knots
The seats are well cushioned on EgyptAir flight 985, perhaps some of the most comfortable that I have rested on since leaving America. Compared to all of the buses, trains, and planes that I have ridden in over the months, none have cradled my neck, supported my back, and been as soft on my rear as this seat is.
This is not to say that I am comfortable; actually, that is quite contrary. As tasty as the in-flight meals and their yummy desserts are, I still have a hard time holding down food, anxiously waiting for the lavatory to free up so I can expel whatever happens to be sitting like a rock in my stomach. As comfortable as my neck and back are, my stomach curls up into painful knots with every thought about the last week, tears welling up whenever my mind wanders back to Palestine.
It takes distraction and a bit of time, a few discrete wipes of my eyes and several moments of slowly massaging my stomach for my body to relax, forgetting what I am leaving behind and where I have been. I sit here hoping that my future holds lots of distraction, as something tells me this is only the beginning.
