Prologue
I remember boarding the flight to my home town of Edinburgh, a little after eight thirty pm, from Paris Charles de Galle. The flight was half full, pretty much every passenger on board had at least two full seats to themselves, which always felt a bit like low budget, first class heaven on those rare occasions when it did happen.
I walked towards the outside back steps of the aircraft with my mind still wandering all over the place. Thoughts regarding the past few days of my adventures here in gay Paris, visiting an old friend who lived and worked in the city of passion and romance, and then reminding myself to check for the twentieth time that I still had both my passport and boarding card securely tucked away inside my back trouser pocket. On the twenty first time of checking, yes, it was still there.
That's when I caught her fragrant scent - a breeze of freshness that transported me to the edges of a mysterious enchanted forest on the first day of spring, similar to some Disney animation movie.
I blinked hard, pulling myself back to reality. She was just a few bodies ahead of me and climbing slowly. I couldn't see her face just yet, which hid behind that long, straight, dirty blonde hair, but from the outlining figure of her toned body, recognizable through her pink sweater and tight-fitting jeans, she had to be a beauty.
I followed her movements up the aircraft steps in a kind of mystified daze. I couldn't tear my eyes away from that splendid, perky, and petite little figure of hers, with that sensational wiggle, as she mounted the steps in front of me. I was utterly hypnotised.
When she reached the back entrance to the plane, the waiting airhostess asked to see her boarding card. The pink-sweater lady pulled it from her open handbag while shooting a polite sideways smile at the stewardess. It was the first time I saw her face and I fell for her immediately. Beautiful, with slightly-freckled pale skin, big, round blue eyes, and a perfectly dimpled smile - a smile that’s simply to die for. And with that dirty blonde hair, wow, what an angel. She was somehow oddly familiar from some part of my imagination that, for the life of me, I just could not fathom in the moment.
The hostess handed back her boarding card and she moved down the aisle to find a seat. I quickly showed the hostess my own boarding card and anxiously followed. Yes, I was fully conscious of stalking behind, but it was only because I wanted to see where she might sit down. She seemed to be travelling alone so there would be ample chance, I quickly realised, that a split-second opportunity in our time lines would present itself for the two of us to sit down next to each other.
In my head, I could see the scenario as suave and as sophisticated as James Bond himself. Yes, once she'd found her place, I imagined myself ever so boldly taking the woman's hand luggage from her, without even asking permission of course, then lifting it up into the overhead locker with a cheeky grin as she turned, slightly startled by my boldness. Our eyes would then meet for the very first time, and I would ask her with a charming tone if the seat beside hers was taken.
“No, it's all yours,” she'd reply with a flirty grin. And that would be that. The start of our big, wild, passionate love affair. The first day of the rest of our splendid lives together. Sadly, such piffle romantic nonsense ever happens in the real world unless you look like Colin Farrell.
She found her seat. Three free seats all to herself. She even struggled to lift her small, heavy suitcase into the overhead locker as I predicted. So this was my chance. This was my moment. My golden ticket. But alas, no. Absolutely nothing from me. I hesitated in a nervous bumble of angst about whether to pat her on the shoulder and ask if she needed my assistance or not, yet barely half a breath even exhaled from my dried up lips. So I just stood there, struck dumb and rooted to the spot like a lovesick-puppy fool, completely cemented between two minds.
As the seconds stuttered by, I froze even more until the moment had well and truly left the building. To further put me out of my misery, some old charmer in his sixties stood up from the seat in front and offered his assistance. A true gentleman to the grave, showing us lesser mortals exactly how it should be done - swiftly and without any thought at all.
The pink-sweater lady graciously accepted the old man's help and, without words, he lifted her suitcase and placed it snugly inside the overhead locker before sitting back down, fully satisfied, in his own seat.
