OCD, the Dude, and Me - By Lauren Roedy Vaughn Page 0,23

British flight attendant guy had to pick them up. He was not amused.

Oh my God, she’s trying to stand up. She fell down! The woman next to her seems really frustrated even though that is not at all the PC way to react when someone is sick right by you, but I can’t help it, I love the woman who is annoyed with Sara. Love her. Wait, whoa, it looks like Sara can’t keep her eyes open. I think this might be serious.

Keira just appeared from around the corner of the flight attendant station. I think she’s looking for Jacob. Now Ms. Harrison just walked past me and she looks really worried.

Now I’m starting to get worried.

OMG.

What if my mean thoughts about Sara had a force of their own? What if they were psychically projected as a biologically destructive black cloud? Just what if? What if all my ill will literally made her diseased. I’m panicking here. I have to go lock myself in the bathroom. Gotta get to a safe zone.

So I went to the bathroom in the back of the plane and stayed in there forever because I overheard this conversation outside the door while I was in there. (Now, I’m an eavesdropper on top of unleashing a biological black cloud of destruction.)

Conversation outside the bathroom:

Jacob: Hey, baby, let’s steal those little vodka bottles they have and get buzzed.

Keira: No, Jacob. Stop it. I don’t want to.

(One of them slammed up against the flimsy bathroom door at that point. I had to pull my hat over my eyes because I was imagining Jacob kissing Keira all crazy against the bathroom door. There was the weakest of barriers between their love and me. I could hardly take it. I nearly passed out. I started counting by twos to chill out.)

Jacob: What? What do you mean?

Keira: I don’t like when you drink. I know I was just around you that one time you drank too much, but it was icky. You’re a mean drunk, Jacob. I hate saying that because I love you, but, dude, it’s true.

Jacob: What? What are you talking about?

Keira: James’s holiday party. You guys snuck liquor and thought you were so funny, but you were actually lame. You said mean crap to people. You told Sara she had a face only her mother could love or something like that. She cried, Jacob.

Jacob: God, I don’t even remember that. You didn’t say anything.

Keira: I know. It didn’t come up again, so I was, like, well, maybe it was just a one-time deal. So look. No drinking right now. You can kiss me and do that thing you do with my hair and then let’s sit back down. I gotta see what’s up with Sara. I’m worried about her.

Jacob: I’m sorry, sweetness. You win.

And then I heard them kiss and make soft moaning sounds, and then I prayed that I’d die right there in the airplane bathroom, which is exactly the necessary dimensions for my coffin. My hips felt all smashed against the cold stainless steel, and my heart was crushed under the weight of their cruel perfect love.

And then I had to leave the bathroom because my safe zone had morphed into a torture chamber.

Now the flight attendants are bringing Sara to the back of the plane and doing something to her. I don’t know. A bunch of the kids are out of their seats trying to figure out what is going on. James and John are tossing a football across the aisle as if they don’t have a care in the world. Keira yelled at them: “Dudes—what the hell?” and they actually listened to her and stopped. John is clearly not the best boyfriend to have.

This just came over the loudspeaker: “Hello, passengers, this is the captain speaking. We are having a medical emergency that is going to require that we land the plane in Toronto, Canada. I sincerely apologize for this inconvenience. We are going to do our best to arrange connecting flights for all of you to get to your destination in a timely manner.”

*CANADA JOURNAL* 3/2

#1 Entry from a hotel room in Toronto

We are in a hotel that hasn’t had an upgrade for a thousand years. Everything is turquoise and orange and sticky and peeling. This place and the whole flight experience made me so anxious that I had to lock myself in the bathroom with the three hats I packed (furry black, green sherpa, and black beret) while I ritualistically put them