, I was glad to see him talking to other girls.

Peering over Coco’s shoulder, I watched our plane slowly roll through the airport, gradually picking up speed along the way. The rumbling from our wheels grew louder, as the large metal bird finally took flight.

Seeing the massive airport shrink from the air was fascinating. It was similar to the scenery I saw on the Mach Four—except for the fact that I was viewing the miniature buildings from a place of elation instead of fear. With the city we lived in reduced to little dots in the ground, I felt a little megalomanic.

Looking up at the sky was both blinding and beautiful. The sun’s glare was intense, and the clouds approached us from above. When we finally broke through the fluffy white barrier, I internally cheered. Centuries of industrialization has led up to this moment.

Now who were these excited young adults soaring through the skies on a large airborne tube, amazed and ecstatic at the prospect of travelling across the world for their graduation trip?

No need to ask—it was me and the boys.

o

I’d like to believe that we were once passengers with dreams of a safe flight and hopes for an amazing grad trip at our destination. However, the airplane cabin is a cruel, closed world.

For nearly thirteen hours we sat on this plane; the food we consumed was tasteless, and the movies we watched were just as bland. We couldn’t even use our own devices without attracting the negative attention of the unusually attractive flight attendants for disrupting radio waves or whatever.

Monotony and lethargy were the only two moods plaguing us all. My body felt strained from such a passive ride, where both physical and mental stimulation were so limited. We couldn’t wait for this flight to be over.

Unfortunately, I came to regret these thoughts in the worst way possible. Our monotony was broken by a short scream from behind us.

It was the girl that Prius was talking to.

As heads whipped around, it appeared that she was completely fine; her outburst was the cause of something Prius was doing. Coco and I peered back at them from above our seats.

“You guys okay?” Ravi asked.

“Uh... I might be having an allergic reaction,” Prius said, showing us his fainty polka-dotted hands. “They feel a little swollen.”

“Do you have your allergy medication?” Coco asked.

“Yeah, I’ll go take them now.”

“Did you eat anything recently?”

“I had pretzels and some of Lily’s homemade chocolate.”

“Are you... allergic to nuts?” Lily asked. Her face was pale.

“...Yes.”

“...”

He procured a box of Binadril, and a fancy white bottle labelled “prednisone”.

“Here, hold this and pass me a tablet,” Prius said to me.

I grabbed the box of Binadril and read the label out loud.

“Ages twelve and up... one to two tablets every four to six hours as directed by a doctor. If symptoms worsen after fifteen minutes, seek professional help.”

Prius swallowed the medication with water, and we proceeded to wait for fifteen minutes. However, it had barely been ten when the swelling became visible and the rashes got worse.

We called a flight attendant for assistance. Her face grew stern upon hearing our request, and she briskly walked away. Seconds later, we heard the announcement over the intercom.

“Attention all passengers! Is there a medical professional on board?”

“...Prius, you still doing okay?” Coco asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I can still breathe... I just feel a little hot.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry...” Lily said shakily, gripping Prius’s hand. She was tearing up.

“It’s fine... I was stupid for not checking.”

Less than a minute later, the flight attendant returned with a companion.

“I found a doctor.”

I sized him up.

We were looking at a man with disheveled hair and bare feet. He seemed rather young, bearing a resemblance to some high schoolers I’ve met—visible sleep deprivation and all. Had his eyes not been baggier than the hoodie he wore, I’m sure he could’ve passed as quite attractive.

“Hmm... can you breathe well?” the man questioned, inspecting Prius’s arms.

“Yeah...”

“Have you had allergic reactions before?”

“It’s been a few years.”

“How bad?”

“Never this bad.”

“Did you eat anything on the plane?”

“We think there was nuts in the chocolate I ate earlier.” Prius made a circle with his fingers. “Around this much.”

“Did you bring medication?”

“Yup. They’re right here. My EpiPen’s not here though.”

“I see,” the man said, inspecting the medication. My impression of him increased drastically after seeing the intensity with which he interrogated Prius about the situation. He definitely sounded like someone who was experienced in treating allergies.

“Take another dose of both and let us know immediately if you feel any swelling in your throat or mouth,” the doctor said. “You guys help make sure there’s no problems with his breathing. If you notice any gasping, more redness, or anything similar, come get me.”

He turned to the flight attendant. “Is it possible to land early?”

“The closest stop is our destination in fifty minutes.”

“That’s great. Show me the plane’s EpiPen.”

“Right this way, sir.”

“U-um, excuse me!” Coco called out. “Is it okay if I come too? I’m... interested in watching.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Corolla,” she replied.

“Are you interested in being a doctor?”

“...Kind of.”

“Then it shouldn’t hurt,” the doctor smiled. “I’m Michael, nice to meet you.”

Coco squeezed through our aisle with a grin and followed the professionals towards the front of the plane. I kind of envied her; it felt like she was off to experience a story that I wouldn’t get to witness.

Well, no matter. All I can do is make sure Prius keeps breathing.

o

“So Corolla, are you interested in med school?” Michael asked as we walked through the plane.

