Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland Read online

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  of Fallen Angels and Sandpebbles

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  of Sisterchicks on the Loose!

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  Letters from God for Teens

  Piercing Proverbs

  One

  It’s pretty humiliating to admit, but I’ve never flown in a plane before today. Consequently, I haven’t been out of the country either. Wait a minute, there was that one memorable car trip to Vancouver, BC, when I was eight and plagued with this unfortunate case of motion sickness that left our car smelling like sour milk for several months afterward. Other than that, the sad truth is that I’ve been stuck on the farm. Seriously, my parents actually run a small farm in Washington State. And some of my closest friends have been known to call me “the country bumpkin,” which I totally detest. Although I suppose it fits.

  Three of these same close friends begged me to join them for a European trip after high-school graduation a year ago, but my parents couldn’t exactly afford such an “extravagance.” Plus I had already promised Dad I’d help him get the hay in, since my older brother, Jake, had just gone into the air force. As a result I was forced to pass on what seemed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My best friend, Katie, rubbed it in nicely by sending me a postcard from Paris—my absolute dream destination. Showing not even an ounce of compassion, she wrote, “Poor Madison, our country bumpkin, stuck on the farm again…” In Katie’s defense (and trust me, she needed it), she was pretty bummed that I wasn’t able to go with them, since it kind of made her the odd girl out. Even so, she wasn’t nearly as bummed as I was, literally picking hayseeds from my hair as I studied the swanky photo of the Eiffel Tower against a Parisian blue sky. It all seemed totally unfair.

  So wouldn’t you think I’d be feeling pretty jazzed right now? I mean, just one year later I’m actually flying high over the Atlantic Ocean! And yet, here I am clinging to these wimpy armrests in white-knuckled terror. Why on earth did I ever agree to climb aboard this never-ending roller coaster?

  “It’s just a little turbulence,” my aunt assures me for like the umpteenth time. I think I can hear a little impatience in her voice.

  “Yeah, right.” I nod and slowly release my death grip, trying to act like everything’s cool. “So, will it be like this all the way across the ocean?”

  “You just never know, Maddie.” Her blue eyes glint with a teasing look. “It might get even worse.”

  “Really?” My fingernails start to dig into the armrests again.

  Now she just laughs. “I doubt it. Just jerking your chain, sweetie. Relax.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Remember the deep breathing?”

  I frown at her and then for her benefit exhale loudly.

  “Just try not to think about it so much.”

  “Like him?” I nod to where Ryan is blissfully snoozing across the aisle from us like he hasn’t a care in the world.

  She laughs. “Yeah, I think that kid could sleep through a hurricane.”

  “We’re not going to fly through one, are we?”

  She shakes her head, then turns back to the People magazine I picked up at the airport, the same rag mag my journalist aunt made fun of earlier and can’t put down now. Okay, it’s not exactly intellectual, but I like to keep up on current events, plus there was a good article on Orlando Bloom. But I already studied it from cover to cover and am now wishing I hadn’t packed my new novel in my checked bag. To help distract myself from my newly discovered flying phobia, I take advantage of Ryan’s unconscious state to candidly check this guy out. I’m still trying not to feel too aggravated over his intrusion into my travel plans. This trip to Ireland was originally just going to be my aunt and me.

  Anyway, I check him out and decide he’s not too bad looking, although his sandy brown hair could use a cut or maybe just a comb. And I’m sure he’d be a lot more attractive if he closed his gaping mouth. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a drop of saliva trickling down the left side of his chin, which makes me notice he could also use a shave.

  Okay, it’s not like I’ve never seen Ryan McIntire before. But it’s been quite a while. We first met when we were about eleven or twelve, one summer when I got to spend an entire week at my aunt Sid’s house in Seattle. That was back when Ryan didn’t have whiskers on his chin and I still thought boys had cooties. For some reason my aunt thought it was a splendid idea to take us to the zoo together, but as I recall, I spent most of the day trying to avoid this weird kid who acted more like a resident of the zoo than merely a visitor. I suppose he’s grown up a lot since then.

  Ryan is my aunt’s godson. His mom, Danielle, was Sid’s best friend since kindergarten, but Danielle died last winter after a long bout with breast cancer. I’m suspecting that’s the main reason Sid invited Ryan to join us on this trip at what seemed like the last minute. Fortunately for him, he already had a passport. Mine hadn’t arrived yet, and I’d started to worry that I was about to be left behind once again.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” my aunt said just a few days ago, right after she’d cheerfully informed me that we were going to be a threesome.

  “No, of course not,” I said quickly, hiding my disappointment. Oh sure, I did feel sorry for Ryan. Who wouldn’t? I can’t imagine what it would feel like to lose my mother. But having him join us seemed to change everything.

