A little guy got on a plane. He wore a face of a grown-up but body of a twelve-year-old. Several looks of sympathy shot toward him. It took two seconds before he swore under his breath. He knew he seemed fragile, yet he was a successful businessman on his way to work. What was there to look? Sensing the discomfort in the air, the flight attendance instructed him to his window seat with a soft, way-too-polite tone of a professional. He glanced over at the airport. An image of being 100 miles above the ground popped into his head. He felt slightly nauseous at the thought.
A few minutes later, a big man entered the plane. He plopped down the seat next to the little guy who looked up with a hint of awe showing on his pale face.
Great! What a convenience! A five-foot-tall man sitting next to the Hulk! And does he have to look so strong and mean both at the same time? Jesus, get a grip!
Without any attention paid to the small figure sitting aside, the big guy drifted to sleep.
The little guy pretended to be emerging on the book in his lap. In fact, he was trying to shift his focus away from his flight, which was taking off in no time. Every few minutes, he would catch himself remarking Goodness, he must weigh at least a ton. Look at his arm. Must be twice the size of my leg! and was glad those thoughts got in the way.
This big guy was snoring like a thunderstorm when the plane slid sideways, its wheels spinning.
The little guy started to feel a little airsick. His arms were hanging limply. His head swirled around in time with any movement of the wheels. A wave of the food he had gulped down at the airport this morning was flooding in his chest. Cheeseburger, fries, soda… What was he thinking eating all those junk foods before a flight? He wanted to blame himself but he had no power now. The wave intensified as the plane gathered speed, getting ready to dash into the open air.
He wanted to rush to the bathroom. The thought of getting off even occurred to him. He could have wakened the big guy up if he was courageous enough. He wasn’t. Climbing over could have been a good idea if the big guy’s belly was not like the Everest standing before his eyes. And so the little guy just sat there, looking wearily at the big guy, trying to decide on what to do.
All of a sudden, the plane hit an air pocket. The wave of nausea the little guy had been trying to keep down was no longer controllable. It passed through him like an electric shock. Blood was drained from his face, making him paler than he already was. One second… two seconds… He didn’t even notice that he was praying silently. Three seconds… The little guy couldn’t hold it anymore. He puked all over the big guy’s chest.
The residual smell was unpleasant. The little guy covered his nose with a wet handkerchief. He shrank in the hope of being invisible once the big guy woke up. Yet, the big guy didn’t recover from his sleep. His breathing was steady.
An hour later, the big guy slowly opened his murky eyes. He winced at the smell. In a fraction of a second, he looked down and saw a vomit mixed of hamburgers, salads, fries and god-knows-what-else sitting in his lap. He turned to the little guys. A pulse was broken from his forehead.
“So,” said the little guy, “are you feeling better now?”