Momma

I finished my high school career, for those of you who don't know, a little earlier than usually required. I spent a year at a private school and when it closed the public school system said it wouldn't count. I chose then to just speed the process up. I had some living to do after all, so I went to the University of Texas, in Austin, and took a GED test. I passed and just like that I didn't need high school anymore. If anyone asks me where I graduated, I can tell them U.T. with a straight face.

Not long enough after that I went down to the local National Guard camp there in Austin and joined up. After spending a weekend with a bunch of college girls who were earning their way though Texas, more or less the honest way, I decided I had to be a medic. That's another story and a really good one.

The summer after that I went to basic training. A couple of months after that I was a soldier. A few months after that I was a soldier medic. 91A, combat medic. During that time of training my mother decided to move from Austin and head out to east Texas. I still have not forgiven that. She moved to Atlanta Texas. Heard of it? Nope, nobody has. What it meant was no more college girls. It fact, as far as my young part time military career was concerned, no more girls at all. The unit out there was a TOW guided missile combat unit. Tank killers. Men. Old men.

After a couple of months there my father called and asked if I would be willing to go to work for him, in Florida. Jobs in east Texas at the time were a little hard to get for an eighteen year old boy. I was supposed to have a job lined up in a logging outfit. I just had to wait on an unnamed man to retire. Ever wait for someone to retire? I have. I told my father that I would come to work for him. I asked when I was to start. Monday. It was Thursday. I was seeing a girl. Nothing too serious but serious enough to me anyway. I did not get a chance to talk to her. It was a little before cell phones and texting or even e-mail. In fact, at the time she was a senior at the local high school. It was a one building school, the whole school. K through 12. Later when I wrote her I would address the letter to general delivery. The postmaster knew everyone. Literally everyone. This was the late eighties. My mom moved us to the mid fifties. I was able to talk to the girl Monday afternoon. Long distance (it was how you had to call back in the old fashion days) from Florida. I saw her once more after that. The second to last time I was in east Texas.

I started working construction for dad. I still miss it. Now a few things: My mother moved around pretty much constantly. I can remember about twenty schools, seriously, there has to be one or two I can't remember. I lived with her for a couple of years and lived with dad for a couple of years, back and forth. I would also spend a summer or two working for my dad. I missed my dad when I lived with mom and missed my mom when I lived with dad. Texas and Florida. Not exactly bi-coastal but I always had two homes. Dad was pretty much stable and mom just, wasn't. I have lived in Houston, all over that big city, Austin, Round Rock (still one of my favorite places), San Antonio, East Texas as you already know, Louisiana, and then in many places in Florida. My mom often moved twice a year. Six month leases. Dad pretty much stayed in one place after a short while. He then moved into Mount Dora and stayed there for years.

I was working for dad full time. It wasn't too bad after I turned eighteen. I paid rent, went to work, and that was the end of the early Saturday morning yard work days. Life was actually pretty good, though because youth is wasted on the young, I didn't know it. Oh yeah I may add that just before that time, before my brother went off to the Navy, there were up to seven teenagers living in my dad's house. It would take a chapter or two to explain the whole thing but when my father decided to marry again, he married a woman with four children. I'm sure you can do the math but he had three boys. I guess he wanted girls because she had three of them. What I'm trying to say is that things around that house could get...stressed. I really don't know how they survived it. I don't know how we survived it.

I should mention that I also have a half-brother from mom. Mike. He would sometimes spend a few weeks there too.

The very first Saturday morning after I was eighteen and payed the rent was a little strange for me. See, most Saturday morning began with being woke up and sent outside to work, then in the house to clean. Every Saturday. All day. Except on that day I was not woke up. I slept in a little. When I woke up, eventually, I was a little confused. I looked out the window and saw everyone else out there doing yard work. I heard the complaints "Why isn't TC out here working too?" I then heard my father say, "TC is eighteen, he has a job and he pays rent. He can do what ever he wants now." Really? Turns out he was right, so I went back to sleep. About the time the yard was done and the house cleaning began I was showered and fed and so the crap talking began. They started it.

I spoke with my mother pretty often, again the old timey way, long distance phone calls. They used to have telephones that were stuck to the wall by a kinda coiled up cord. It was pretty expensive so the conversations were usually brief.

