Somewhere in the summer of 2005 The threshold sent the flyaways in my hair dancing, as I stepped onto the airplane. My life was packed in my backpack and every piece of clothing I had was being thrown into the luggage compartment below. I looked at no one as I took my seat by the window. I'd lived on airplanes my whole life, flying back and forth between my parents. My most intimate moments played out in busy airport terminals for the world to see. People would stare, as I tried not to cry because when I cried more tears poured down dad's face. Clutching my sister's hand in mine, I'd drag her down the jetway because one of us had to; leaving a man in the terminal, who'd lean against the glass window until we were in the air when he'd cave from the blow of the twin engines and cry until he could barely walk a straight line back through the airport. I hated these flying death traps. Forced to ride them since I was four, I'd be damned if anyone was ever