The Flight

Anxiety. It's a funny word. Three syllables, seven letters. How does this word even begin to describe the excruciating worry I feel at this very moment.

I'm fidgeting in my seat, trying to keep my mind occupied and off of the man next to me. He's tall, older. His hair is graying and he is going to be arrested once this plane touches down.

"Do you mind?" He leans forward, reaching for the light I nod, leaning back so he can click the button. A harsh yellow light lit up our row, shedding light on both him and my apparent nerves. "I'm Jeffrey, by the way. What are your plans in Florida?"

I hesitate, unsure of what to say, but then I smile and say, "I'm Candace, its very nice to meet you. I'm actually going home."

He nods before going back to the book in his hands. I look away, grateful he is no longer talking to me. I put in my headphones, letting my music drown out the sounds of the plane and close my eyes. Not that I'd be able to sleep. Epstein's leg was close to mine, his knee bumping my leg every couple minutes. I pull my legs towards the window, it's going to be a long five hours.

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