It was in July of 1998 that I had flown on my first airplane. I turned over my boarding pass and stared at the large plane from outside the window. I walked down a long corridor that was connected to the aircraft. To my surprise, the inside was a lot smaller than it had appeared to be. The isle I strode to get to my window seat was small and compact, only large enough for one person to pass through. After I took my seat and fastened my seatbelt the flight attendants went over the safety precautions. They were all very benevolent and explained to all the passengers what we were to do in case of an emergency. I had kept reminding myself that it was more likely for someone to die in a car accident than a plane crash, or so I have read. The pilot started down the runway and as the plane went faster my stomach sank with excitement. As the pilot pulled the plane into the sky I thought to myself “wow this is a lot like a roller-coaster ride.” While we glided into the air I smiled and stared out the window at the glorious view. It was night time and all the city lights were bright and striking. I had even seen what appeared to be a portrayal, a bear of some sort, composed of different colored lights, as if it were meant only for me.
The flight was elongated it took seven hours to fly over the Atlantic Ocean and into Heathrow, London. For the most part it was a smooth journey