ONE
Was she falling, or was the ground pushing up to meet her?
She caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower disappearing behind the billowing clouds as her body twirled through the sky. A ray of light reflected off the gold band around her left ring finger, blinding her as she woke with a start.
Chrisna shuffled upright in the chair, and glanced around to see if anyone was looking at her, but no one was paying her any attention.
After buttoning the top button of her fitted gray sweater and straightening her black-rim glasses, she tried to tidy the long dark brown strands that had wiggled themselves out of her ponytail.
Pushing her index finger in underneath her glasses, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and checked the time on her wristwatch, 2.15pm. She turned cold.
For a second, she sat frozen in her seat, and then she heard a female voice coming over the intercom system. “This is the final boarding call for passenger C. du Plessis, booked on flight 372BA to Paris. Please proceed to Gate 10 immediately. I repeat. This is the final boarding call…”
Grabbing her bulky brown purse, which had served as a pillow, she unzipped the side pocket and pulled out her passport and boarding pass. She flung the strap over her shoulder and torpedoed down the corridor of Heathrow Terminal 5, toward Gate 10.
Frantic and out of breath, she handed the boarding gate attendant her passport and boarding pass muttering a flustered “Ek’s so jammer.”
The skinny man merely grinned before scanning the barcode and handing her passport and ticket stub back to her.
Panting, she repeated in English, “I. Am. So. Sorry,” as she raced through the gate.
When she neared the end of the corridor, she realized that she needed to use the restroom, but that she had to wait until she had boarded the plane. The attendants urged her toward the aircraft door.
“Welcome aboard,” a young blonde flight attendant, in a dark blue blazer and neckerchief, said. “Mrs. du Plessis, you are in seat 32J.” She smiled as she checked the ticket stub before pointing in the direction of Chrisna’s seat.
Pushing clumsily through the narrow aisle, Chrisna felt the annoyed stares of the other passengers, and when her purse struck an elderly woman’s head, she apologized with a quick ‘skees’ and continued pushing past the seats, the increasing pressure on her bladder reaching alarming levels.
When she finally located her row of seats, she forced a grin at the large man with the shiny bald head, sitting next to the aisle, in seat 32H.
He grunted, unbuckled the seat belt hidden beneath his potbelly, and squeezed out of his seat. She involuntarily pushed her thighs together as she waited for him to stand, praying that she could hold out until after takeoff.
Sitting down in the middle seat, she placed her purse on her lap and stared at the metal ‘G’ on the side of the bag while jerking her right leg up and down.
With a few loud groans, the bald man took his seat again, and she shifted as far right as she could manage when he placed his arm over the entire armrest.
“Flight attendants prepare for take-off,” came the call from the cockpit.
Fastening her seat belt, Chrisna gripped her purse as the plane started vibrating underneath her.
“You’ll have to put your bag underneath the seat in front of you, sweetie.”
Chrisna looked at the woman sitting in the window seat. She had to be in her early forties but she looked youthful with her, asymmetrical fiery-red, bob hairstyle. Her daring blue eye shadow would’ve made a less attractive woman look silly, but it accentuated her vibrant cobalt eyes perfectly. She had three silver studs in her left ear and a blue and silver feather dangling from the right. Her bright red t-shirt, which stretched over a black long sleeved shirt, sported the words, ‘You had me at Merlot’, and Chrisna couldn’t help but smile.
“Do you need me to help you?” the woman asked in a husky voice.
Shaking her head, Chrisna bent down to place her purse underneath the seat in front of her, but quickly jolted upright again, arching her back when the pressure on her bladder increased.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board Flight 372BA, with service from London to Paris. We’re currently third in line for take-off, and expect to be in the air in approximately ten minutes. Please direct your attention to the monitors as we review the emergency procedures. Thank you and enjoy your flight.”
Shifting in her seat, Chrisna clasped her hands together in her lap and jerked her right leg up and down again, faster this time. She stared at the monitor in the back of the seat in front of her as the video stipulated the importance of knowing the location of the closest exit. Glancing to the front and back of the cabin, she made sure that she knew exactly where the closest restroom was.
When the screen went black again, she leaned her head back against her seat, closed her eyes, and bit down on her lower lip, her back still slightly arched to relieve the pressure on her bladder.
“Are you praying?” the woman with the husky voice asked, as though she could sense Chrisna’s thoughts.
“No,” Chrisna whispered, not opening her eyes.
A few seconds later, she felt a hand on her right knee, and she opened her eyes.
“Here,” the woman said and removed her thin gold-chain necklace, with what looked like a sapphire pendant dangling from it, and held it out to her. “It’ll help, trust me. It gives me courage. I think it’s lucky.”
