Blast Off!

I decided that i was not writing the story correctly, so I am starting over, and I'll just put short stories here for a while. This one is called Blast Off. It is not about Muslims.

One day i am go to go to Sweden and stand guard there. It is the best place in the world. There is no place better than Sweden. Heja Sverige!

Joan closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. She had not expected a plane could be this tiny. She had lifted the middle seat bar so that her side spilled out against Tristain; but he didn’t notice. He was buttressing his hands against the window sill and staring out, and his non-stop commentary left no time for individual thought.
But she listened virtuously to Tristain and answered his questions and copied his fresh two-year-old voice. Rob was just across the aisle, and she wanted to show her husband that she was a good mother.
“Look, mommy. There’s a plane outside.” He was pointing across the tarmac.
“There is,” she repeated in the special mother sing-song.
“Mommy,” he chorused. “There’s a plane there.”
“I know!”
“Mommy, can you say arriba?” Where her two-year-old was picking Spanish up from, she had no idea.
“Arriba!”
“Arriba. Mommy, when the plane goes up, we have to say ‘arriba’.”
“We do?”
“Because that means up, mommy. We have to say arriba when the plane goes up.”
“Okay!”
“Are you going to say it, mommy?”
“I sure will!”
“Mommy, arriba means up. We have to say arriba when the plane goes up!”
“Arriba!”
She was happy, spending time with her little bright boy. She thought for a minute what an adult conversation with Rob might sound like, then the flight attendant cut her off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now cleared for take-off.”
Joan knew that merely meant, that even at this pre-dawn hour, they would simply roll onto the run-way and watch the planes already in line take-off, while they waited their turn. But Tristain did not know this. He felt the plane move, and was excited.
“We’re moving, mommy! Get ready to say ‘arriba’. Mommy, we’re going to take off. 5..4….3….2…1…blast-orf! We’re not going anywhere, mommy!”
Joan could not answer for laughing.
Tristain tried again. “Okay, we’re going to take-off. 5.. 4….3….2…1…blast-orf! The plane’s not moving, mommy! 5…4….3….2…1…blast-orf! Mommy, why isn’t the plane moving?”
The entire back section of the plane was now laughing. “What a cute kid!” one adorable and childless and stylish and white miss called out.
Tristain and Joan continued to talk about the planes and the sky and Tristain kept asking where they were going, and Joan kept saying “New York.” Then they finally did take-off, and she could see the black city and the yellow glimmers of light. The roads did not have yet the streaming rush-hour traffic cars, but that would come soon. She leaned back again, and let Tristain talk again. After a couple of minutes, she saw nothing below but the ocean, and what was that? Sand dunes? She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the ocean rolled right into an icy formation punctured by ragged glacial blocks. But there was no ice on the oceans in North Carolina; so was it the beach? What a strange and ethereal beach, then. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts splash along with Tristain’s. What was he saying…
She awoke. She must retreated for just a couple of minutes. Out of the window, she now saw not curling sand dunes, but a still smooth ice lake but so smooth and still you could have gracefully put your foot into it and let it soak. It was colored with purple and grey and blue that all looked white. But, it could not be ice… was it clouds. Had those strange sand shapes earlier also been clouds, then? She could still see a part of the ocean. It looked like a piece of faded blue cloth stretched so that you saw the little threads holding it together. There was just one glowing spot on it, where the rising sun was reflected. 
Again, she opened her eyes, and yawned. She must have fallen asleep again. Here in the wide open sky, it was harder to hear Tristain. But they were flying over land again. They were flying over mansions and green fields and a tennis court, and roads and bridges. She tried to estimate exactly how big that bridge really was and how long it would take to cross it walking; but although she knew better she could imagine it as nothing bigger than a piece of a child’s play set. Down down down, the thudding noise of the wheels popped, and they landed.
Joan and Rob said a few words to each other. Tristain was still talking as they helped him out of his seat and tried to calm his sudden screaming.
“Mommy, I don’t want to eat there. Mommy, please let’s go somewhere else.”
“Tristain, please use your low voice,” Joan prodded him.
As with all of Tristain’s screaming fits, this one too passed quickly, and they left the plane without further incident.