<the big one>

WEDNESDAY

TWENTY MINUTES OUT OF LAGUARDIA, our pilot announces that the landing gear is broken.

The businessman next to me, who's been sizing me up as potential partner, stops talking.

A pregnant woman across the aisle begins to cry silently.

"Don't be scared," says the flight attendant, kneeling beside her.

I smile reassuringly at the crying woman, then turn my face to the window.

To burn fuel, we circle the New York area for an hour, flying mostly over water.

Cop cars and fire trucks surround us when we land at JFK, a few miles from where we took off.

In the terminal, we're directed to the ticket counter to be assigned new flights.

I was supposed to land at Dulles and catch a connection to New Orleans. I demand a direct flight to New Orleans on a different airline. The clerk books me on a TWA flight that begins boarding in 10 minutes.

TWA is two terminals away.

I dash down an access road in the bitter New York wind.

My lungs burn — the flu I caught at Thanksgiving has settled in them. When I reach the TWA terminal, my breath comes loud and labored. Healthy passengers move subtly away from me.

The large, comfortable TWA jet is nearly empty. The cabin lights are dimmed. I find my seat and will myself to sleep. »