He sees it mid-flight. During the brief respite between drink services, he rests against an exit door, talking to his fellow flight attendants as they brief each other on recurring aggravation, plans when they get home, stupid stuff other flight attendants said. Sometimes about the attendants at the other end of the plane, but on this run, not too often.
He listens and contributes, but keeps an eye on the passing landscape, checking in between clouds, knowing, as his heart speeds up, that they are coming close. He doesn’t always get to gaze down on the lovely lake, on the glints of sun sparking on the water, of the hints of reeds along the western shore. He doesn’t get to study it on every flight, try to read thoughts from the ripples of waves, or the smooth glass of a perfect day. He knows it’s there though, he can feel it, sense it’s lapping on his heart, even from so many feet above the ground.
Once, when he requested a day off instead of taking the route back home, he started to map out where his lake was. He thought maybe he would sense it, as he traveled north along the highway, then along the roads outside the city. How could he not know his lake, when he knew the lake as if it were his own soul? The sureness of finding the well of happiness that he knew bubbled between them, was disappointed by lake after lake, but not his.
He doesn’t know who to share this with. He knows love of a lake is something many people have expressed. Who doesn’t love to see the wave of leaves along a shore line, the peace of kayaking over water smooth and full of life? Enveloping a body in water on a hot summer day, splashing in and out of lakes brings so many so much joy. But he knows, this love is different. He once loved another person like this. Happiness, that settled into contentment. Passion, that never quite went away, especially on a quiet night when the world was quiet and they could focus on only each other, and the feeling, the strings, that pulled them together.
His love for this lake was greater, stronger, more powerful than any love he had ever felt. And he didn’t even know its name.
The next flight path, as he was leaning against the window, murmurs of gossip behind him while his eyes were scanning the ground for a glimpse of his beloved, he heard the lake call. He heard its voice, breathing love, before he saw the lake before him. He was never going to be whole without it. He was never going to escape the mundane world around him, never see perfection unless he could be within the folds of his lake’s watery arms.
It was now or never, at least it seemed that way. Later on, the surviving attendants didn’t know how to explain the suddenness of his wrenching the exit door open, taking them by surprise, not giving them time to react. His quick leap, without a word to them, left no explanation for what had happened. As he jumped, he passed through wispy clouds, looking down as the lake rushed towards him, his eyes focused, his heart ready, he could see nothing but shimmering water mixed with tears, as he finally connected with heaven.
Worlds 