When the lights came back on the aircraft was in full nosedive. Walter had been thrown from his seat and hurled some three rows ahead. I couldn’t get rid of him sooner. Bad passenger seat etiquette. Wouldn’t stop talking even when I pointed to my earbuds, looped my hair behind my ear exposing it to show they were plugged in. Like a studio ‘on air’ red light, indicating recording in progress, quiet, shut up, shut the f-up, he just didn’t get it. The worst part about flying is sitting next to someone who enters your personal space and won’t leave. I tried to be invisible. I used to be good at it, good at disappearing. I’d minimize my presence, retreat into myself, into the deepest recesses, down dark corridors that only I knew how to navigate. Burrow so far inside that if someone tried to follow, they’d get lost. I’d hide for as long as I needed, sometimes longer, especially when my father’s rage had a short refractory period and could ramp up anytime. The blows would come fast and furious, but I wouldn’t feel a thing. Insulated like industrial spray foam. The black and blues, welts and stings, surfaced only much later when everything died down and I was left alone to nurse my wounds. But until then I’d be far removed. The sounds muffled, like noise canceling headphones. But those didn’t work today. Walter had to be ejected. The smell of fear filling the cabin. The short shallow breaths.