The ancient Cessna has rusty holes where rivets should be and vibrates worryingly as we ascend over cornfields. It took thirty-eight hours of work to buy this jump. Thirty-eight hours standing on concrete, ringing groceries while harried women screamed their frustrations in my face, and lecherous old men sneaked behind my counter pressing their bodies against mine while asking, “Where’s the shampoo?” I long for freedom, flight, unencumbered, save for the instructor about to be attached to my back. He eyes my chest, lips wet, and adjusts his pants. There is no escape—not on the ground or in the air.
Tammy Komoff's work has appeared in Five Minutes, DreamForge Anvil, and more. For more information, please visit tammykomoff.com or follow her on Bluesky @tammykomoff.bsky.social