  “You see, Ryan’s dad was from Ireland,” she explained. “And Ryan and I were just talking about his heritage, and it suddenly occurred to me that I should invite him to come with us. He can look into his Irish r
oots while we’re there. You two always got along fairly well, Madison. And he’s grown up into a really nice young man. You guys might actually have some things in common now. Besides that, he can help carry our luggage.”

  She was starting to sound almost apologetic, so I decided I’d better get on board with this new twist in the plot—especially considering she was footing the bill for all my travel expenses. “Sounds great,” I told her. “I can’t wait to see him again.” Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. But I’m sure it made her happy. And I did put on a good show this morning when I met the two of them at the airport.

  Mom, who had driven me to Sea-Tac, was busy catching up with Sid and carefully going over our itinerary for like the hundredth time. Seriously, what does she think is going to happen to me once I’m out of her sight? Hijacking? Kidnapping? Forced slavery? And even if something should go wrong, how’s it going to help matters if she knows where we are when it does? Get real Mom.

  “Wanna grab a coffee?” Ryan asked me just as my mom started to grill me about whether I’d forgotten anything important. I almost expected her to ask if I was wearing clean underwear just in case the plane crashed. Anyway, I was grateful to Ryan for providing me with this much-needed escape. Seriously, it’s like my mom thinks I’m about eight years old sometimes. I’m surprised she didn’t pin my name to my jacket.

  We left our bags for the two women to “attend” since we’d already been informed numerous times by the PA system that “any luggage or personal items left unattended should be reported and confiscated…” And what then? Would the airport personnel take them out back and blow them up? Anyway, happy for this reprieve, I followed Ryan, who seemed to know where he was going, and we ended up at a Starbucks. Who knew they had Starbucks in airports? Well, everyone besides me, I suppose.

  “This’ll go fast,” he assured me when he noticed how I was frowning at the long line ahead of us. “And it’ll be worth it since it’s way better than the stuff they serve on the plane.”

  “So you’ve flown before?” Okay, as soon as the words were out, I knew how totally lame I sounded. Like maybe I should get the words country bumpkin stamped across my forehead. Smooth, Madison.

  “Yeah, sure.” Fortunately he didn’t inquire about my own embarrassing traveler’s status.

  “So, are you in college now?” I asked, trying to switch the subject so I wouldn’t seem too pathetic.

  “Yeah, I’ll be a junior this fall.”

  I nodded. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a year older than me, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be twenty-one in November.”

  “Cool.”

  “How about you? Sid said you’re in community college. How’s that going?”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. But I’ll probably transfer to a bigger school sometime next year.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “What’s your major?”

  “I'm not really sure yet.” Then he got this blank kind of look, like he had left the planet or was thinking about something else, something a whole lot more interesting than me. So I sort of looked away like I was totally absorbed by the specials list up by the cashier: “Hazelnut Mocha, Caramel and Cream, Cinnamon Hottie Latte.” Who comes up with these things?

  “Sorry.”

  “Huh?” I looked back at Ryan.

  “I guess I was spacing out on you. Kind of like a flashback, you know? Or maybe it was déjà vu. I’m not really sure what the difference is.”

  “Well, a flashback is when you remember something that really happened before,” I told him, “and déjà vu is when you see something that feels like it happened before but never really did, unless it was in your imagination or a dream or something.”

  “Wow, are you some kind of word expert?”

  “Not really. But I am into writing. I guess I sort of take after my aunt in that area. I think I’ll probably major in journalism, like she did.”

  “It was cool of her to invite us to come on this trip with her,” he said as we moved forward in the line, like about three and a half inches. “I mean, since she’s really on assignment. But I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

  “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to go anywhere. I’ve been so jazzed these past couple of months. Even right now I can hardly believe I’m really doing this.”

  And now, as I sit here trying to do the deep-breathing and calming exercises that Sid showed me shortly after takeoff and as the turbulence starts getting seriously bad, I still can’t believe it. I mean, What was I thinking?

  Two

  Sid made me promise to keep a travel journal on this trip. “It’ll be something you can look back on when you’re an old lady like me,” she told me as she handed me this dark brown leather-covered book that’s almost too cool to write in. The paper feels as smooth as silk.

  “No problem,” I assured her. “You know how I love to write anyway. And besides, you’re not an old lady.” Okay, I’m not really sure how old she is, but since she’s my dad’s baby sister, I’ve always figured that she’s way younger than him. Although he is in his fifties, which actually sounds fairly old. But the thing about Sid is that she’s really stylish. With her shoulder-length blond hair and slim figure, I’m guessing she could be in her late thirties or maybe even forty. The weird thing is she’s never been married—weird because she’s really good-looking and weird because I think she’s pretty cool, for an older person anyway.

