I must have been around five years old.
A brief flash of neatly aligned seats on either side of a narrow aisle lined my vision. Gray and bland seats, some empty and others occupied. A balding man had been fast asleep near the front row.
Then, another memory flash; this one of a small curved window next to my gray seat. The window had a plastic cover that could be slid open, which was exactly what I did. Brilliant shades of pink and yellow swirled together, creating colors I had no names for. My mom, who has always been afraid of heights, closed the cover of the window back down.
My first and last plane ride. I think we were all going to Mexico.