Free Driving Minnie's Piano by Lesley Choyce

own
up to it. If it's my fault, I am the first to confess. This trait
has caused me more harm than good in life but it is part of my
personality and I'm proud of it. I envisioned myself standing up
and, in a jovial manner, telling everyone on the plane the skunk
smell was me. I would tell them about the morning crisis of the
skunk under the house. They would laugh and feel sorry for me, and
everyone would feel okay about flying to Toronto with skunky
air.
    But it was
still early in the morning. I don't confess well early in the
morning. I felt my face going red. This was very embarrassing. I
put on my glasses, opened up a book to read. It was Jules
Verne's Journey to the Centre
of the Earth , and I pretended I
had done nothing wrong.
    Glasses and books are good to
hide behind if you smell like a skunk on an airplane. I pretended I
was invisible too. People were still sniffing and talking as the
airline attendant handed out the newspapers. Another attendant was
going up and down the aisle trying to pinpoint the smell, opening
and closing luggage compartments, looking under the seats. Maybe
she actually expected to discover one of the furry long-tailed
black and white striped creatures. In my book, I travelled farther
with Jules Verne towards the centre of the earth as she neared me.
Miraculously, I was not discovered. My skunk smell had so
thoroughly distributed itself around the cabin that the vortex of
the evil stench seemingly could not be detected.
    Failing to find the source,
the attendant knocked on the pilot cabin's door and the co-pilot
came striding down the aisle to see if his more highly trained
co-pilot nose could detect the source of the stinkiness. In a very
professional manner, he sniffed east and west on the plane, north
and south, looking for a clue.
    Just then, the pilot came on
the intercom to announce that the flight would be a little delayed.
“As you all probably know, there's a very unusual smell on the
plane and we don't want to take off until we've discovered what it
is.”
    Oh boy, I thought. This is not
looking good. The co-pilot was getting closer and closer to me. I
was sure he had a good, precise nose and could tell that I was the
culprit. Now they would put me off the plane, for sure. I would get
into deep trouble. I could see the headlines in tomorrow's paper:
“Man Smelling Like Skunk Tries to Fly to Toronto.”
    I pretended I was not there at
all but crawling through the caves toward the centre of the earth
with Jules Verne.
    That's when a woman three
seats in front of me handed over the newspapers to the co-pilot.
“Smell it,” she said.
    The
co-pilot, with the professional nose, smelled. I began to think
that maybe he had even been trained for this as part of his
schooling. What to do if your
plane smells like skunk . In a
hushed voice, the woman was explaining something about the
newspapers that had been handed out by the airline
attendant.
    The co-pilot was nodding his
head up and down. Other people were nodding their heads in
agreement. They all thought the newspapers smelled like skunk. Why,
I don't know. But the belief swept through the plane quickly and
pretty soon everyone was handing their papers back to the
attendants. The co-pilot, a smirk of satisfaction on his face, was
returning to the cockpit.
    I listened to the buzz of the
other passengers, talking about how funny it all was. The guy
across the aisle leaned over and said, “The newspapers had been
sitting outside. They think a skunk came and did whatever it is
skunks do - on the papers.”

    Even though we were out on the
runway, the door opened and a gust of frigid air swept into the
plane. An airport worker ran out to the plane. The airline
attendant leaned over and handed him the stack of supposedly stinky
morning news-papers.
    I'm sure the plane still
smelled of skunk. After all, I was still on board. But everyone was
satisfied that the mystery was over. We taxied and flew off to
Toronto. I'm certain that along the