“Courage?” Chrisna asked confused.
“Yeah. The flying-thing doesn’t bother me, but I get that some people can get scared when—”
“I’m not scared of flying,” Chrisna said while wishing that the plane would take off so she could run to the restroom.
“You’re not?” the woman asked, looking surprised.
Chrisna shook her head and clenched her jaw as she peaked at the blue stone encased in the golden teardrop setting.
The woman grinned. “I love the take-off. It’s a rush every time. Boom!”
Chrisna jumped in her seat.
The lights in the cabin dimmed as the taxiing aircraft accelerated and the pressure on her bladder increased with the vibration of the plane.
Lucky? Chrisna thought and grabbed the necklace from her quirky co-passenger. She tightly clutched it in her hand, her knuckles white as bone, and closed her eyes again as the plane took off.
It felt like hours before the captain’s voice finally came over the intercom. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Jarrod Wall speaking. First, I’d like to welcome you on board Flight 372BA, London to Paris. We are currently ascending to an altitude of 33 000 feet and will be cruising at an airspeed of approximately 400 miles per hour. The time now is 2.48pm. The skies are clear and, with the tailwind on our side, we are expecting to land in Paris on time. Estimated flight time is 1 hour and 14 minutes...”
Chrisna slowly opened her eyes as the plane leveled, and she saw that the cabin lights had come back on.
“…The weather in Paris is clear and sunny, with a high of 21 degrees Celsius for this afternoon. And we should be able to get a great view of the city as we descend. The cabin crew will be serving beverages in a few minutes, so please sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight.”
The fasten-your-seat-belt light pinged off and Chrisna quickly unbuckled her seatbelt, pushing herself up. Holding onto the back of the seat in front of her, she crossed her legs and anxiously waited for the grunting bald man to stand up.
Realizing that the necklace was still clutched in her hand, she turned to the red-haired woman, who was now staring out the window. She wanted to return the necklace but her path cleared when the bald man stepped into the aisle, and she sprinted toward the restroom signs near the back of the plane.
Bumping against some of the seats as she tried to keep her balance, she repeated the word ‘skees’ all the way to the back.
When she reached the ladies’ room, the door closed in front of her and she glanced back at the other restrooms near the middle of the cabin. The bald man was blocking the aisle, apparently waiting for her return, so she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, breathing in and exhaling slowly while clenching her jaw.
Just as she turned to run to the other restroom, - not caring whether she had to charge through the bald man, the door opened, and the elderly woman she’d struck with her purse earlier shuffled out, giving her a mischievous grin.
Leaping past the elderly woman and into the tiny ladies’ room, Chrisna then realized why the woman had grinned as a pungent odor stung her nostrils. Gagging, she realized she had no other option but to do what she came here to do. Holding her breath, she struggled to close the door properly as she did a cross-legged dance. The necklace slipped out of her hand, falling to the floor.
After a few seconds, she gave up on locking the door, drew an involuntary breath, and used the toilet while trying to hold the door shut. The relief relaxed her entire body and she sighed deeply.
When she was done, she finally had the patience and coherence to lock the door properly and pick up the necklace, making sure it wasn’t scratched before placing it on the paper towel dispenser.
Washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her long, dark brown hair looked tousled and stray strands stood in every direction. Mascara lines darkened the skin underneath her gray eyes and her lip-gloss had long since faded.
In her rush to reach the restroom, she forgot her purse underneath the seat, so she removed her glasses with a shrug, placed them on the sink, and washed her face as best she could before drying her skin with the scratchy paper towel.
Picking up her glasses, she cleaned them on the hem of her buttoned white blouse that stuck out from under her sweater, before returning them to her nose.
Glancing at the mirror a final time, she sighed deeply, and exited the restroom.
As she moved past the bald man again, she noticed the big sweat stains on his oversized blue shirt and smelled his musty body odor.
“I’m Zenelda,” the red-haired woman said, stretching out her hand when Chrisna sat down again.
Quickly fastening her seatbelt, she took the woman’s hand. “Chrisna.”
Smiling broadly, Zenelda shook her hand, almost aggressively. “As in Hare Krishna?”
“Skees?”
“What?”
Chrisna’s cheeks heated up as she pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry, I keep doing that. I meant to say ‘excuse me’,” she said in her thick Afrikaans accent.
“Where are you from?” Zenelda asked.
“Jacobsdal.”
“And where’s that?”
“Free State...” Chrisna paused. “South Africa. I’m from a small farm town in South Africa.” She rolled her ‘R’s’.