Still, I convinced myself that I had a chance. I could’ve asked for the window seat in her row. It was a very bold move indeed, one that would mean that I could still sit beside her, and thus giving me the comfort of knowing that I could take my time to work my magic throughout the remainder of the flight, but alas, I just could not. Some deeply hidden social flaw rooted deep within my bones held me back while, filling my mind with countless excuses of why I could not and should not speak to this – such as the fact that the aircraft was too quiet. Everyone would watch or listen avidly to every word I uttered. I felt my face flush red, even more so when she turned to face me for a second as she sat down, smiling right at me with a lingering gaze which melted my heart. Not even then could I muster up some little, puny and stupid, insignificant surface words from my frozen tongue and mind.
So I did what I always did in those awkward situations and decided to take the easy route, or ‘the bail out clause,’ I like to call it, and sat two rows back from her in the opposite aisle instead, so I could at least catch a glimpse of her elbow and arm sticking out from time to time. Yet I tortured myself with the thought of standing up and moving over to sit beside her... well... until I thought about all the other passengers seated behind who would, no doubt, be watching rather suspiciously as I performed this smooth move of seduction.
I couldn't bear it. Nothing is worse in this world than trying to guess what all the other lunatics around you were thinking while they took their pot shots on your breed of character and ulterior motives.
Shit, the adrenaline seethed through my body at a million miles an hour. I wanted to go to the pink-sweater lady and at the very least try my luck. Just sit down on the bloody seat beside her, strike up a conversation and see what would happen.
But she's already seen me taking my seat right behind her, I argued with myself. How stupid, pathetic and weird would that look to switch seats now.
So what! my arrogant, self-assured, and fully confident alter ego argued back. Man the hell up, be direct about it. Tell her truthfully why you wanted to sit down beside her. Honesty is always the best policy. Open your heart a little for once in your miserable life.
Look here, pal, I argued back, there is no physical evidence to prove that, that... being honest and opening up your heart crap ever worked for anybody before, unless the person you are opening it up to already feels the same way about you in the first place. It's just romantic nonsense.
Come on pal. Just do this. Take a shot no. You only live once.
I continued to try to motivate myself, listening more and more to that little voice inside my head who wanted me to win for a change. Who wanted me to be that leading man in the romantic comedy.
And then, something happened. My God, something bloody unexpected happened. I found myself slowly, but surely, standing up onto my feet. I was getting up. What the bloody hell was going on here? Was I really going to do this? Yes! I was fully up onto my feet. I quickly turned to my overhead locker. I nervously fiddled away with the zipper on my bag, pretending to get something from one of the pockets inside, while still pondering wildly about whether to go through with this absurd idea or not. Just switch seats. That's all you have to do. It's the easiest thing in the world. Sit next to the pretty girl and whatever happens, happens.
I was also fully aware that I was now one of the few passengers still standing. Everyone else seemed to have boarded and settled themselves. I could feel the eyes of my fellow passengers behind boring into me, watching and studying my every move with a keen, obsessive glee and I could almost hear the word terrorist resonating through their thought waves.
“What's he got in that bag he keeps touching?”
“Why the hell is he fiddling with the zip so much?”
“Why the fuck isn't he sitting down?”
“Sit down, you bastard, sit down.”
“He's gonna blow us all up. Jesus Christ, we're all gonna go BOOM to kingdom come!”
But in reality no one seemed to be paying me even the slightest flicker of attention or giving a damn what I did for that matter. They were all too busy, caught up in their own, little worlds of turmoil, stress, and a hundred and one other thoughts and brain farts. Thoughts about i-pads, paperbacks, laptops, kindles, chatting with their seated neighbours while desperately trying to search for something more interesting to say. Or sneaking one last text message to a friend or loved one before the cranky, whiny, god-complex hostesses demanded that all electronic devices be switched the hell off or else, so help us God, planes will fall from the sky. If that's the case, then why let us board with our bloody phones in the first place?
I turned back to the pink-sweater girl. Okay, let's do this. I was going to do this. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I opened my eyes and readied myself to move over towards her. Then my heart sank to the very pit of my infested, rancid bowels. Some smarmy looking jammy sod in his late twenties hovered over her seat, although there were twenty, other free seats right in front of him.
Shit! Where the hell did he come from? The fucker must have snuck up from the front while my back was turned. All I could do was watch as he smiled down at her and she smiled right back up at him.
“Do you mind if I sit here? None of these seats are taken are they?”
