She barely noticed the caricature pilot. Headset. Aviators. Hat.  

Her headset chattered, “Cessna 287,  runway 17.”

“Roger.” 

Mumbling to herself. “My therapist told me to do this. She said experiencing a small plane would help. I hate flying. Deathly afraid. But my son’s going off to college. I’ll have to fly to visit.” 

The engine revved. She trembled. Hands and eyes clenched. 

“Wow!” she said as they leveled. 

“It’s actually beautiful.” 

She breathed. At last.

“Thanks,” she said, deplaning. Smiling. All lips, though. No teeth showing.  

Her son’s smile was all teeth as he watched her from the pilot’s seat.