We're in a plane. It's me and my ex-boyfriend, along with some friends and a notable Hardin County-born country singer. We've taken off, things are peachy, and ex-boyfriend and I are seated in the front row of this fancy plane where there are huge windows that you can see out of. I'm watching the landscape — largely rural farmland — bloom and unfurl in front of us, when it dawns on me that we are really close to the ground to have been flying for a while. Are we landing? What is that beeping?
Turns out the plane is having some issues staying off the ground. The pilot is doing her damnedest to keep the big bird in the air and she makes a sharp turn, but suddenly there's a big storm bubbling up to our east and everyone in the plane sees it out those big windows. We see tornados forming — at least two — and they are moving fast and snaking out toward us. We can't avoid going into the storm cloud, which has completely taken over the sky, and the cabin fills with mist and fog and wetness, and I can feel the wind and rain against my face as we plummet. The press is going to go wild with this dead country star, I think cynically to myself. I lean over to hug my ex-boyfriend and pat him on the back, over and over and over. We brace for impact.
I think to myself, Wait a sec. I am dreaming.
And I open my eyes. It's morning and I lie there a minute before I hear my boy on the monitor, and it's time to start the day.