After Anaïs

The temperature was about nineteen degrees that day, so I put on my leggings and my leather trousers--I really had clothes in those days!--then I layered and layered and layered until I thought I was ready for anything.

We drove out someplace on Long Island to a dock and they brought out a tiny seaplane which looked like a large toy. We got in. I was wedged firmly into one seat. The rest of the space was taken up by Marty and the camera equipment. Wide seatbelts across our laps were the only things holding us in.

When all the stuff was stashed to his satisfaction, Marty called out to the men standing by, “Here! Take this door off.”

So they removed the door on the pilot’s side of the plane, and off we went. With the side of the plane open, the icy wind was whuffing all around us. I congratulated myself on having had the foresight to pile on all those layers. I pulled my cap a little closer around my face and settled down to enjoy the ride. Soon the skyscrapers were right below us.

I was aware Marty was holding the stick with one hand and scrabbling around with the other, getting his camera set up. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to where the plane was going, which began to make me nervous.

Then I realized he was yelling at me over the wind, “Here! Take the  stick.”

Now it was my turn to yell. “But Marty, I’ve never held a stick in my whole life!”

“Just keep the nose on the horizon!”

And he disappeared over the side.

With both hands on the camera, he was hanging out the open doorway, shooting away. Before my stunned brain could comprehend fully what was happening, he popped up again.

“Watch out for the big airliners!” He yelled. “You’ve got to keep out of their way! They can’t see us!”

And over he went again.

I have never been so scared in my life. I’m one of those people who doesn’t panic outwardly; I’m very quiet while I deal with whatever needs to be dealt with. Then I collapse later, in private. Not this time. After sitting frozen with terror for I don’t know how long, I went to the other extreme. I began to cry. I began to scream. I went berserk.

Marty paid no attention to me until he was finished with what he was doing, at which point he rejoined me inside the plane and took the stick again.

My hysterics began to ease up--until I looked out and saw the pointy things on the top of the Empire State Building going right by my elbow. We were no longer above those buildings; we were down among them! I began to scream again.

Marty was through with the camera work now, and thoroughly disgusted with all the racket, so he decided to take me down rather than continue our tour of New York’s skyscrapers. My hysterics subsided as the famous skyline receded. By the time the plane floated over to the dock, I was completely quiet, completely hoarse. The men were there to help us in.

I had considerable difficulty unfolding myself from my cramped space. I was half frozen and my circulation must have slowed to a crawl because my feet were completely numb and, as I attempted to step out onto the dock, they refused to cooperate. They simply wouldn’t budge. Splat! Splawsh! Flat out and stiff as a board, I went straight into the drink. The men fished me out of the icy water like a bit of floating wreckage. God! It’s a wonder I didn’t get frostbite--or something worse.