The swine had stolen my line, my sentence, my words, and now my girl.
“No! Of course not.”
The pink-sweater beauty then quickly stood up to let the dashing young man through to the empty seats beside her. She glanced and smiled over at me again as she waited for him to pass. I half smiled back at her too but it wearily faded. Opportunity lost yet again. I slumped down in my seat. The moment was well and truly lost, now forever gone.
Ten minutes later, the plane took off and we were flying high above French air space yet, unbeknownst to us all, we will soon be flying directly towards the very bottom of the English Channel.
***
I knew that was it. I was going to die. We were all going to die. Even though I'd had numerous average girlfriends, during my short life span on this planet, to whom I'd felt both some form of physical and mental attraction and even liking them enough to date them for a year or so, been fond of them, enjoyed their company long enough to bite the bullet and settle down with a few of them and they me – even married one of the unfortunate ones – I had never truly loved any of them or they me, I was convinced.
And I mean really loved.
With all my heart, soul, and every true burning ounce of fibre in my being. In fact, I had never truly loved anyone. Did I even love myself these days? I deeply pondered. And as the plane plummeted back to Earth at a hurtling rate, yet with no runway lights or landing gear in view, just the hollowed sight of continuous grey, choppy waters below, my final thoughts weren't of my loving mother, my proud but stubborn father, my jolly, match-maker sister, or my average life and few friends back home in Edinburgh. Nor had I any thoughts of my dead end job, never ending bills, mortgage, my good health and fitness, or the places I'd always dreamed about travelling to and visiting one day but never found the time to do so.
No, I thought about none of these things in my final moments.
Instead, I found myself thinking about all those missed opportunities I'd had throughout my life with the opposite sex. The ones who got away. And it was amazing how fast, furious, and crystal clear those very specific few came flooding back to haunt me, and at an alarming rate too, in the eyes of death.
There was the pretty tomboy, Sarah, back in secondary school when I'd lived in Cyprus as a young teenager, who I still thought about from time to time and what had ever become of her. The prettiest girl in school by a country mile, but always sitting alone at the back of class, brooding mysteriously and keeping herself to herself, yet always destined to remain a constant mystery to me. She will always be the first girl I ever fell ‘in love’ with.
Then there was Fiona, the shy, redheaded beauty queen from the borders, who I'd had the greatest pleasure of observing throughout my college years. Fiona, who smiled at me three times in five minutes in the canteen while queuing for lunch on our very first day of college. Later, I saw her all alone, eating in the cafeteria but, again, I couldn't gather up the courage to say a passing hello or sit down beside her. Then, within a week after Jonny McAllister invited her to join his table the very next day, Fiona started dating him.
Then there was the beautiful blonde, bar girl at The Southsider who always made chit chat every time I went in for a cheeky, wee lager shandy pint after work. Of course, I put it all down of her being overly friendly with most of the male punters who came in to the bar as part of her job description. God she had the greatest pair of bouncing bosoms I have ever seen. But once more, I was just too cowardly to ask her out. Mainly because of the fear of being rejected and ridiculed in front of all the other fellow drinkers, whom I bet, the majority of, wanted to do, act, and say the exact same bloody things to her as I.
There also was the sexy stripper-looking girl from last year who seemed a bit drunk and upset at the bus stop at two in the morning on a Saturday night. I'd already seen her inside a local nightclub, a few hours earlier, where I was helping to prop up the bar with most of the other men. I watched her flirt and tease with the majority of the guys all over the club for most of the night, playing their jealous eyes against one another, while she walked off to chat and dance with somebody new every ten minutes. She was absolutely the star girl of the place. I wondered who I had to be or what I had to do to end up with a girl like her at the end of a sweaty night of clubbing. She could have any man she desired in that joint and didn't she know it. How could I have made her choose me? After a fight with her fellow girlfriends on the dance floor, she stormed out of the club and never returned. I thought I'd seen the last of her too, losing her for good. But later that night, while randomly walking home alone, horny as hell and with my dick in my hands, this sexy, fit, vixen with the Vegas stripper body was gifted to me on a silver platter. She was seated all by herself in a moody, drunken sulk, right at my local bus stop, a stone’s throw away from my apartment on Nicolson street.
