Jason popped in his earbuds, closed his eyes, and let the mellow chords of Xavier Rudd’s “Follow the Sun” take his mind to the beach. Jason would feel the sun on his face in less than five hours. The music was for making time fly. Fly. Get it? He made the time fly while flying because flying wasn’t fast enough all by itself haha.

Karen, the new Mrs. Pattee, patted his leg.

He cracked one eye open.

“They’re giving the safety lecture,” she said.

Jason pushed his lips into a kiss. “Heard it a thousand times.”

All that stood between the newly-minted couple and their honeymoon was a nonstop flight to Puerto Rico. The wedding and reception had gone swimmingly. The dance floor was filled, especially during Jason’s favorites, the “Chicken Dance” and “The Electric Slide.” For the cake cutting, he had mashed a dollop of buttercream icing into Karen’s hair, and she was a sport about it. She did mention revenge was coming but so far hadn’t made good on the threat. Karen was the GOAT of pranks, so the idea weighed a little. Just a little. It was their honeymoon, after all. How bad of a prank would she do? And maybe, maybe she’d wait till afterward. He glanced at her.

She listened raptly to the stewardess explaining safety.

Jason buried himself in the warm, fuzzy, coconut-infused music of Xavier. He wiggled his toes, smiling at the flip-flops he had donned that morning in preparation for the temperature change: a wintry mix of freezing rain and snow in Cleveland to ninety degrees in Puerto Rico.

A few moments later, the G-forces told him the plane taxied. The roaring engines wedged into his music, so he upped the volume. His body pressed back against the seat as the plane’s forward thrust increased. On his knee, Karen’s hand gave a little squeeze. Liftooooo–

Jason’s body lurched forward. His head rammed into the seatback in front of him. Shrieks from everywhere. Scorched rubber moaned and shot its burnt stench into the cabin. Xavier was ripped from his ears as Jason’s world scrambled and jinked. Phones, earbuds, and anything else not locked down flew forward and into the cabin walls with an unnerving, plastic rattle. The plane listed and pulled everyone sideways like the Scrambler. Jason’s head knocked into Karen’s. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

The plane skidded along the runway for what felt like forever, tires smoking as the rubber sloughed off from heat and friction. The ear-piercing note of terror—made of screams—held, tethered to the plane’s reducing speed. The screams diminished as they slowed.

Finally, the plane stopped.

Every sort of chatter and complaint simultaneously erupted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. I apologize for the rough stop. We had a mechanical malfunction, but the aircraft is stable. Please remain in your seats.”

The oxygen masks fell from overhead, prompting more screams and hundreds of frenzied hands grabbing at the yellow cups. Jason became aware of a smell. Very disturbing. He looked down at himself. Whew. Not him. He glanced at Karen’s lap.

“Me,” she said.

Jason made a cringe face.

“I said, ‘Not me.'” Karen repeated.

It was hard to hear with the whoosh of oxygen and the mask covering her lips. Somebody’s insides had also malfunctioned, and the plane was fast becoming the inside of a colon. The captain made another announcement for everyone to remain in their seats. From behind them came the sound of retching followed by splattering.

Karen shook her head as if to deny what they just heard. She mashed her yellow cup to her face to prevent the tainted air from getting inside. But ALL the air was recycled in an airplane cabin. That was the point. The idea of that putrid air going round and round.

A stewardess walked past, and it emboldened a passenger to get up. “You don’t need those,” he said to anyone listening. “We’re on the ground.” Jason wasn’t sure, but the stewardess looked fine and she wasn’t wearing one. More than anything he wanted to pinch his nose to stop the smell. Several more passengers got up and were glutting the front of the plane, demanding the emergency door be opened. The stewardess told them to go back to their seats. They were all fine without the yellow oxygen cups whose purpose Jason now wondered might be to keep people seated.

“Do you really think we need these?” he asked Karen.

“I don’t know, but do you want to take the chance?”

A terrible thing was happening in Jason’s own stomach. The bad air was getting to him. No matter what he did, he couldn’t quell the storm in his gut. He thought he’d get more notice. Something in his belly detonated, and his oxygen cup turned into a puke cup. The elastic held it to his head till he had the wherewithal to pull it off. Then he placed the grossly overflowed cup into the seatback pouch. Nothing could be done about the mess on the floor. And on his flip-flops. Augh. A horrible slippery something was between his toes. Karen turned away, patted his shoulder.

“Sorry, trying to breathe,” she choked.

Jason reached into Karen’s purse for the gum she’d bought to help with his ear-popping. There was one piece left of Juicyfruit left. He considered shoving half of it up his nose.

He pulled a piece—ZZZZTTTTT!!

Karen jumped.

Jason yelled. “What the—“

Then understanding dawned on Karen. “For the cake in my hair,” she said. “Trick gum. Sorry.”

The captain’s voice boomed, louder than before. “All passengers are required by FAA regulations to remain seated. There’s a toxic spill in the area surrounding the aircraft. EMS and fire are on the way. We will initiate departure as soon as it’s safe.”

A chorus of when’s?!? went up.

Jason had his eye on the stewardess. At the captain’s announcement, she grimaced. It told him what he needed to know but didn’t want to hear. They were going to be stuck inside this plane-turned-toilet-bowl for a long time.

Truth: As Jason and Karen’s flight to their honeymoon destination was taking off and about to go airborne, the pilot hit the brakes due to a mechanical malfunction. I’ve had my own share of airplane horror, but it was a pilot who couldn’t figure out how to land the plane. He aborted twice before finally setting us down in what looked like a rental car parking lot. When the plane got to the gate, he thanked us for flying. That was it. Gaslighting, anyone? One thing I can tell you about Jason. His Facebook feed will make you smile. I also wrote an MTO for his lovely wife Karen that you can read here.

Listen to Xavier Rudd’s mellow and wonderful “Follow the Sun” here.

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