  Of course, she appreciated my compliment. “Keep up the flattery, Maddie, and I’ll take you on all my research trips,” she promised. “Maybe you can be my new assistant.”

  Well, I’m not so sure I want to take any more flying trips. I try to distract myself from the nonstop turbulence by writing in my journal, although some of the words seem to be leaping from the page just now. So far I’ve filled about four pages, front and back. At this rate, I may need a new book by the time we land in Shannon—that’s if we ever do. I don’t know how everyone else can sleep with this plane rocking and rolling its way to the other side of the planet.

  Sid said we’re flying over the polar icecap to save time. And now I can’t help but wonder how cold it might be down there and what would happen if we crash-landed. Would we even survive the impact? And if we did, would we survive the freezing cold temperatures and polar bears? And if we did survive that, would we ever be found? Would our cell phones work? Would desperate and starving passengers eventually resort to cannibalism to stay alive? I saw a movie about that once—a bunch of South American soccer players survived after a crash by eating their friends who died. Maybe I should’ve worn heavy socks and boots instead of these flimsy flip-flops, which Katie assured me would be perfect for getting through the security gates without a hitch. Thanks, Katie!

  I pause from my writing as I think about my best friend. Just yesterday she informed me that she thinks she’ll be engaged before I get back. Okay, this seems totally crazy to me. And I told her so. Like who gets engaged at nineteen? But she told me she’s in love, and he’s the one, and she knows it’s the right thing to do. They only met last fall—at Washington State University, of course. “That’s what comes from going away to school,” my mom told me after I shared Katie’s surprising news.

  Maybe Mom’s right. My parents tempted me into staying home with the offer of a new, slightly used car. They figured it wouldn’t hurt me or my college account to go to the local community college for my first two years of higher education. Yeah, right—higher than what? But so far, unlike Katie, I haven’t met anyone I’m even remotely interested in. Honestly, these guys all seem to be a bunch of country bumpkins, just like me. I suppose that’s due to the agricultural program the school is known for. But, honestly, why would anyone in his right mind go to college to learn how to be a farmer? Besides my dad, that is. He likes to remind me of this whenever I complain about school.

  Honestly, if I didn’t like my car so much (it’s a 2004 Honda Accord), I’d probably back out of the whole deal and go away to school
like Katie. But I guess one more year at home won’t kill me. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind being home right now, stuck on the farm. It would be preferable to crash-landing in the Arctic Circle and being cannibalized by my fellow passengers.

  “You gonna eat that?”

  I turn around and look across the aisle at Ryan. He’s pointing to the chocolate-chip cookie on my food tray, still in its package. “Want it?” I hold it out to him.

  “Sure.” He grins. “Who knows when lunch’ll be served?”

  I glance at my watch. According to Pacific time, its about noon now, and I’m thinking maybe I should’ve held on to that cookie. “When do we adjust the time on our watches?” I ask.

  “Whenever you want,” he says as he eats the cookie in two quick bites. “I already changed mine.” He brushes cookie crumbs from the front of his T-shirt, then glances at his watch. “Right now it’s almost eight o’clock at night in Ireland.” He grins.

  “Seriously? It’s night there already?” I try to absorb this fact. “So what time will it be when we finally land?”

  “Around eight in the morning, tomorrow, which will then be today.”

  “That’s so weird. I mean, we left a little after eight this morning. It’s like it takes twenty-four hours to get there.”

  “Not really. Remember, we lose eight hours because of the time zones.”

  I try to do the clock math in my head, but somehow I keep messing it up. I’ve never been a real numbers person. Finally I just change my watch and try to convince myself that, despite the fact I haven’t even had lunch, it’s already nighttime now. Pretty bizarre.

  Following what I know has been the longest day of my entire life, we land in Shannon. While everyone else on the darkened plane pretty much snoozed the past several hours, I remained wide awake with my imagination running wild the whole time. I might’ve actually dozed off a couple of times, but wild dreams (or turbulence-induced hallucinations) of frozen tundra and hungry polar bears quickly brought me back to my senses. Consequently, I’m feeling totally wiped out now. To use an old cliché, which is something a good writer would never do, I feel like something the cat dragged in. Sorry, but that’s the best description I can come up with in my somewhat brain-dead condition. My hair feels skanky, my teeth are wearing furry sweaters, and my breath must be toxic. Somehow I lost the packet of hygiene goodies that the flight attendants distributed at the start of this flight, and now I discover there was a toothbrush and toothpaste in the neat little plastic pack.