Zenelda grinned. “I’m very familiar with a place like that. I ran away from a place like that once.” She shifted in her seat. “Brattleboro, Vermont, USA,” she said, glancing out the window. “Do you like this small farm town of yours?”
“I do,” Chrisna said, and then hesitated for a moment. “I guess.” She looked down at her hands and a sudden panic rose in her throat. “I will be right back.” She unclasped her seat belt and stood up.
Grunting loudly, the bald man pushed himself up and stepped into the aisle once again.
Chrisna rushed toward the restroom but had to stop when a flight attendant pushed a large cart toward her, blocking the aisle. “We’re serving drinks. Please use the restrooms near the middle of the cabin.”
Glancing past the flight attendant at the restroom where she’d left the necklace, Chrisna sighed, and then turned around, pushed past the bald man, and returned to her seat.
“Are you okay?” Zenelda asked when Chrisna sat down.
“Ja, I’m fine.” She fastened her seat belt again.
“I know that feeling. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” Zenelda smiled and the tiny wrinkles around her cobalt eyes deepened. “Ooh, that’s beautiful.”
“Skees?”
“Your wedding ring. I love the setting.”
Chrisna looked down at the gold band with the tiny diamond in the rose-shaped setting. “Oh, thank you.”
“So, how long have you been married?”
Chrisna twirled her ring around her finger. “I’m divorced.” A lump appeared in her throat when she realized what she’d admitted.
Zenelda frowned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Are you going to Paris for business?”
Chrisna felt uncomfortable with all the questions, and she wasn’t sure how much she should tell this strange woman, but before she could answer, Zenelda continued, “I just turned forty-two. I’m on my way to the Mettre en Valeur Festival that starts the day after tomorrow. It’s gonna be epic. Boom!”
Chrisna jumped in her seat again.
“Two dry red wines, please,” Zenelda said, raising her hand in the air as the drinks cart stopped next to their row. “Every year my husband and I take separate trips,” she said to Chrisna, who glanced at Zenelda’s ring finger with the tiny musical bars tattooed around it. “I call it a marital sabbatical, but Joe just calls it freedom for a week.” She reached over Chrisna to take the drinks. “Thanks. It’s just one of the things we do to keep our marriage fresh.”
“Would you like something to drink?” the flight attendant asked, and Chrisna looked from Zenelda to the flight attendant, and then shook her head before looking back at Zenelda again.
“This year I’m going to Paris,” Zenelda said. “To Place de la Concorde. That’s where the festival is held. It’s the biggest music festival in Europe and they only hold it every five years. This year we’re gonna party like it's July.”
Chrisna frowned. “But it is July.”
“Exactly. No expectations. You should come.”
When the flight attendant pushed the cart farther down the aisle, Chrisna unclasped her seat belt and stood up again. “Excuse me.”
The bald man frowned and shook his head.
“Please,” Chrisna whispered, and watched as he squeezed out of his seat for the fourth time.
She shuddered to think what the other passengers thought as she rushed to the restroom again, sighing with relief when she found the necklace exactly where she’d left it, on the paper towel dispenser.
Walking back to her seat, the plane suddenly dipped, and she stumbled across the aisle. Landing face down on the dark blue carpet, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
Crawling to where her glasses had landed a few feet away, she pushed them back onto her nose, and stood up.
The bald man scowled as she shifted past him again.
Flopping down in her seat, she held the necklace out to Zenelda, who gave her a sympathetic look. “No, you keep it for now. I think you need it more than I do,” she said and touched Chrisna’s arm.
Holding onto the necklace, Chrisna placed her hands in her lap and stared at the sapphire. “I don’t think it’s working.” She sniffed. “I’ve been in cars, planes, and stuck in airports since yesterday morning. I’m tired and everything keeps going wrong.”
“Ah hell, are you crying?” Zenelda inquired, taking Chrisna’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and lifting her face to get a good look at her.
Removing her glasses, Chrisna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before more tears could escape.
Zenelda pried the necklace from Chrisna’s grasp. “Never waste your tears, sweetie,” she said as she leaned over and fastened it around Chrisna’s neck. “You might really need them one day.” She leaned back in her seat. “I believe that there are only three reasons one should ever cry. When you’re listening to great music, when you’re truly happy, or when someone needs you to cry.”
Chrisna frowned. “You don’t cry when you’re upset?”
“No. I used to, but I haven’t done that in forever.”
“How is that possible?”
“A long time ago, and I mean a very long time ago, during my high school prom, I locked myself in the ladies’ room stall and cried for what seemed like hours. It felt like my world was going to end because my date had kissed some other girl. Then, a couple of girls came in and started talking about some book they’ve read, called Risings. They sounded obsessed with the beautiful main character, Zenelda, and spoke about how strong she was, her spontaneous personality, and her fearlessness.”
