The final 10 minutes

So this is my first Indie Ink Challenge. I'm glad I finally remembered to sign up. And then I'm glad I remembered to write it. I was away for a few days, and even someone has organized as me has their slip-ups.

My challenge comes from Christy and while I think it's a pretty morbid one, I can't say I've never thought about it before: You die, but are given 10 minutes to talk with one person before 'passing on'. Describe that scene.

Having had to write my own obituary for a reporting class in college (and a few bumpy plane rides), I've done my fair share of thinking about this conversation. And it's never easy, and it usually leaves me choked up, trying to think of something more fun like ice cream or a cartoon.

But one person? It should go without saying that one person would be my fiancee (and husband come Oct. 1). But part of me cries out to my mom. But given that I've thought about this scene before, on a bumpy plane ride, that is where this scene will take place:

It was a bumpy takeoff, but I had Jeff next to me. I clutched his hand - my knuckles white - until we leveled off. I breathed a sigh of relief and Jeff squeezed my hand.

"It's OK," he said. "Planes are made to deal with turbulence."

But it was raining when we took off. Lots of air pockets. Lots of bumps. The seatbelt light went on, and the captain came on the loudspeaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a bit of turbulence. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts," he said.

But something doesn't feel right. And all of a sudden we are falling. Fast. My stomach comes up to my throat and I grab Jeff's hand. But this time he doesn't seem calm. He squeezes back. We are still falling.

"Jeff," I start.

He forces a smile.

"It'll be OK, Heather. I'm here."

But I'm not as strong as he is and I start to cry. Not loudly like the woman behind me and the man behind her. But the tears slowly trickle down my face. Jeff's bright blue eyes are wet.

"At least we are together," he says.

I don't know how fast we are falling or how high up we were when we started. I can't do the math to figure out when it will all be over.

"I love you Jeff," I start. "I am so happy I found you."

He leans over and kisses my forehead.

"I love you too."

I read somewhere that time slows down when your body is in fight or flight stage. Hitting the ground or the water at our velocity couldn't have taken very long. But I'm filled with panic and dread. There are so many things I want to tell Jeff. Tell my mom.

But maybe I shouldn't wait until I have 10 minutes left to get it all out.