Aha, Moment
By Julia Alvarez, 2000
1 I was in the tiny bathroom in the back of the plane when I felt the slamming jolt, then
the horrible swerve that threw me against the door. Oh, Lord, I thought, this is it!
Somehow I managed to unbolt the door and scramble out. The flight attendant, already
strapped in, waved wildly for me to sit down. As I lunged ahead toward the seat,
passengers looked up at me with stricken expressions of creatures who know they are
about to die.
“I think we got hit by lightning,” the girl in the seat next to mine said. She was from a
small town in East Texas, and this was only her second time on an airplane. She had won
a trip to England by competing in the high school geography bee and was supposed to
make a connecting flight when we landed in Newark.
In the next seat, at the window, set a young businessman who had been confidently
working. Now he looked worried—something that really worries me: when
confidentlooking businessmen look worried. The laptop was put away. “Something’s not
right,” he said.
The pilot's voice came over the speaker. I heard vaguely through my fear, “Engine
#2...hit...emergency landing... New Orleans.” When he was done, the voice of a flight
attendant came on, reminding us of the emergency procedures she had reviewed before
takeoff. Of course I never paid attention to this drill, always figuring that if we ever got to
the point where we needed to use life jackets, I would have already died of terror.
5 Now we began a roller-coaster ride through the thunder-clouds. I was ready to faint, but
when I saw the face of the girl next to me I pulled myself together. I reached for her
hand and reassured her that we were going to make it. “What a story you're going to tell
when you get home!” I said. “After this, London's going to seem like small potatoes.”
“Yes, ma'am,” she mumbled.
I wondered where I was getting my strength. Then I saw that my other hand was tightly
held by a ringed hand, someone was comforting me—a glamorous young woman across
the aisle, the female equivalent of the confident businessman. She must have seen how
scared I was and reached over.
“I tell you,” she confided. “the problems I brought up on this plane with me sure don't
seem real big right now.” I loved her southern drawl, her indiscriminate use of perfume,
her soulful squeezes. I was sure that even if I survived a plane crash, I'd have a couple of
broken fingers from all the T.L.C. “Are you okay?” she kept asking me.
Among the many feelings going through my head during those excruciating 20 minutes
was pride—pride in how well everybody was behaving. No one panicked. No one
screamed. As we jolted and screeched our way downward, I could hear small pockets of
soothing conversation everywhere.
10 I thought of something I had heard a friend say about the wonderful gift his dying father
had given the family. He had died peacefully, as if not to alarm any of them about an
experience they would all have to go through someday.
And then—yes!—we landed safely. Outside on the ground, attendants and officials were
waiting to transfer us to alternate flights. But we passengers clung together. We chatted
about the lives we now felt blessed to be living, as difficult or rocky as they might be.
The young businessman lamented that he had not had a chance to buy his two girls a
present. An older woman offered him her box of expensive chocolates, still untouched,
tied with the lovely bow. “I shouldn't be any eating them anyhow,” she said. My
glamorous aisle mate took out her cell phone and passed it around to anyone who
wanted to make a call, or to hear the reassuring voice of a loved one.
There was someone I wanted to call. Back in Vermont, my husband was anticipating my
arrival late that night. He had been complaining that he wasn't getting to see very much
of me because of my book tour. That's why I had decided to take this particular flight—
oh, yes, those stories! I had planned to surprise him by getting in a few days early. Now I
just wanted him to know I was okay and on my way. When my name was finally called to
board my new flight, I felt a bit tearful to be parting from people whose lives had so
intensely, if for a moment, touched mine.
Now, back on terra firma, walking down a Vermont road, I sometimes hear an airplane
and look up at that small, glinting, piece of metal. I remember the passengers on that
fateful, lucky flight and wish I could thank them for the many acts of kindness I
witnessed and received. I am indebted to my fellow passengers and wish I could pay
them back.
Just then, remembering my aisle mate’s hand clutching mine while I clutched the hand
of the high school student, I was struck by lighting all over again: The point is not to pay
back kindness but to pass it on.
Copyright 2000 by Julia Alvarez. First published in O, The Oprah Magazine 1, no. 5 (November 2000) By permission
of Susan Bergholz Literary Services, New York, NY and Lamy, NM. All rights reserved.