She glanced seductively up at me as I passed her, asking me if I'd had a good night. I said I had. She asked me for a light. I said I didn't smoke. And then... I couldn't think of another single damn word to say so I continued on my way, when what I should have bloody well said was “Hell yeah! I had a great goddamn night and now it's going to get ten times better, sweet-cheeks,” before grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back to my apartment with false promises and hopes of cigarettes and all the drink she could swallow, only to end up having the night of my goddamn life with one of the sexiest women I'd ever seen outside of a rap music video.
And then last, but by no means least, there really was the one who got away.
That beautiful, angelic-smiling foreign girl a few years back with the blonde hair, dimples to die for, and a tourist map of Edinburgh, who had smiled right at me at a bus stop one fine summer’s day at the foot of Leith walk. If that wasn't painful enough, she even miraculously sat beside me on the bus ride into town. I had on that occasion managed to smile back at the intended target, yet said nothing else in the slightest to engage her interest. Instead, I secretly hoped and prayed that she might be the one to at least make the very first move.
But of course she did not.
So I let her slip out of my hands and walk away into a lost, hazy daze, as she exited the bus in Edinburgh's City Centre, still desperately trying to figure out which way to go on her bloody map, while my bus continued onwards with me still achingly looking back at her from within.
Jesus Christ, that one still bloody haunts my dreams.
And now, finally, the pretty woman in pink, sitting two rows up on this doomed flight to the bottom of the English Sea. One more opportunity missed yet again.
Yes, the plane descended at a rapid rate. Children sobbed and Adults screamed. Old age pensioners cried and gave prayers to their respective gods, before iPhones, iPods, MP3 players, books, and items of clothing all began flying over my head in every direction.
I glanced at the pink-sweater girl one last time. She was crying now. Tears rolled down her terrified face as she shook her head profusely. The smooth charmer beside her took her hand and held it close to his chest. He stroked her hair, trying his best to calm and protect her. It was a touching moment, which I couldn't help but think, even as I plummeted to my immediate doom, that it should have been me over there, sitting beside her, holding her hand, pulling her close, and telling her that everything was going to be all right.
Jesus Christ, that should have been me.
***
When I opened my eyes again I was floating in a black void. I was fully conscious, but I couldn't feel my body or any weight outside of my mind. I felt empty inside, weightless, but utterly full of life at the same time. As if my soul was floating here – wherever here may be – and yet I was one hundred percent, fully aware of myself.
I felt good. Amazing in fact. The best I'd ever felt at any point in my life. No little aches, pains, niggles, vagueness, or dullness in the body or head. This must be what it feels like to be entirely alert and in tune with your whole being.
Slowly, tiny twinkling stars began appearing all around. Left, right, centre, up, and down. Was I in space? Maybe that's why I couldn't feel the weight of my own body. I started to move, gradually at first and then faster. Planets soon whizzed by. Planets of various shapes, sizes, and colours. And as they passed, I caught little glimpses of life upon each and every one of them. From simple, basic, primitive, little life forms to advanced and sophisticated individuals and civilizations totally beyond my human comprehension.
But in my new bodiless state I understood everything about them. To my old human form, it would've been too much information to handle. But right now, in my weightless nothingness, floating by these wonderful, breathtaking worlds, I felt only a happy, spiritual humbling - only comparable, in the slightest use of the word, to a child's first glimpse and consciousness to a forest floor or a dive into the sea, seeing all those various insects and fishes for the very first time. All of them just going about their own daily little lives and activities without the slightest thought for the giant world above.
But just as soon as those hundreds of planets had appeared, they were swiftly gone and I was now only surrounded by the glittering darkness. A deafening silence then fell upon me. An unbearable and agonizing silence. Out of the blinking dark it came. A star. A single, bright, shining star like no other star ever seen or witnessed before. A glorious white ball filled with great, flashing, and glistening purple light. A light which engulfed me, filling my entire vision with humble clarity. It consumed my entire soul. I have never felt such ounce of joy, warmth, love, and happiness before in my entire existence. It was the place where dreams were made real.