“Zenelda? Like your name?” Chrisna asked.
Zenelda smiled. “Not exactly. I used to be just plain old Anna Feldman.” She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Chrisna grinned, replaced her glasses, and shook her hand again. “So what happened?” she asked intrigued.
“No wait, hold the train. Take off your glasses.”
Chrisna frowned. “Why?”
“I wanna check something. Please?”
Chrisna removed her glasses and Zenelda stared at her for a long time, making her feel uncomfortable.
“What?”
“For the life of me, I don’t understand why you’d wear those.”
“What do you mean?”
Zenelda leaned in and frowned as she intensely examined Chrisna’s eyes. “You have the most beautiful gray eyes, almost transparent, with little specs of blue in them. You should consider cutting your hair short. It’ll make your eyes pop.”
Chrisna cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said, feeling uneasy, and quickly placed her glasses back onto her nose.
“Do you have to wear them?”
Fidgeting with the end of her ponytail, Chrisna asked, “So what happened next in the ladies’ room at your prom?”
“Well, I stayed quiet and listened as those girls rambled on about this outgoing, adventurous, free-spirited, wild, seductive woman, called Zenelda. When they left, I stepped out of the stall, looked at myself in the mirror, wiped my eyes, and said, ‘You could be a Zenelda.’ I bought the book the very next day and became Zenelda from then on. I left that small town behind when I turned eighteen and never looked back. When I got to LA, I met the lead singer of a rock band and toured the country with them. Eventually, I started touring with other bands and even traveled overseas to the most wonderful places.”
Chrisna frowned. “Are you still in a band?”
“Aw, sweetie, no. I never was in a band. I took care of the band’s wardrobe and…um, social life.”
Chrisna raised her eyebrows. “You’re a groupie?”
“Was.” Zenelda smiled. “And I prefer the term Music Aficionado.” The wrinkles around her eyes deepened again. “I got married almost fifteen years ago to Joe, Joe Gentry.” Zenelda looked at Chrisna as if she was supposed to know who Joe was, but when Chrisna didn’t respond, she continued, “He’s a well-known songwriter, and now I own my own record store in London. I actually met my husband at the same festival I’m going to now.”
The plane dipped for a second time and Chrisna quickly fastened her seatbelt moments before the fasten-seat-belt sign pinged on again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some turbulence. Please return to your seats.”
“So, what do you do?” Zenelda inquired.
“I’m a teacher at Jacobsdal Landbouskool,” she said. “I teach Afrikaans.”
“So why are you going to Paris?”
“It was my best friend’s stupid idea.” She clenched her jaw when the plane shook violently for a few seconds. “A birthday present. Five days in Paris.”
“That’s an amazing present. When’s your birthday?”
The cabin stopped shaking. “Sunday.”
“Wow, happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Celebrating the big 3-0 in Paris, how wonderful.” Zenelda mused.
“I guess.” Chrisna relented as she fidgeted with the sapphire. “About two months ago, Sandra and I were watching the Sunday night movie. There was a scene on the Eiffel Tower, so I joked and said that I wouldn’t have breakfast on it, but that I would love to throw my wedding ring off the top. So here I am.”
“Really?”
“Ja. Silly, I know. Anyway, Sandra raised money from friends, family, and even from the people I work with, and gave me a voucher for this trip. She said it was a ‘divorce present’. It’s the school holidays now, so…I guess she thought she was being funny when she gave me the card, because she wrote ‘Gooi hom, kwagga’ in it.”
Zenelda frowned.
“It literally means, throw it, zebra. It’s an Afrikaans thing. I can’t really explain it.”
“Boom!” Zenelda said, and Chrisna shuddered before chuckling softly.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
“What?”
“Say Boom!?”
The bald man shushed her, and Zenelda glared at him. “Really?” she said, glowering at him before turning back to face Chrisna. “Boom is like a better way to express surprise. It’s a Zenelda thing. I can’t really explain it.”
Chrisna unintentionally giggled and then quickly stopped herself.
“So, your plan is to go to Paris and throw that gorgeous ring off the top of the Eiffel Tower?”
Chrisna looked at her wedding ring. “I don’t know.”
“I think it’s an awesome idea. I support it one hundred percent.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, never be afraid to be afraid of what you’re afraid of. Embrace the fear, and release the crazy.”
Chrisna arched her eyebrows and stared at her.
“Think about it,” Zenelda said and stretched her back. “How long have you been divorced?”
“One month and twelve days.”
Zenelda frowned. “Then why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel naked without it.”
“One should never be afraid to feel naked. But you’re not still in love with him, are you?”