She called one day to let me know she had to go to the hospital and in the morning they were going to give her a heart cath. That's when the inject a dye into your veins and look for clogged vessels and other potential problems. It's a very common procedure. She told me she was scared and wanted me to fly to Texas to be with her. I reminded her that it was a simple process and there was nothing to be afraid of. I said I couldn't go to Texas, you know, THAT night. She said she knew that and it was ok. We agreed to talk the next day after she knew more.

Dad woke me up very early the next morning and told me she passed away during the night. Had to be the hardest thing he ever told me. Had to be.

Later that day Dad and I left to go bury my Momma. It was a twenty hour drive back in the 55 mph days. We talked the whole time. I learned more about life during that road trip than any other twenty hours ever.

She died on February 12. We arrived at her apartment and began dealing with family and such. I had to call my older brother Tony who was a sailor on the USS Carl Vinson. That's an aircraft carrier. It is not easy getting a hold of a guy on an aircraft carrier even when it's in port. On the west coast. San Diego, if I remember right. Telling him was one of the hardest things I have ever done. That's how I know how hard it had to be for Dad to tell me. I was just a boy. I also spoke with my two younger brothers, Mike and Trace, both at my grandmother's house and alone. I was asked not to tell them because there was nobody there for them right now. I don't know who was on the way to my grandmother's home, that task fell on them. They asked what was wrong but I could not tell them. It was a difficult day.

I had already cried for my momma. I probably wept until I was dry. Things settled down a bit as they do after awhile and we looked around momma's apartment trying to settle affairs and prepare for more people. I found her mail box key and went to check her mail. It was now the thirteenth of February. I opened the mailbox and found the valentine's day card I sent my momma. Sitting in the mail box. Turns out I wasn't dry. I sat on the curb in broad day light and sobbed for the loss of my momma.

She was buried on the fourteenth. Valentine's Day. I was eighteen. Tony was twenty three, Trace was sixteen, I think Mike was only twelve. Tony wore his Navy Dress uniform. I wore my Army dress uniform. Mike wailed the whole time.

I saw the girl there. I saw everyone there. It was a good turn out. I was proud that so many people knew my momma.

I have never returned to the grave site. There is no need. She's not there.

Trace stayed with a family there. Then, strangely, after dropping out for awhile he graduated high school from Atlanta high. I think he was twenty one when he graduated. Dad, Lynda, and I were there to see it. That was the last time I was in east Texas. It is nice country. Sometimes I think about it. Farms and pine trees. There was a state road sign there that said,"This is not Hwy 59". I wasn't there long but sometimes I miss it. Small town Texas. When you meet some one they ask what church do you go to.

They say time heals all wounds and they are right. Time does heal. We can and do move on. Scars remain and though I don't think of my momma very often anymore, I still on occasion miss her. Sometimes I need her too.

She passed away when she was forty-two. I am now forty-three and my kids are about the same age as we were when we had to bury our momma. I look at them and see children. Young children. How could they possibly get through such a thing? How did we? Maybe we never really did. I went to a therapist once or twice to try to help with my marriage. Turns out I was a bit angry with her for leaving us. I know it wasn't up to her but still. I have since forgiven her.

My oldest daughter is a senior now. She had a rough day today at a swim meet when she realized she just wasn't getting better at the sport and she's been giving it everything she has. I told her she swam because she loved to and that was good enough. That life was full of ways to be disappointed if you let it. I told her she was lucky to find something she loved and that is good enough. I would like to know what momma would think of that. But she's not here anymore.

None of my children ever met her. She died too young. We talk about her sometimes though. I'm sure momma would be proud of her grandchildren. I know I am. They don't know it but I sometimes see momma in them, in small ways nobody else would see.

They won't remember her. Who will after I'm gone? Who will after her children are gone? Who will remember us after one or two generations pass? We are here temporarily. Then we are gone. Never leaving a mark. Not a real mark. A piece of granite in east Texas does not tell us about a life. A piece of granite in east Texas doesn't even really tell us about a death. It tells us simply someone used to exist. That is all. That's is all we have. Is that all the living need? The dead need nothing at all. Those markers are there for the living. Write about those that have passed. Write about them. Tell us about their lives and their deaths. Tell me about them. I will read it.

Perhaps soon I will tell you about my brother Sean. He's not here anymore either. He too died young.

Pawns

It's late. Another sleepless night. I walk around the neighborhood reread texts and listen to music and stare at the moon. I like the moon. I could be a dharma bum. I could leave.

