Music To Crash To
Looking through the small oval window, deciphering only vague traces of
geography and infrastructure through the clouds, Hill blinks slowly. Turning,
he looks towards the pilots, two calm men silently staring ahead, occasionally
pressing buttons on the dashboard. Hill touches his iPhone, opening then
closing a free backgammon app, opening then closing a free solitaire app,
opening then closing a free draughts app. Hill touches his iPhone and puts
Ambient Sounds: Rain in a Barrel on repeat.
Thank you rain, thank you barrel, Hill thinks.
Hill looks towards a South American couple sitting opposite him. The woman, her
loose, dark brown hair streaked with silver, is pointing a GoPro at the window,
recording. The man, wearing a faded college sweater, black jeans, and scuffed
multi-coloured Nikes, places his hands around the woman’s neck, the woman playing along and flopping her tongue out, conveying dead! you got me! as she holds the GoPro in position, still recording, still documenting.
Hill looks away, touches his iPhone and puts Seinwave 2000 by Λbelaard on repeat.
Hill looks back towards the couple, now pointing at the folksy illustrations of
Celtic burial mounds and aspirational sea salt branding that cover one side of
an expanded tourist pamphlet.
‘Guide To Anglesey Arweiniad i Ynys Môn’, Hill thinks.
Hill listens as they repeat Bear Grylls Island Rib Ride back to each other over and over, grinning.
Hill turns up the volume on his iPhone, looks straight ahead and closes his
eyes.
The aeroplane cabin rattles violently for a moment, and then continuously for a
sustained period. Hill opens his eyes and watches the South Americans laughing
as they struggle to pour water from a bottle of Brecon Carreg into a silver
hipflask without it spilling on the grubby metal floor.
Happy maniacs, Hill thinks.
Hill looks around the cabin; two middle-aged women wearing charcoal business
suits are talking and looking at a tablet, two middle-aged men wearing white
shirts tucked into chino shorts are talking and looking at a tablet, a woman in
her twenties is gripping her armrest, her nails digging into the worn, faded
material as she maintains a calm and stoic facial expression.
Like Lucy, Hill thinks.
Hill un-mutes the volume on his iPhone and looks ahead.
Hill becomes conscious of the aeroplane tilting, shuddering, then beginning to
make its descent.
Seinwave 2000 starts playing again.
How many times, Hill thinks.
Music to crash to, Hill thinks.
Survival odds, Hill thinks.
It’s okay, Hill thinks.
Hill looks ahead and shuts his eyes.