thatâs still an unreasonable amount of time for anyone to have to spend eighteen inches away from Abby, her anxieties, her allergies, and her abnormally tiny bladder.
In between changing seats for Abby, changing my meal for Abby, and getting up to let Abby scamper off to the bathroom seventeen times an hour, I spend the restof the pleasant voyage buried in my laptop. Before Dad drove us to the airport early this morningâfun fact: Abby gets carsick in the front and back seat!âmy attempts to track Strikeâs plane proved successful. The single-engine jet vehicle landed at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. Ten minutes after the plane landed, a van exited the airfield. Through the wonders of the geo-fencing app, I am able to get a satellite picture of the van, and with the help of various live traffic cams, I have been able to follow it during the flight. The van takes the Holland Tunnel to New York. It makes various lefts and rights before turning onto Broadway.
Maybe Strikeâs in a show? Maybe sedating him and flying him in a crate is a way to combat his stage fright? Probably not.
Next time I check, the van has come to what seems to be the end of its journey. It stops outside something called the Dominion Brothers Building. A quick search reveals the following facts: The building dates back to 1913. It was named after the two brothers who sank their discount retail store fortunes into it. Frustrated by the cheapskate reputation their stores gave them, the brothers designed the building to be an awe-inspiring testament to their expensive taste. The reception area was built to look like a cathedral with a vast domed ceiling and sweepingmarble staircases. The building was, briefly, the tallest construction in New York. Unfortunately, the asking price for the apartments and office spaces in the building was so astronomic, more than half of the available floors remained uninhabited. The current asking price is $110 million. Guided tours around the ground floor continue on an hourly basis. I am about to read more when Ryan taps my arm.
âBridget, get up and let Abby pass . . .â
I canât believe this. I have to put my tray table up, close my laptop, undo my seat belt, and wriggle out of my seat again? Canât she hold it? Apparently she canât. Before I can even push my tray table back in position, sheâs up and squeezing past Ryan. Suddenly, she lurches toward me, knocking Ryanâs half-finished can of soda from its precarious perch on the arm of his seat. The contents foam all over my jeans and seep into the keyboard of my laptop.
âMumblemumblemumbleturbulence,â I think I hear her say as she regains her balance and pushes past me.
I stare after her in disbelief. I turn to Ryan and wordlessly invite him to join me in staring after her in disbelief.
â Always in the Way: My Story by Bridget Wilder ,â he says.
I say nothing. But inside Iâm boiling with rage and Iâm thinking, Thatâs not my story. I have an epic story. Andburied deep inside there will be a footnote that will say, There was no turbulence. She did that on purpose and she will pay.
I part ways with Ryan and Blabby at the baggage carousel in JFK. Ryan and I make plans to check in with each other every few hours so our stories are straight when Mom and Dad call. We plan to meet on Monday at lunchtime so we can travel back to the airport together and catch our afternoon flight home.
âYou going to be all right by yourself? You donât want me to wait with you till Happy Face gets here?â says Ryan, showing a tiny amount of brotherly concern for the first time this trip.
I shake my head no. âIâm fine. Go do your thing.â I donât even want to imagine what Ryan and Blabbyâs thing might be.
Ryan hovers for a second. Surely there isnât a hug coming? He settles on giving me a fleeting squeeze on the upper arm. And then heâs gone, teetering under
In between changing seats for Abby, changing my meal for Abby, and getting up to let Abby scamper off to the bathroom seventeen times an hour, I spend the restof the pleasant voyage buried in my laptop. Before Dad drove us to the airport early this morningâfun fact: Abby gets carsick in the front and back seat!âmy attempts to track Strikeâs plane proved successful. The single-engine jet vehicle landed at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. Ten minutes after the plane landed, a van exited the airfield. Through the wonders of the geo-fencing app, I am able to get a satellite picture of the van, and with the help of various live traffic cams, I have been able to follow it during the flight. The van takes the Holland Tunnel to New York. It makes various lefts and rights before turning onto Broadway.
Maybe Strikeâs in a show? Maybe sedating him and flying him in a crate is a way to combat his stage fright? Probably not.
Next time I check, the van has come to what seems to be the end of its journey. It stops outside something called the Dominion Brothers Building. A quick search reveals the following facts: The building dates back to 1913. It was named after the two brothers who sank their discount retail store fortunes into it. Frustrated by the cheapskate reputation their stores gave them, the brothers designed the building to be an awe-inspiring testament to their expensive taste. The reception area was built to look like a cathedral with a vast domed ceiling and sweepingmarble staircases. The building was, briefly, the tallest construction in New York. Unfortunately, the asking price for the apartments and office spaces in the building was so astronomic, more than half of the available floors remained uninhabited. The current asking price is $110 million. Guided tours around the ground floor continue on an hourly basis. I am about to read more when Ryan taps my arm.
âBridget, get up and let Abby pass . . .â
I canât believe this. I have to put my tray table up, close my laptop, undo my seat belt, and wriggle out of my seat again? Canât she hold it? Apparently she canât. Before I can even push my tray table back in position, sheâs up and squeezing past Ryan. Suddenly, she lurches toward me, knocking Ryanâs half-finished can of soda from its precarious perch on the arm of his seat. The contents foam all over my jeans and seep into the keyboard of my laptop.
âMumblemumblemumbleturbulence,â I think I hear her say as she regains her balance and pushes past me.
I stare after her in disbelief. I turn to Ryan and wordlessly invite him to join me in staring after her in disbelief.
â Always in the Way: My Story by Bridget Wilder ,â he says.
I say nothing. But inside Iâm boiling with rage and Iâm thinking, Thatâs not my story. I have an epic story. Andburied deep inside there will be a footnote that will say, There was no turbulence. She did that on purpose and she will pay.
I part ways with Ryan and Blabby at the baggage carousel in JFK. Ryan and I make plans to check in with each other every few hours so our stories are straight when Mom and Dad call. We plan to meet on Monday at lunchtime so we can travel back to the airport together and catch our afternoon flight home.
âYou going to be all right by yourself? You donât want me to wait with you till Happy Face gets here?â says Ryan, showing a tiny amount of brotherly concern for the first time this trip.
I shake my head no. âIâm fine. Go do your thing.â I donât even want to imagine what Ryan and Blabbyâs thing might be.
Ryan hovers for a second. Surely there isnât a hug coming? He settles on giving me a fleeting squeeze on the upper arm. And then heâs gone, teetering under
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