I had it once. I had what we are told we are supposed to have. I had a house, two cars, a wife with several kids, a career I was proud of. A little money in the bank. I paid for tv, telephone, internet, water, power, insurance, all kinds of insurance. I lost some of it, gave up on some of it, and still have a little bit of it. I now am happy to know that I need none of it. Neither do you. We are slaves to consumerism.

I'm not yet ready to go off the grid and leave everything to be a wandering sage. Not yet. I, we are also slaves to our responsibilities. My job is not yet complete. I have about four and a half years left. Of course by then my mind could change. I change and so do you. I am learning to be happy about change. May as well, not going to stop it.

I view the moon as the earth's still born child. Forever to follow her mother around. Dead. I like the way I see it. It's romantic. Sad. She, Luna, is beautiful. As long as she's there, turning, I know all is well.

I work for a government that does not work for me. Yet I still go and try to do my part, in spite of them. That is faith isn't it? I hope so. I do. I hope things will get better for all of us, but I don't think it will until we make it better. How? How do we, how can we make it better? I think about that constantly. I don't know. Maybe I will figure it out. Maybe you can figure it out and tell me. I know this though, it sure seems like we are being divided left and right and it seems like they want us further divided. I think we need to not be so split. If the people are split then the people are weak. That is evident and we forget that.

We can stop believing them, if we want to. We can read and learn for ourselves. The media is dead. They work for them. We have the same internet they have. We can decide things for ourselves. We have that power and they are trying to take it away. Of course they don't need to. Most of us do nothing about it and never will. We are happy to be fed the bullshit they give us. Make opinions off of nothing and still fight for your side...who IS lying to you. You know it too.

I could be a dharma bum. It may be the only and best way to win. I could do without them. All of them.

But I could not do without you. Any of you.

Standing on a corner. Ranting.

Writing is my therapy. It keeps me from knocking kid's ice cream cones down, tripping old people, dragging the slow drivers who pull out in front of me out of their vehicles and just kicking the shit out of them, shooting bb's at the unsuspecting, and pretty much just ranting at street corners like the nut jobs that have no other outlet.

I spent some time today talking about how our country is made up of a variety of ethnic groups and because of that our laws should not be based on just the morality of society. Our society is different. I tell you this because I want you to know that I try to think of ideas and ideals. I try to be a little deeper. It is usually futile though.

I don't know. We can do better. I mean we really can, can't we? We are the strongest and richest country right? We are smart, hard working, never lay down, individualists. Can we stop watching reality TV for a few minutes, stop being dicks to each other, stop giving the slightest damn what a celebrity is doing or saying for a few minutes and try to accomplish something, ANYTHING?? Can we the people take control of who we are and what we want? Can we as a nation just try to be a little smarter? We are supposed to be, started to be, world leaders. We can't even rule ourselves right now.

We were supposed to show the world a new way, a way of liberty and self rule. We got scared and let, LET, them take away our liberties, nope we gave them away happily for nothing more than an illusion of security. An illusion that doesn't work. We should be leading the world, not fighting it. We should be leaders in all things not just consumerism. Look, I like my stuff as well as the next guy and I am glad we worked over every one during the Olympic Games but isn't that just entertainment?

Why are there hungry people? Not just still here in this country but anywhere. Why are there sick and homeless and why the hell isn't there enough jobs for everybody. Shouldn't we be rebuilding all the bridges and highways and waterways? Why is there a "problem" with "illegal" aliens. There HAS to be enough work for everyone. Why aren't we ALL working? They wouldn't even be "illegal" if we didn't make it so damn hard to be legal. Just because your ancestors got in when they did is no reason to be all racist now.

Oh while I'm at it, this site: http://spritzophrenia.wordpress.com/2011/01/04/how-bad-is-welfare-fraud-in-the-usa/ lets us know that the welfare system is not being abused even as much as I thought it was. I though it was three percent. Guess not. So I just don't want to hear that crap anymore either. Aren't we as a country rich enough to help our poor or at least those 98% who temporarily need it? I think so.

I am a liberal. I am also starting to become a libertarian. Strange combination. I think the laws in this country should exist, for the most part, only to protect individuals (not companies), and property. I think drugs should just be legal. I also think our government's job is far more than just making and enforcing laws. They are not really all that good at enforcing laws anyway, especially those that are against the constitution. Like drug use.

