Beginning At The End
Sometimes I have a hard time trusting happiness. Like it’s going to pull some cosmic rug out from under me just when I think I’ve got it all. My negative inner-voice battles my positive inner voice constantly. My psyche is perpetually exhausted.
God, that’s so Woody Allen.
I have that feeling right now after the Austin success. Probably brought on by the weird flight home.
Delayed…..some sort of “computer glitch” we were told. Uh huh.
[I can still make it! I’m sure the next flight is delayed, also!]
We take off finally.
But not until after an irritating display of technological idiocy from the woman squeezed into the seat next to me.
[Stop that!]
She keeeps punching at the personal video screen in the seat back in front of her. She made me and my techno-pea-brain look like Stephen Hawking.
How many punches does it take to figure out the fucking thing is NOT a touch screen?
[Doesn’t she know that the poor dude sitting in that seat can FEEL that?]
We finally take off but we’ve eaten through quite a bit of the 37 minute Houston to San Jose layover.
[Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’ll make it.]
Damn.
We climb a little.
But not very much.
I’m still seeing freeways….and cars moving on said freeways.
Hmmmm. Shouldn’t we be seeing that quilt-like display of farmland and funky looking crop circles thingies you see out the window….when you head OUT of one city and on to the next??
Okay….Im having a flashback to that time in the Philippines when the single engine plane I was in had to land in a goat pasture. Same feeling of why the hell isn’t this thing getting any higher?
[Oh, this is just great! I finally make something of myself after fifty long years and fate snatches it from me on the way home??]
My heart starts to pound.
I feel faint.
Clammy.
A little queasy.
I think about grabbing the vomit bag. On Continental, they double as an I’ll-be-right-back seat saver. They are a lovely shade of blue. The ones on United are white and remind you NOT to put them back in the seat pocket after use. Good to know.
Techo-dummy leans across me to look out the window.
[Please return to your own space!]
She smells like lavender and fast food. Two smells that really should not end up in the same place.
For a second I think she may have the same thought. About the lack of altitude, I mean. Not the lovely-flowering-plant-meets-Big-Mac thing.
Then I had only one thought and that’s how annoying people with no concept of personal space are.
[Okay, This is good…a thought other than…the end is near.]
She leans back.
[Thank you.]
Starts punching that damn screen again.
[That’s funny. She LOOKS normal. Perhaps it’s some kind of….disorder. Just ignore it.]
But…damn.
We are still flying a little low but we’re still airborne so I’m starting to feel a wee bit better.
We take two sharp banking turns.
One hard left and then a few minutes later a hard right. I’m talking hard. Like some people were actually making that silly “I’m a soaring airplane” sound we made as kids, our skinny little arms stretched out like wings. Something like this: reeeoooowwww. You know the sound. You’ve made it. It’s just a little hard to spell.
[Stop doing that! I’m getting scared all over again!]
Anyhoo, I don’t know geography that well, but I think Houston is a pretty straight shot from Austin as the crow flies so the only thing I can think is that they’re slowing us waaaaay down so we don’t get to Houston too early.
More munching on that layover niblet.
We arrive.
2 minutes to get to the gate that is 6 1/2 miles away.
I run.
And I am not a runner.
But today? I was O.J-fucking-Simpson…pre-indictment.
My knees ache.
My lunges feel like they’re exploding.
[I thought I was in better shape.]
There is no one at the gate counter.
I beat on the glass door.
Hello? Somebody? Anybody?
I run up to a guy at a little booth.
Can you help me?
Sorry, I don’t work here.
[Then why the hell are you standing in that booth? At the airport? Don’t answer that.]
I can see the plane…it hasn’t left!
A guy from Continental finally appears.
No…I cannot get on. They have closed the doors.
But…but….
No.
Six hours in Houston….
I called my entire family, watched a couple of movies, missed my husband like an amputated arm.
But I made it home.
And I am happy.
Say….does lung tissue regenerate?
