But there is one passenger I will never forget. Two years later, she impacted my life in ways I could not have predicted.
Allow me to paint a picture of my life first. My basement flat was just what I expected for $600 per month in the city.
But it was all I could afford at 26, after everything that had happened.
The kitchen counter served as both my desk, workspace, and dining table. A little twin bed occupied one corner, with the metal frame evident where the linens had come pulled loose.
I looked at the stack of unpaid invoices on my fold-out table.
I grabbed my phone, fingers lingering over Mom’s number out of habit, before remembering. Six months. It had been six months since I had had someone to call.
The irony was not lost on me. BREATHING. That’s how this entire story began on that fateful journey.
“Miss, please! Someone help her!” A loud shriek echoed along the aisle.
I was performing my routine checks in business class when I heard a man’s voice filled with panic. Three seats forward, an old woman clutched her throat, her face becoming an unsettling shade of crimson.
“She’s choking!” Another passenger shouted, half-rising from his seat.
“Ma’am, I’m here to help. Can you breathe at all?” I asked the lady.
I put my arms around her torso, finding the point just above her navel, and pushed up with everything I had. Nothing. Again. Nothing. The third time, I heard a little gasp.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page. Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
