Borderline

Straight And Upright Position

“A couple who spent a little too long ‘making out’ in the bathroom of a Frontier Airlines plane set off a security alert on Sunday, the 10th anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks. When passengers noticed they had been in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time, crew members alerted the captain, and authorities dispatched a pair of fighter jets to accompany the flight into Detroit. On ordinary days, when calling in a military escort would be over the top, what are flight attendants supposed to do when they happen upon an attempt to join the mile-high club?”

– Brian Palmer, from an article on Slate.com titled “The Captain Requests That All Zippers Be Returned to The Upright Position.”

Look lady, maybe I wanted someone to search me, feel a tit for once and not have it count as protocol. Maybe I wanted him to kiss me like his tongue was a boxcutter trying to carve out the black box inside of my chest. Maybe I work a desk job. Maybe I was hoping he’d tear my clothes like a flag off a casket. Grab my hair like he was scooping up ash from the crash site. Stick it to me like he was trying to slip enemy secrets up my skirt. Watch buttons hit the ground and bounce like marbles. Like marbles. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe I wanted his cock in my mouth like it was only thing drowning out the taste of bitter pills. Know what it’s like in there? Can’t smoke. Can’t drink. Can’t clip or file my nails. Kids running up and down the aisles. Job got me running like a machine. Tired. Tired. Tired. Yeah, I know what day it is. Yeah, I know it’s the anniversary. We did that for freedom. Y’all should thank us. Downright patriotic, you ask me. Y’all should thank us. One day our kids’ll grow up, won’t be able to join the Mile-High Club without someone calling the goddamn cavalry all ready to shoot ‘em out the sky. Maybe I wanted someone to shoot me out the sky. Like love was a criminal act. Like an orgasm was the last thing we could manage to pass through customs. The only thing we could sneak through the x-ray. You say threat to national security. I say none of yo’ goddamn business. Maybe I wanted a fuck like it would get me killed. Y’all should thank us. Downright patriotic. They tell me smoking’ll kill ya. Drinking’ll kill ya. Can’t clip my nails. I’m a danger ta m’self and others. Can’t fuck outside. On the hood of my car. In the middle of the field, half-time at the Superbowl. That would be disturbing the peace. But whose peace would it be disturbing? Call me a slut. Maybe I need a little turbulence in my life. Call me a slut. Smoking’ll kill ya. Drinking’ll kill ya. Maybe I wanted to fuck him like it would put a hit on my family. You say I coulda been a terrorist. Maybe I wanted to fuck like the whole world was watching. Urgent. Breaking news. Every channel. Maybe I wanted to fuck like blowing the tops off mountains and crushing the village below. Maybe I wanted to know what it was like to sky-dive into a volcano. Hang 10 on a snowboard, back to the avalanche. Maybe I wanted to feel alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. Maybe I wanted to fuck him like paying for my sins could never compare to a lifetime regretting what I didn’t do. Maybe I figured burning for eternity was long enough to put the Flash in Flashback. Maybe I wanted to do that one thing. Give myself something to look back on. Make me feel accomplished. Stewardess. I mean flight attendant. I mean pretty lady, you were once like me, right? You were young once? Had dreams? Your job used ta be all smiles and smacks on the ass. You had dreams of traveling the world. Exotic sex with olive-skinned men. Well, maybe I wanted to fuck him like my clit was a suicide bomber. Like my body was a metal detector ‘bout to do more than go off. See you, you get to travel the world. Look down on the rest of us. But honey, you ain’t never experienced the finer things in life. Bitch, go ‘head. Call me a slut. Call me a slut. Maybe I just got sick of waking up inside a halo made of alarm clocks. Maybe I was just trying to quiet all these sirens going off inside my blood. Maybe I got more baggage than just one carry-on. Maybe he and I got lost on our way to the bathroom. Tripped. Fell. Got tangled mid-air like a pair of kites by the strings. Maybe I wanted to know what it was like to have wings. To find out if love was the only thing that could survive in a vacuum.