Days Like This

Hannah Vigers

My day was the day that I have always remembered-from the feelings of excitement as a little girl to the fear that came chasing after it.

It was the morning that we were leaving my Grandparents' house and, similar to most four year olds, I was up at the crack of dawn. I jumped on top of my older sister who was asleep in the bed next to me with her head lying directly underneath the deep pink, floral light which seemed to be a recurring feature throughout the house. I positioned myself on the side of the bed and lowered myself as I was too small to reach the floor otherwise, and then I attempted to grasp the chilly, gold door handle by going on the tips of my small, rounded toes. I found myself in the spare bedroom where my brother slept and I repeated the same process. Looking back that particular ritual now never seems to receive the same reaction as it did those 11 years ago and instead you get a groan of ingratitude from the victim who is desperately trying to sleep.

We bounced down the stairs and our feet thudded against the brightly carpeted, wooden floor. Being so small and careless it was lucky we did not knock over any of the precisely placed photos in antique frames and precious vases. We all barged into the front room and either ran at the sofa directly in front of us to watch some children's cartoons or we would head straight to the readily prepared table to help our hungry tummies to breakfast. My favourite-and the only option that I ever chose-was a nice slice of heavily-spread Nutella toast. About ten minutes later my Mum and Dad made their way down stairs. We had the same chat each morning consisting of my brother, sister and I finding it hard not to laugh at all the funny things we had said in our sleep the night before.

The next few hours flew by with everyone squeezing the odd bits and pieces like Thomas the Tank into their suitcases in a hurry to get out of the house in time and get into our booked taxi so we could make it to the airport on time. The numerous curls in the road and the overly-enthusiastic taxi driver did not go down well with my sister after indulging in a large breakfast of sugary Weetabix and Nutella toast so there was the inevitable Are we nearly there yet..." followed by "because I feel sick!" coming from the back seat. It was not until we arrived at the airport that the excitement that I had felt the previous week when we made the same journey on the aeroplane returned, and I was jumping about in my seat when I saw huge parts of the planes coming out the back of the building. We pulled up outside the large clear doors that harshly reflected the morning sun and clambered out of the taxi looking for a bit of fresh air.

We checked in, found ourselves seats and then my brother, sister and I persuaded our dad to take us to WHSmith to buy some tacky magazines that we lost before we even managed to get on to the plane. Our call had been read out and we made our way to the gate. With my brother running off ahead in attempt to be the "first person on the aeroplane", and my sister in a huff because she wanted her packet of Jelly babies now and not once we had found our seats, there was no wonder my parents were in a panic. We made it to the door of the aeroplane as a group of five but within a matter of seconds, my brother was off again. I sat down with my sister and mum while my dad went to find him. Once again happiness was building up and I just wanted to be up in the sky. Once my mum finished putting her bag in the box above us she sat down and we were all given the talk on how to use our seatbelts and the masks that drop down in front of you. It was getting closer and closer to take off, and I was getting closer and closer to jumping out of my seat. The plane finally started moving slowly and gradually picked up speed. I was watching out of the window the houses that shrank and the cars that looked like little bubbles floating along as they were driving. Typical of a four year old, as soon as the plane had got into the air the first thing I wanted was to go to the toilet. My mum explained however much I did not want to hear it that I wasn't allowed to go until the seat belt light had flicked off. As I sat there staring determinedly at the light, the second that it turned off I hopped out of my seat and decided to show my mum that I was a big girl and that I could go to the bathroom by myself.

"Click, click, click" went the soap dispenser as I emptied far too much soap on to my hands. The spray of water that landed on my nose tickled and then I crumpled up two tissues to dry my hands. I reached up to slide the door open so that I could go back to my seat. I pushed the door but nothing happened. I tried again and still nothing. I tried for a third time and the door just would not move. The big smile and feeling of achievement had washed away. I was stuck in the toilet and there was not anybody to help me out. Before I knew it the drop of water that had landed on my nose from the tap had multiplied into dozens of tears. As a little girl who did not quite have the grasp of what a real emergency was, I thought it sensible to hit the big red button which sent an alarm running through the plane. Immediately there was a lady on the other side of the door managed to let me out. She took me back to my parents where they sat me down and I told them what happened. After I had got over the shock the same nice lady came back and said that if I would like I could go with her and see the pilot flying the plane and have a look at where he sits. I remember marvelling round at all the different buttons and being amazed at the view.

This was quite a lot to get up to in one day. So much so, that as soon as I got back to my seat, I was straight to sleep and did not wake up until my mum carried me off the plane and out to find another taxi home.