By Drew Tkac

 

Dave Lantos was certain that he heard one of the engines making strange grinding noises. He craned his neck over the seat and studied the faces of the other passengers in the cabin. Some were reading, some were laughing, some were talking, and some were sleeping. No one was panicking. 

 

“This is good,” he thought, “it’s good, we’re fine.” 

 

Self-talk was a big part of keeping Dave calm while flying. 

 

The pilot announced that they were ten minutes from landing at LAX as the plane slowly descended into the San Bernardino Valley. This was an early morning flight and Dave couldn't get the mandatory beer necessary to keep his fear at bay. He looked out the window of the 737 as the plane slowly lowered into the morning marine layer, a fog bank so dense he couldn’t see the wing tip. 

 

His anxiety shot up again. “We’re going to crash into the mountains!” he thought as a flush of anxiety ran through him like an electric shock.

 

His self-talk was gone. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t get off the plane, there was nothing to do but sit and wait to die. He surrendered to the moment and accepted death. It had a surprising calming effect. 

 

“This is it; my life is all over. This is how I’m going to die.”

 

Five minutes later his flight from Denver landed on runway 25 Left, smooth as a goose with sore feet. He slumped in his seat, happy to be home but exhausted from all the emotional energy he used to get through yet another flight. 

 

His boss, and friend, Angelo Martinez was picking him up. This was unusual, but they were meeting an important client in Anaheim a few hours later. Just outside the security gate Angelo was waving his arms above his head. “Dave! Over here!” He was excited to see him and gave him a great big hug. “What the hell, you’re all sweaty and you look like shit. I need you to be sharp on this one and you look like you're hungover!”

 

“Yep, bad flight. Not for anyone else but me.” He paused for a long uncomfortable moment, “You know Angelo, I love what I do. Meeting clients, teaching others how to use our stuff. Seeing their faces brighten up when they make it all work. But I just can’t fly anymore. I’m going to have a heart attack up there.”

 

Angelo just stayed quiet and listened.

 

“I tried tapes, hypnosis, cognitive desensitization, and that banging on my head EFT stuff. I took a fear-of-flying class with American Airlines. But nothing worked. I think this is it, I think I’m done flying.”

 

They walked quietly for a while. When they got outside the airport the fog had lifted slightly and the sun was peeking through. Dave said, “I love the smell of the salt air in this crazy place.”  

 

After they got in the car Angelo rooted around in his briefcase and pulled out a business card. “Dave, I don’t tell people this, but a few years back, before I started this business, I struggled with depression and anxiety. I did Zoloft, Xanax, booze, cocaine, pot, and lots of sex. Nothing helped. Then I stumbled on this gal.”

 

Dave looked at the card, “What the hell is Psychedelic Therapy?”

 

“You smoked pot in college, right? Maybe some mushrooms or LSD.” 

 

“Pot yes, but none of the other stuff. Seemed scary to me.”

 

“Well, keep an open mind. This helped me and got me to build this business. Give her a call, she’s right here in the valley. Ahh… One more thing. It’s still a little illegal so keep it quiet.” 

 

Dave stared at the card like it would magically help him while Angelo drove them south on the 405. “Dave, you know I love you like a brother and you're absolutely great at your job, but if you can’t fly I gotta let you go.”

 

Dave cleaned himself up in an IHOP near Disneyland, and they talked business over breakfast. The meeting went fine but another trip was looming in two weeks. Already Dave felt the tightening in his gut and an overwhelming urge to fidget, run or scream.

 

The next day he called Dr. Alice Goldberg, a professional psychonaut, and set up an appointment. After a few pleasantries on the phone she said, “Dave, getting ready for a psychedelic trip involves at least a week of meditation, exercise, proper diet and most importantly a clear goal of what you want to accomplish on your journey. Are you ready to do that?” Dave agreed and scheduled the day.

 

The next week, having been well coached by Dr. Goldberg, he arrived in the preparation room nervously ready for his trip. The room was warmly lit with pleasant candles and soothing music. There was a comfortable bed for Dave and a few chairs where Dr. Goldberg sits to monitor his well-being and guide him on his journey.

 

“How long before I return to being myself again?” Dave asked.

 

“Hopefully never, that's the whole point of the trip,” she smiled, and he nodded with a slight smile.

 

Dave sat at the edge of the bed and Dr.Goldberg handed him a chime to ring. Dave repeated the words, “Ringing this chime marks the beginning of my journey.” 

 

“May you have a meaningful experience,” said Dr. Goldberg.

