'Turbulence' by Anna Peter

Dinah didn’t have a good feeling about the trip.

Her father had needed help on his farm. David had agreed to come, but said he wouldn’t help. Last time, during the harvest season, David had discovered college friends and disappeared – until it was time to return to Mumbai.

Dinah glanced at her husband. He was snoring. She wanted to pinch him into wakefulness. Talking to him, or screaming out her frustration, had never worked. It all came back to how flawed she was.

The blue sky and cotton clouds outside resembled home. She felt at peace in the fields, even while raking out manure or sitting by the river. The last few years her thoughts were unhappy, of David, of her in-laws. They complained non-stop – about her cooking, her looks, how their relatives found her aloof. In time, she understood she was only to be seen and not heard.

The lights went out, and the plane shuddered. Bile rose into her throat and people screamed. One person flew out of his seat, hit the baggage bin and was grabbed by nearby passengers, who hurriedly fastened his seatbelt. Her eyes flew to David. His glasses were askew, his eyes bulged, and his hands gripped the armrests. He was screaming.

In a few minutes – was it seconds – the captain announced the seatbelt sign would stay on and more turbulence was expected. Dinah looked at David… and a chuckle escaped. David was still gripping the armrests, his body stiff. Dinah looked away. Maybe David disappearing wouldn’t be a bad thing. She would be with people who loved her, be herself, and maybe lie in the river naked. She had given it up once she married. She looked at David again, and guffawed.