It wasn't until after her first child was born that she developed a fear of flying. Before that the risk inherent in launching oneself twenty thousand feet into the air had seemed almost joyous, a liberation, a brush against the breath of god. She would close her eyes in meditative repose and let her fate wash over her, accepting the possibility of death as one of many equally valid potential paths.
Now she sat, her back rigid against the narrow seat, her sleeping baby cradled across her chest, ignoring FDA regulations, because really, if they crashed, would that subtle difference in position save him? It was the same logic she had used in high school to justify hurtling down the country roads around her home in her vintage VW bug, wearing no seat belt. At that time, however, her decision was motivated by a cavalier trust in benevolence of the universe. With the birth of herself as a mother that shell of trust had been shed, leaving her raw, vulnerable to the searing pain of mortality.
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