There’s something surreal about flying; slicing through the air in a metal cocoon, cushioned on upholstered seats, watching a movie maybe, listening to music, eating dinner, drinking coffee, replicating all the comforts of home while you’re surrounded by clouds and nothingness. It’s strange how fast the wonder, the impossibility of it all wears off. A little like being in love. We lose the wonder and settle into acceptance, into familiarity, into habit and sometimes we notice that lust has curdled into loathing or impatience or irritation or ennui, and instead of staring at the clouds with a stupid grin we notice we don’t much like the food and the coffee is terrible. Well, I do. But for then I was still staring at the clouds and I couldn’t get enough of the food.
oOo
That flight was stranger than most. It was a medical transport so we had medics instead of flight attendants, antibiotics instead of pasta salad, IVs instead of in flight entertainment and there was no drinks trolley. I could have used a drinks trolley.
It seemed unreal seeing him away from the heat and the dirt, his hair neatly cut in Kinshasa by a blind barber with a mouth full of gold teeth and a finger missing from his left hand. I didn’t tell Luka he was blind. He was pretty mellow on his meds but that might have freaked him out. A couple of times I caught him looking at me and I wondered if he was thinking the same things about me, like when you run into someone you only ever see at work and for a minute you can’t place them because they just don’t look right in a bar or the butcher’s or the dry cleaners. I didn’t ask him what he was thinking.
After Paris but before we get to Chicago he asked me to help him into some real clothes, so I wrestled him into his jeans, too big now, and he laughed as he pulled the belt in a couple of notches more than he was used to. More juggling with IVs so he could get into a clean tee and then I knelt to slide his shoes on. When I stood up he suddenly reached up and pulled me down against him.
“Thank you. For everything.”
I scrambled away from him in a kind of panic because that sounded like an ending, and at the same time all the desire I’d been suppressing surfaced in a wave of heat in my fingers and toes, and in my face and between my legs.
“No.”
“I don’t want to keep you from – “
“No.”
“But – “
“Hey, forget it, OK?” I knew my smile was too bright, I knew that Jean was suspicious about the few weeks I’d told him I’d be spending with a recuperating “colleague”. Sure he knows I don’t let myself get lonely on these trips but he’s not stupid and he knew there was something different here, and so did I. The only one who didn’t know was Luka and I didn’t know how to tell him or even if I should. I was still flying and you know, when you’re thousands of feet up and the clouds are skimming past and the sun is so bright you can’t stand it you don’t spoil the moment by thinking of crashing and burnidng.
Do you?
oOo
He wanted to walk into the hospital but it was obvious even to him that real clothes didn’t make for real strength in his legs or mask a too high temperature. A couple of people came up, welcomed him back, shook his hand and once he’d been talked into a gown and a bed a couple more people stopped by to say hello. The old guy who Luka called Frank talked up a storm, said he hoped he’d learned a valuable lesson about getting into other peoples’ wars and trust him, he’d been in ‘Nam, he knew about those things and had dead buddies to prove it. Still, his concern and his smile seemed genuine and as he left he said I should come find him if the big guy needed anything. After he’d gone Luka looked confused and amused and said he knew he was really back and it didn’t look like anything had changed.
For a moment I just sat and listened to the sounds of the hospital, took in the smell of the place, the feel of the fresh pillow slip under my hand, didn’t even flinch when someone somewhere dropped an instrument tray with a crash. I was surprised to find that my eyes had slid shut and when I opened them his too were closed. I could tell that he wasn’t sleeping.
“You OK?”
“Tired”. He laughed then. “How long before I get to say anything else?”
“Depends how good you are. You need anything?”
“No. Yes – a meatball sub.”
“What?”
“I’m hungry.”
“So where – “
“Across the street – Doc Magoos. God, I never thought I’d want anything from that place.”
“It’s a diner?”
“Yeah – Salmonella Central, but . . . . “
I wondered if he wanted to be rid of me, to really be alone. Not unreasonable. It had been a long time since he’d had any privacy and who knew how long it would last.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
As I opened the door he called after me.
“Yes?” Tell me it doesn’t matter, tell me to stay.