Feeling her chest tightening, Chrisna took a deep breath. “No, it’s over.”
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” Zenelda said. “So, what are your plans exactly?”
Twirling her ring around her finger again, she sighed. “To forget about him.”
Zenelda cleared her throat. “I meant while you’re in Paris.”
Chrisna straightened her posture and looked up. “Well, I bought this amazing guidebook to all the must-see sights in Paris.” Bending down, she opened her purse and pulled out a paperback with the words Must-See Sights in Paris printed on the front. As she held it up, Zenelda glanced at the cover with the various photographs of the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Sacre Coeur on it.
Chrisna flipped thoughtfully through the yellow-highlighted pages. “I have a whole itinerary planned down to the last minute, so I don’t miss a thing.” She stopped on one of the pages and pointed at a photograph. “Tomorrow I will visit the Louvre. If I get up at six-forty I can be out of the hotel by seven-forty, grab a coffee and croissant, and be at the museum by eight. Since my hotel is very close to the Louvre, I can walk. I love to walk. And then in the afternoon—”
“Stop the boat.” Zenelda threw her hands up.
“What?”
Smiling, Zenelda reached down and picked up Chrisna’s purse. “I bet you have a French phrase book in here as well.” She opened the bag.
“You can’t just—”
“Boom!” Zenelda pulled out a small book with the title French Phrases You Can’t Do Without.
“Is jy mal? What are you doing?” Chrisna asked and grabbed the book, pushing it back into her purse. Taking the purse from Zenelda, she put the guidebook away as well and shoved the bag back in underneath the seat in front of her.
With her arms folded, Zenelda frowned at Chrisna. “Your itinerary is a bad idea. That’s no way to experience the wonders of Paris.” She sat up straight. “Do you have a pen and paper in that magic bag of yours?”
She hesitantly said, “Ja.”
“Please hand them to me and I’ll write down the only five things you have to do while you’re in Paris.”
Intrigued, Chrisna took a pen and a small notepad from her purse and handed it to her.
After a few seconds of scribbling, Zenelda handed the pad back to her, and Chrisna struggled to read the almost illegible writing.
“Go ahead. Read it out loud.”
Clearing her throat and shifting in her seat, she started reading. “One. Hug the Venus de Milo.” She frowned at Zenelda.
“That’s a fun one, but you have to be very quick, and able to disappear in a crowd.”
“Two. Get a mime to speak. Seriously?” She glanced up at Zenelda.
“It’s not impossible.”
“Three. Sing in front of a crowd of at least fifty people.” She looked up again. “Never going to happen.”
“That’s the easiest one!” Zenelda exclaimed.
“Four. Dance the Tango in the rain in front of the Notre Dame.”
Zenelda smiled. “I love that one but the weather does play a big part.”
“Five. Make passionate love to a Parisian.” Chrisna gaped at her, eyes opening and closing as though she were looking at a crazy person. Perhaps she was...
“Bonjour,” the bald man said, and Zenelda burst out in a high-pitched laugh.
Ripping the piece of paper from her notepad, she handed it to Zenelda. “You’re very creative but you can keep your list.”
Folding the paper into a tiny square, Zenelda bent down and pushed it into the side pocket of Chrisna’s purse. “You never know.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent. Please make sure your seats are in the upright position and tray tables are stowed away. All items should be in the overhead compartments or underneath the seat in front of you. We hope you enjoyed your flight with us...”
Zenelda leaned back in her seat. “I was serious when I asked you to come to the festival with me.”
“Thank you,” Chrisna said. “But I don't think—”
“I’ll be waiting under the Arch de Triomphe at one o’ clock on Friday.” Zenelda looked out the window as the city of Paris appeared underneath them.
When the plane came to a halt and the fasten-seat-belt sign pinged off, Chrisna unclasped her seatbelt, stood up, and waited for the bald man to retrieve his carry-on from the overhead compartment.
Taking her purse from underneath the seat, Chrisna stepped into the aisle and made space for Zenelda to pass.
Zenelda took a small suitcase from the overhead compartment and turned to Chrisna. “You have a nice trip now, Kristal.”
She frowned. “It’s Chrisna.”
“I know, but you could be a Kristal.” Zenelda grinned and set off down the aisle.
Chrisna looked down and saw the teardrop pendant around her neck. “Wait! Your necklace!” she called, struggling to unclasp the chain.
There were already four people between them when Zenelda looked back. “You can give it to me when you come to the festival on Friday. Remember, under the Arc de Triomphe at one. Don’t lose it now. It’s a family heirloom.”
Chrisna tried to push past the people to catch up to Zenelda, but she disappeared into the crowd.
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