Eight Ginger Ales

This is my latest flash fiction story.

 

The ginger ale was my only saving grace during the airplane ride. I had never flown before. Mom and Dad were a few rows in front of me. I could see the backs of their heads. Where do they keep the parachutes on these things in case things go wrong? I checked under my seat and found no parachute. And then I said the Lord’s prayer in silence. I hoped to be delivered from a possible plane crash. I took another sip of ginger ale. It tasted like heavenly peace.

Finally I got the courage to open my window shade. The clouds looked like the stuff poets write about. This is where my head and heart belong, I thought. I felt like Peter Pan flying through the sky. Although I was not a lost boy or on my way to Never Never Land. I was on my way to Edinburgh, Scotland with my faithful friend ginger ale and my trustworthy parents. The bagpipes were already playing in my head as my head was in the clouds. Then I saw a bagpipe man in the shape of a cloud. But five moments later he was gone. I closed my eyes and imagined the rest of the bagpiper’s tune. It sounded like something a saint would sing.

We had been in the air for hours. I was drinking my fourth ginger ale. Hopefully I’d get a fifth one soon. Edinburgh was a new destination for my family and I. I hoped to see castles and monsters like that one in Loch Ness. Then I hoped to sneak a shot of scotch or two whenever nobody was looking. And then I thought I would buy a kilt but probably never wear it. Oh, Edinburgh, you hold so many new possibilities. How have I lived without you?

After ginger ale number seven, the pilot’s captain said we would be landing in thirty minutes and we should be prepared for it. I am so excited to see the bagpipers and monsters and castles in my real life and not just through the clouds. I’ll toast ginger ale number eight to that!

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