Sleepless Flight

By: Rachel Orenstein

Monday, September 5th, 2022

For most of human history, any man would have sold their soul to see above the clouds - to soar through the skies like a boundless god. They could not imagine such an infinite view in their wildest dreams.

Now, of course, we are accustomed to the wonders of our innovations. After boarding an airplane, we watch a movie, we eat, and we sleep. Eventually, we reach our destinations and move on with our lives. The gift of flight is really just another commute, granted a fun one.

As you board your plane for the next several hours, this is your plan. You need to be well-rested once you land, so you expect to sleep for most of the trip. There is even a free blanket and a neckpillow on your seat, so you know this is also what is expected of you.

About an hour into the flight, dinner is served. You watch half of a movie on the seatback screen while eating, then decide to sleep. The lights are turned off, the cabin is cooled, and you lean against the wall with your blanket wrapped around you. When you wake up, most of the traveling will be over: how convenient!

So, you sit there and try to sleep.

And then you sit longer.

With your eyes still closed, you shift in your seat. And then you do it again. Your butt is numb. You rneck kind of hurts. The woman sitting next to you is asleep already- how can she do it so easily? With a huff, you wonder if you should give up and watch the rest of your movie.

You glance out the small airplane window, expecting to see only the pitch black dark of midnight over the Atlantic.

Instead, your breath catches at the sight you behold. The completely cloudless air reveals to your window the endless night. Spatterings of myth mark the night sky - too many constellations to possibly remember. Perfectly framed in the center of your view, however, is Ursa Major. It is one of the few constellations you can remember, but once you notice its shape, it is unmistakable. It is so large, so close you might as well have been in a planeterium. Your mouth hangs open and you hardly blink, utterly bewitched.

The bottomless ocean is a dark void below you. Mist gently lifts off the sea at an otherwise pitch black horizon, so bright it could almost be the northern lights. Actually, you are looking towards the Arctic Circle - that placeless white glow may very well be some remnant of northern lights, though somehow far more angelic. You could almost see the curve of the earth in the space between you and the stars.

You’ve never seen so many stars before, and you realize with surprisingly deep grief that you may never see them again. Perhaps if you were ever lost at sea you could further admire them. It was a morbid thought (the fleeting beauty of nature often is). You slowly realize how ancient peoples, especially sailors, had looked up with wonder mirroring your own and seen stories in the patterns above them. They gave each star a name; they gave each constellation a story. From the minutes spent admiring your view, you’d begun to see shapes in the stars yourself. You know it will be a sleepless flight now, but you wonder if that’s such a bad thing.

Just barely, from the corner of your eye, you catch a shooting star. Hastily - perhaps too hastily - you make a wish: to see more stars like this.