Summer Lovin'

I hate flying.

I've never liked it. Ever since the tragedy at New York in September, I've forever hated gliding in an oversized toy airplane, through the clouds, and sometimes above them. I'd rather be on the ground rather than look at it from 16,000 feet in the air, you know? I'm claustrophobic, too, which does not help the fact that I always get stuck in the middle seat of the row, between two overweight couple that one had wanted the aisle seat so he could easily get out of the plane, and the other wanting the window seat so she could look out it. And I get stuck in the middle of them, as they start fighting about if one is overdressed for a plane ride, then end up falling asleep on each of my shoulders. The flight attendants are always too perky, asking every two seconds if I want a refill when I haven't even had a look at it. The turbulence sucks, making me spill my complimentary pop everywhere, and my complimentary peanuts shoot out of the bag because we had hit a bad bump and my fingers rip open the bag, making the nuts fly every which way. The plane ride is always too long, and you can't walk anywhere without getting accused of being a terrorist or getting in trouble because you’re "disturbing the other fliers." The plane no longer gives you an actual meal anymore, so my stomach is growling at me for food, when I'm trying to fill it up on pop, nuts, and whatever else the flight attendants give me. And of course I get stuck in a place where there's no TV, so I can't watch a movie, and I can't even sleep because I have to huge apes on each shoulder, snoring louder than a lions roar every second.

And then when you finally land, the plane bumps and hops on the runway, causing the two gorillas on each shoulder to wake up and be angry that something is disturbing their "peaceful sleep." They then take forever to get all their fat on their feet and try to push their way out into the aisle, shoving everyone out of the way. Then they get stuck because they're just too damn fat to walk in the aisle.

Then, once you're finally off the plane and in the airport, it's insanely loud and crazy because it's LAX and everyone is there. And when you finally find the baggage claim area after getting lost for what seemed like hours, yours is the last ones because by then, everyone in that damn airport just absolutely hates you, and loves to see you miserable.

And when your parents finally get a taxi in this insanely crowded airport outside, you wait in ten-mile long traffic for three hours because it's rush hour and everyone in the world is out and trying to get home.

And you're really hot because you came from Chicago and it's cold out there and so you're in jeans and a sweatshirt, and in California it's the exact opposite weather.

And then, you're finally to where you need to be, and it's so beautiful, but since you're so tired, you fall asleep and waste your whole first day there, completely ruining your first day of your new "home."

I hate flying.

“I’m so glad we’re here. I hate flying.” I mumbled, setting my bags down at the bottom of the stairs.

“We know, Nahla. You’ve only said is a few hundred times on the plane.” My mother laughed lightly, setting her bags next to mine. “Wow, it’s hot here.”

“I know!” I agreed, fanning myself with my hand. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be like Chicago….”

They chuckled lightly as my dad grabbed my mom’s hand and kissed it lightly before they let them fall to their sides. “Just remember, Nahla, you begged us to take you here.”

I smiled, shrugging. “I know, it just doesn’t feel like home yet. I’ll get used to it.” I looked around the room for a few seconds, quickly thinking up a way to ask them which room was mine. “So…do I get to pick my own room?”

“As long as it’s not the master bedroom, then yes, you get to pick your room.” My dad smiled slyly, already thinking of what I was going to ask him.

I slouched, groaning. “No fun. I wanted the biggest room.” I grabbed my bags and headed upstairs, looking in all the rooms to see which one I wanted.

I didn’t really like any of them, because they didn’t have a view of the ocean, and that’s what I mainly wanted. Just a view of the ocean.

I gasped, my bags falling to the floor once I let go of them. This room was absolutely gorgeous. Light blue walls to match the beautiful ocean, and white furniture to match with it. A queen-sized bed just waiting for me to plop myself down and fall asleep quickly. The one wall facing the ocean was all window. There wasn’t a pole in sight to block the insanely amazing view of the Pacific Ocean.

This was my dream room.

“I found my room!” I yelled to my parents before getting out my Polaroid camera to take a picture of the ocean and put it in a scrapbook.

I smiled, facing the camera towards the ocean and me, and snapped the picture. The picture came out black, so I waved it around for a few minutes before the picture came into view. It was perfect.

I smiled and set the picture down on the nightstand before lying down on the bed. Sighing, I turned over, my eyelids becoming heavier and heavier until finally, sleep overcame me.