I want to talk about that for a minute. Your first amendment gives you the power of free speech. It means more than just the ability to say almost whatever you want. It protects your ability to think whatever you want. Thus it protects you ability to be in whatever frame of mind you, as an adult, choose. Including being high. Sorry conservatives.

Now I guess I can stand on a corner and rant, this is my corner. You don't have to like it, you don't have to read it, but damn if I will NOT say it.

Blessed

Somehow, though it all, I am a very blessed man. Things aren't perfect though. I work for the state, I run a large roof replacement project at a prison and use inmate labor. These guys teach me much.

Don't stop using your mind, ever. You are free to think about whatever and however you like. More people should use their mind. It's really the only weapon you have. I have met, rarely, persons I would call stupid but I'm rethinking that. I think unless you are born damaged or sustained an injury, no one is born stupid. I think it takes years of practice to get good and stupid. I think it's lazy. Observing the inmates, some brilliant...more, not, I'm learning more about humans. At least I formed that hypothesis. I will continue to observe people to support it.

Working for the state, with a single income, doesn't allow certain luxuries like any disposable income. I can pay my bills, mostly, monthly. My wife and I have parted ways after nineteen years, though we usually get along pretty well and I know she loves me. I love her too. I drive an old gas guzzler many miles to work. I miss my family I am alone much of the time. I can not do some of the things I want. I worry about the future, and the past. I sometimes worry about my sanity. I worry no one will ever really want me again.

I worry my ex-wife is my "soul mate" and there will not be another. I worry my kids will loose touch with me. I can be lazy, I can be boring. I am getting older. I have lost weight but have more to loose. My current job is the very definition of "dead end". I recently interviewed for another job and did not get it. We are still in a horrible recession.

I worry about the safety of my family and cannot watch the news. I chew snuff and cuss too much. I drink more now than probably ever.

Yet I am blessed. I wrote my fears down not too long ago and have been thinking about the other side of things for a few weeks. So here's another list. ( I also worry about becoming a "lister")

Reasons why I am Blessed:

I am smart. Not shining star brilliant...but I have "game".
I have an imagination, and I use it.
I am creative.
I am social.
I learn from my successes I actually have successes...still.
I am able to eat every day. I have clean water.
I get to have by daughters live with me every other week.
I am a good dad.
I have a good dad.
I enjoy good music, it helps.
I write.
I sculpt.
I draw.
I read.
I don't have to do any of it if I don't want to.
I try to be a pretty good man.
I feel pain.
I feel love.
I am alive.
I have an open mind.
I have matured.
I like who I am.
I like my life.
I like philosophy, science, physics and art. I like history too, and literature etc. and so forth. As I said, I have "game".
I'm not hideous. I'm not hideous...right?
I make an effort to keep my mind young. "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now".
Though I can be a real hard ass, I try to be pretty nice, now.
I take things as they come.
I'm not an addict.
I'm not an alcoholic.
I'm not an inmate.
I can support myself.
I have learned to really enjoy the simple things.
I am not afraid. Or at least, I'm pretty brave.
My stainless steel bullet proof walls of serenity are really made of glass. It's not that hard to get in there, as it turns out.
I like the sunrise.
I have become very patient and impatient.
I have faith.
I know everything is going to be alright because everything is alright.
I know the destination is worth the journey. Any destination, any journey.
I have some very good friends. Some people who would do anything for me.
I have learned to be a good enough guy to have the above type of friends.
Women love me and fish fear me. OK so...fish don't fear me. It sounds horribly arrogant but, women do love me. I'm not saying in an overtly sexual manner, I'm just saying that though I don't understand why (and I really don't) I am loved. This is the most blessed of all. I am loved and if you are one of the few people who read the things I write regularly then you most probably are loved too. By me.
I have emotions.
I have not become bitter, or angry, or scared.
I am a survivor. Really.
Bring it on because I am strong, and weak.
I am a man, but, I am just a man.
I have learned that what one doesn't know is just as important to know as anything else. A wise man knows when to say he don't know.
I can say "I don't know".
I have learned that kids may not have more knowledge than me, but they are probably more intelligent.
I have learned to respect those who have been where I am.
When I need to be sad, I'm sad. But not for long.
I smile more now.
I really like to look, hear, smell, taste and feel.
Perhaps colors are the spice of life, and music. Good music.
I am a liberal. If it's ok for me it's ok for you.

