“If there’s turbulence, I will have a panic attack in the air,” Darko told me with a trembling stare. “I asked them and they told me that I can get a refund. I will take the bus.”

I set down the proof of my book I was copy editing and put my hand on Darko’s shoulder, “One way or another you’re going to have to fly again when you go back to Serbia. I know you’re worried, but, seriously, it’s the safest way to travel. There’s no other option. You’ve gotta get on that plane.”

“I will take the bus,” he said. But taking the bus was not really an optioni. In three days he needed to fly back to Serbia from New York. He was out of money, and taking the bus to New York, our destination from Minneapolis, would have been a time risk. Getting separated from the group held more risk for Darko than flying.

Afraid To Fly

Darko had flown for the first time when he left Serbia four months ago as part of a work program that brought him to, of all places, Bismarck, North Dakota. It was there that he and two other Serbians in the program, Doushen and Jelena, had met my brother Tyler.  Darko’s first experience with flight had terrified him.

Tyler had taken the Serbs under his wing and made an effort to make the trio feel welcome. One of the first things they had wondered upon their arrival here was where all the people were. When they walked the streets, they were alone. The culture of  the Midwest is not a walking one. Generally people drive from one building to another even if it’s only a few blocks away. While people in this part of the country tend to be friendly and helpful, their personal lives are held close. It’s not an easy place for newcomers to make friends.

But my brother continued our family tradition: taking recently arrived foreigners and strays under his wing, driving them to different sites, inviting them over to my parent’s house for dinner, and ultimately offering to travel with them to New York City. He and I had passed through on a road trip this past summer and I was moving there so the timing worked out for the five of us to travel a as a group.

Four months after his flight to America, Darko’s fears aligned as we board the plan in Minneapolis. Panic was setting in. Our prodding coaxed reluctantly aboard. His obvious fear was spreading to other passengers.

Worried Travler or Worried Hijacker? 

“He acted like you’d expect someone who was about to hijack a plane might look like,” my brother later said. Though his English was good, Darko’s fear led him to pace back and forth and even enter the pilot’s cabin where he demanded nervously, “Will there be air turbulence?”

Finally, we got him to sit down, but by then, he had caught the attention of one of the Airtran’s flight attendants.  “Sir, are you okay?” one asked.

“No,” Darko responded paleface. “I am afraid to fly. Will there be much turbulence?”

“Do you want to be on this flight?” She asked him.

“No,” he said.

“Okay,” the flight attendant responded decisively, “That’s enough for me, you’re off this plane. Get your bag.”

Darko was dazed. I was seated in front of him and tried to intervene, “Ma’am,” I said, “Can I say something.”

“Talk to me later,” she said holding up a halting hand.

“Ma’am, what I have to say has to do with this situation, so telling me to talk to you later is the same as telling me that I can’t talk to you at all.”

But her mind was set. Ignoring me, she pulled Darko to his feet and escorted him off the plane. It was a full flight with people on standby and Darko was swapped for another passenger.

Later when the jet doors closed, the flight attendant returned to hear what I had to say. I told her Darko’s situation, that now he was stranded in Minneapolis, a city he had never been to, in a country he barely understood, with limited fluency in both the language and lay of the land.

“We have no way to contact him,” I told her. “Can you call the gate and explain his situation to people there?”

“He shouldn’t be flying without medication if he’s that afraid of it.”

“Well, I don’t agree with the way you handled that,” I told her, “You didn’t even take the time to understand the situation.”

“Look, what was I going to do if he had a panic attack in the air? I asked him if he wanted to be on this flight and he said no.”

“By the time you came over we had calmed down, he was sitting in his chair not talking to anyone and was ready to fly.”

“Well, I couldn’t take the risk.”

“You could have at least listened though.”

A Conversation To Nowhere

The conversation went nowhere. In her shoes I might have done the same. It was her dismissive attitude that bothered me. Every time I opened my mouth she shook her head before my words arrived at their intended meaning. Not flying was not an option for Darko. He needed to get to New York in time for his flight back to Serbia. If he missed that flight he’d be in trouble.

When we landed at our connecting city in Milwaukie the flight attendant accompanied our group to the gate so that we could get in touch with someone in Minneapolis and find out what had become of Darko.

The man behind the counter shook his head after a few attempts at calling Minneapolis and glared at his computer, “This number here is wrong.” The flight attendant continued to defend herself though no one was attacking her, “I did what needed to be done. You can’t have people panicking up in the air.”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” I told her, “But you should have at least listened to me when I asked to weigh in on the situation.”

She held up another halting hand, “I did what needed to be done.”

“Well now our Serbian friend is alone in Minneapolis and he needs to get to New York to return to Serbia. He doesn’t have any money, what is he going to do?”

How Darko Got His Wings

Just then, passengers on an earlier flight out of Minneapolis that had been delayed, began deplaning from the adjacent gate. Darko was among them. In an intoxicated shuffle he moseyed over to us, a half full bottle of wine in his hand.

“Hey,” he slurred. The flight attendant gave me a satisfied nod; “Well it looks like everything’s fine then, isn’t it? Okay. Good, everything worked out. Goodbye.”

My brother and I exchanged relieved glances and the Serbians excitedly conversed in their language. Darko turned to us, “They give me four bottles of wine to have the courage to fly. They give them for free! You want some?” He raised the bottle to me.

“Yes,” I said, letting my worry dissipate and reaching for the offered bottle. “Is there a place to smoke here?” he asked turning to my brother. “If I am going to get on this next flight I must have a cigarette.”