LOATHING, 40’000 MILES HIGH

The plane cruised at a comfortable altitude on a nice, cloudless, sunny day. Takeoff had been smooth and efficient, and the stewardesses assigned to that flight were worth a second look or two. Things were altogether great for Paul except for one thing. He had to fly with Jarvis, and he hated Jarvis.

And they were the pilots.

Now, with the cockpit door closed, and the plane on autopilot, they were engaged in a game of ‘What I Hate About You’. Paul thought himself winning.

“I hate the way you smell. Like a grandfather’s cologne,” Paul said.

Jarvis smelled himself. “I hate the way you fly planes. Where did you go to school again?” He let his shirt go; the smell of laundry detergent and modern cologne faded from his nose. “And I smell fine.”

“I hate the sound of your voice. Its whiny like a baby. Like a little boy, crying. And I really hate having to fly with you.” He jiggled with some controls. “Why’d they pair us together? I’ll never know.”

“I really do hate the way you fly. You drink and you know it. I smell it on you. How much did you have today?” Jarvis asked him.

Paul reached next to his seat and pulled out a small bottle. One the size you get from a hotel minibar. Or one small enough to get through TSA. He downed it in a single swig, the whiskey barely burning his tongue. “Just one more. It’s not a biggie.”

“Euggh. You disgust me.” Jarvis unstrapped his seatbelt and stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Oh, sure.” Paul watched him go, waiting for the door to the bathroom to shut. When it did, he smiled and turned to the controls. “This is how much I hate you.”

The plane suddenly rotated to the left, with Paul manning the plane. Jarvis fell over in the bathroom and hit his head, unable to catch himself despite the small space. Paul righted the plane and when Jarvis opened the door, he was giggling.

Paul said through bared teeth, “I told you I hated you.”

“Oh, my God. You know what’s more important? The people on the plane. The flight attendants you just upended without warning.”

There was a knock on the cockpit door. “Everything alright in there? What the Hell just happened?”

Jarvis thought fast. “We hit a bird. Everything is fine, sorry.”

Quiet from the other side of the door. Either she was convinced or she was aware of the main pilot’s drinking. Either way she seemed appeased for now. Jarvis went and sat in the co-pilot’s chair and readied himself at the controls, in case Paul screwed up again. It fell silent for a brief moment.

“Hey, thanks for covering for me. Really. It’s hard for me to say, but thanks.”

Jarvis sighed. “Whatever. It just fell out of my mouth. We look out for each other— I didn’t really think about it.”

He pulled out a small flask and sipped from it. “I hate you a little less now.”

Jarvis sighed again. He was considering reporting Paul once they landed. As the blood congealed on his forehead, all he could think about was the pain and how the man sitting next to him and had caused it so nonchalantly, endangering passengers and staff in the process. Jarvis shifted in his seat, now uncomfortable sitting next to Paul. He found relief however in winning their game of ‘What I Hate About You’.

Rick Jackson is an Air Force veteran who currently lives in Casselberry, FL. He is studying creative writing and holds a Bachelor’s degree in Film and a Master’s degree in Entertainment Business from Full Sail University. He lives with his two guinea pigs, Goku and Skunk.