 

While the chime was still ringing, Dave took the psilocybin pill. He put the eye shades on and the headphones on, then pulled the covers up and laid back. He chose Mozart piano sonatas for his music. Beethoven was too dramatic; Bach was too sad, and jazz was out of the question. 

 

About twenty minutes later Dave outstretched his arms and a rainbow of lights poured into each finger. Though blindfolded, he saw the air as thick colorful liquid that left a trail when he breathed in and out. With each breath a fractal pattern spun out and floated in space until the next breath gently pushed it out of the way. 

 

Every molecule in space spoke to him. He hugged his pillow, and the molecules lifted him. He flew around the room, out the door and over the trees. Higher and higher he flew until the molecules began misbehaving. They threw him off of his pillow and Dave fell faster and faster toward the earth. He landed in a technicolor river, splashing a tidal wave of brilliant oil like paint. Dave sank to the bottom, inhaling the liquid and died.

 

Out of the river’s edge grew a bush of beautiful white chrysanthemums. One flower was his cousin Chris that passed away when he was eight, another was his mother that died when he was ten. One of the biggest flowers turned into his father who died when he was nineteen. Dave became the very next flower and could see his father’s face.

 

“Dad! Is that you? “

 

Dave was so happy to see his father. It has been forty years since he passed. 

 

“Well son I hear you’re having trouble flying. That’s understandable after what I’ve been through.”

 

He felt so connected to his father. They were two flowers on the same bush. “What happened dad? What did you go through?”

 

“During World War II I was in the civil service. They sent me to Alameda Naval Air Station as a radio man for bombers. The rule was if you fix anything on a bomber, you gotta go on the test flight. Their way of keeping you motivated, you know, to do a good job.”

 

“I remember you telling me you were a technician during the war.”

 

“Yea, So, one day in early February I replaced a radio in this B-26 Marauder. A few days later the test flight was scheduled. I got this overwhelming premonition of this plane crashing in the San Francisco Bay. In my vision, I could hear the explosion when it crashed and smell the fuel.”

 

“I don’t remember you telling me this. What did you do dad?”

 

“Well, I faked an ear infection. You can’t fly with an ear infection. So, the bid went out for another radio technician to go on the flight. My friend Robert picked it up, he wanted to go. He was excited to go.”

 

“Oh no, dad you didn’t?”

 

“The day came for the flight test. The pilot was eighteen years old. Hell, he was reading a comic book then he went to fly the plane. I was listening to the tower while I worked. The pilot radioed back that he lost an engine. Then the radio went silent, and I could hear the explosion in the bay. It’s routine to land with one engine, but he couldn’t handle it. He was just a goddamn kid.” 

 

“Why didn’t you warn them dad? You killed all five of them by staying quiet!”

 

“Damn it, pull that moral stick out of your ass! I used my powers to survive. It’s no different than any animal using its strength to stay alive. If I would have died in that plane crash, you would not be here. Hell, you would not have been born. So, you’re welcome. Now, go live your life.”

 

His face was gone from the flower in a burst of stars that looked like fireworks. There would be no more discussion, no rebuttal.

 

The rest of Dave’s psychedelic journey was wonderful. It left him feeling a connection to every living thing in the universe.

 

Afterwards, he told Dr. Goldberg, “I still angry at my father for what he didn’t do.”

 

“Remember Dave, as real as it seemed, you didn’t really talk to your father. That was your mind constructing a story around fragments of your memory. You’ll eventually figure out what that story means to you. Meanwhile it’s important to take it easy for the next few weeks. In some ways your mind has been wiped clean of past trauma. You now want to reclaim a peaceful existence.  

 

Dave left Dr. Goldberg’s office and drove home on Santa Monica Blvd. As he approached Western Avenue his car stalled. The entire dashboard lit up with flashing warning lights. Dave pitched forward, tugging against the seat belt, as if the car stepped on the brakes. Stopped dead in the street, he immediately started fiddling with the start button. 

 

He heard screeching tires and looked up. A gas tanker truck ran a red light just up ahead and smashed into a car broadside. The truck exploded into bright orange and red flames engulfing the car with it. Jet black smoke poured from the car and truck. He felt the intense heat from the explosion and the chemical smell burnt his nose. 

 

This all seemed to be happening in slow motion, like he was watching it on a movie screen. Then, a horrible realization flushed over him. He was only seconds from the intersection himself. He slumped over the wheel shivering with adrenaline.

 

Suddenly, his car came to life and the multimedia screen beeped, “Message from Unknown: So, you’re welcome. Now, go live your life!”