“The truth is I’m not really sure,” I replied. “I just graduated from high school and I’m going into general sciences, so it’s a possibility. I’ve done a lot of first aid before, and it’s been pretty fun.”

“Then you might be interested in nursing,” he suggested. “It’s definitely a lot more hands on, and you’ll probably get to become a wound care specialist in half the time it takes to graduate med school.”

“Hmm... I’ll consider it.”

“Here’s our injection kit,” the flight attendant said, opening a small cabinet outside the cockpit. She presented us a small grey toolbox.

Michael’s face grew grim.

“This isn’t an EpiPen.”

“What do you mean?” the flight attendant asked.

“It’s epinephrine.”

“...”

The doctor opened the kit to examine its contents. It revealed a small syringe attached to a long capped needle, with a vial of clear liquid next to it. There were also wads of packaged alcohol wipes included. He started reading the instructions.

“This is an epinephrine kit for cardiac arrest,” Michael said. “It’s not a kit I’m familiar with.”

I voiced my confusion.

“What’s the problem with epinephrine? I thought that’s what EpiPens were.”

“EpiPens are pre-dosed and inject automatically. It’s simple and quick. Usually, it administers around zero-point-three millilitres. This one millilitre vial might kill him.”

Those last two words injected an overwhelming sense of dread. As much of an insensitive airhead as he was...

I don’t want Prius to die.

“Of course, I’ll just administer a smaller dose and it should be fine until we land... but this needle is gonna hurt, so I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Do you think it will?”

Michael smiled. “Usually, the medication is good enough. But we should be prepared, since we don’t know how severe his allergies currently are.”

“Thank goodness...”

“I understand that you must be worried about him.”

“Yeah...”

I feel like I’ve barely started hanging out with Via and the others. Half of summer’s already flown by. It would be horrible for us to be torn apart so early... in such a sad way...

“Corolla,” Michael said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Even if the situation worsens, I’ll do my best to maintain his condition until we land. You can trust him in the hands healthcare professionals—it’s our job to keep people alive.”

“Thank you,” I said.

His affirmation gave birth to my newfound admiration for healthcare professionals. My distress was probably very evident, and I couldn’t imagine how Lily and the boys were feeling right now—but he handled the situation with both calmness and empathy. It wasn’t the cold seriousness I had expected to see from hardened, overworked hospital staff.

“Michael!” Ravi yelled.

We turned to see Prius walking from the first-class aisles with an arm draped around Ravi’s shoulder. The rash had worsened, spreading to his face and neck. He was gasping for air as they made their way next to the cockpit.

“His throat started swelling really badly,” Ravi said.

“Lie him down over here so we can have privacy,” Doctor Michael said. “We need to take his pants off.”

We complied, and I observed the wonder of the current situation. If this homeless looking man had walked up to us under any other circumstance, and asked for Prius to remove his pants, I’m sure it would’ve ended up in a brawl.

However, I was currently witnessing a medical emergency handled by a medical professional in a casual setting. There were no fancy, sterilized hospital equipment and fluffy white beds. We were going to administer a life-saving injection into my possibly dying friend on the dirty floor of a commercial airplane.

Michael opened the vial and wiped the top with an alcohol wipe. Then he appeared to draw air into the syringe, before removing the cap and stabbing the vial. He pushed in the air, and carefully withdrew around zero-point-three millilitres of epinephrine. Once that was done, he put the cap

“Corolla,” he said. “Wipe this part of his thigh with an alcohol swab and then hold his leg down.”

“I can hold him down,” Ravi said.

I hastily wiped Prius’s toned legs. The alcohol barely felt cold on my clammy fingers.

Then, Ravi and I diligently watched as Michael explained the epinephrine situation to his patient. Prius could only nod and breathe heavily in response.

“Alright, this is going to hurt. Are you ready? On three...”

Prius grabbed my hand and squeezed with a painfully tight grip.

“Two...”

I squeezed back.

“One...”

Prius let out an astonishingly high-pitched scream, greatly contrasting his usual macho demeanor. I felt as if his nails were going to leave a mark on my hand, before his fingers relaxed and let go.

The procedure was done.

“It’s a little crowded around here, so let’s give him some room,” Michael said. “Corolla, you can stay and watch.”

I glanced at Ravi.

“I’ll go back and sit with Via. You guys take your time.”

“Thanks.”

Ravi left. The flight attendant stood back, watching us from a distance.

“Now listen carefully,” Michael said. “The three most important things you need to maintain are the ABC’s: airway, breathing, and circulation. Open your mouth for me, boy.”

He peered into Prius’s throat. “Can you breathe a little better?”

Prius slowly nodded. I couldn’t tell if the rash was around his eyes, or if he was on the verge of crying.

“The next most important thing is to maintain his vitals,” Michael said. “Be quiet for a minute.”

With his fingers pressed around Prius’s wrist, he gazed at his watch, and then at Prius’s chest. The cabin’s humming silence and my thumping heart

“Thirty-two shallow and laboured respirations per minute. One-hundred-and-ten weak radial pulses. I’ll take note of this on my phone.”

Man, medical professionals are so cool.

“Come here Corolla, you try. We’re going to monitor him for the rest of the ride.”

Aww, hell yeah.