There. I am sure I missed many things on this list. I have to admit that it is actually longer than I thought it was going to be when I started. That in itself is another blessing.

I will enjoy my life. You should too.

Fear

I have practically been a monk now for a little more than a year. Until pretty recently. Those of you who know me know that if I'm keeping a low profile it's because I want to. I have tried to learn how to upgrade from a pretty good dude to a great guy and I doubt I succeeded, but hell, being a pretty good dude is not too bad to begin with. I am exposed emotionally now and patient. However, I'm only patient until I'm not. I have lost my patience recently. Then I'm through. Sorry. I did all I could do.


I think I've learned much during my time of personal attempted growth. I doubt that I learned any great secrets to life, I think I learned that there really aren't any. However, I did learn a few small things that may matter over time. I think the most important is to learn to laugh. Awkward is funny. The more weird something is the funnier. You MUST laugh, to stop is to die in spirit I think. Everyone can relate to it. I've also learned that life is much more comfortable when one is flexible to an extent. I have learned that I'm simply not going to do what I don't want to...for long. Accept people the way they are and if you can't then try to get away from them. Do not, at all cost, ever, loose your sense of wonder. Try to keep it childlike. Stay wide eyed and curious. Life is much better like that. Sophistication is bullshit. Be childlike in many ways.

I have learned much about myself. I am going to list things I'm afraid of.

Things I'm afraid of:

Becoming shallow and vapid, again.
Wasting my time with shallow and vapid people.
Wasting my time.
Being alone, really being alone, not having a choice in the matter.
I'm afraid of being afraid of dying.
Being useless.
Not contributing at all.
Ferris wheels, I know...
Being stupid.
Doing my best and failing anyway.
Rejection.
Not mattering to anyone, not mattering to anyone, not mattering to anyone.
Being forgotten.
Believing in something my whole life that is so totally wrong. Again, wasting my time.


Fear is a good thing. There is a difference between fearlessness and courage. Courage is the strength to go forward regardless of one's fear. It is a strength that the fearless will never know. Being a coward is to give in to one's fear completely. One thing is sure at this point, I can be one brave fool.

Still Writing.

I just wanted to note here, in case anybody is looking, that I am still writing. I have started my first novel in earnest. I have been working on the premise for sometime now and have finally committed to putting the rough draft down. That's where I am right now.

Wish me luck!! Thank you!!

Skank on a Plane

I traveled. There are those who travel more than I did. There are those who travel much more than I did for pleasure. I traveled for work. I flew. Southwest Airlines. Every Friday I flew home and every Sunday I flew back to work. There are things that the modern air traveler must know and be flexible about but one thing never, ever changes and that is the existence of the airport bar.

There are small differences between the airport bars now, post 9/11, and past airport bars. For one, smoking. Another, name. I believe they were once called airport lounges. Oh and dress, I seem to remember one was expected to dress a little nicer at the airport when I was a young man. Those days are gone. But the bar remains. I remained. At the airport bar. Every Friday evening.

I was a regular and, though I was not the only regular, I was the only regular there every Friday. There were a couple of guys I ran into on a bi-weekly or monthly basis. The bartenders knew me. They knew if I was late or early and they could also let me know if my flight was going to be delayed or not. They knew. After awhile, I knew. Delays had something to do with stormy weather in the mid west. If a flight couldn't leave Omaha on time do to rain storms then everything got out of whack I guess. There were delays. On the day of this story there were no delays and that is good. In fact if there had been a flight delay things could have gone from amusingly uncomfortable to really problematic, fast.

A typical Friday afternoon would be to get off work around four. I would then go by my hotel and get my bag, it was on the way. Then I would swing by the bank to deposit my paycheck that was FedExed overnight to my current location then off to the airport. It seems my flight was usually around seven or eight but it didn't matter because I would eat on the way and then do what many people do on a Friday evening, I went to the bar of course. One had to clear security first and that was never an issue. I did this twice a week. I never checked-in baggage.

Finding a seat at the bar could be a daunting task but I had allies. Two allies. Two well tipped allies. For those of you who don't know, the secret to being a bar regular and to receive and continue to receive great service is the healthy tip. If you can't afford to show your gratuity then you can't afford to frequent a bar. During those days I could tip well, and I did. In return my bartenders would work for me. On really busy days they would signal when someone would cash out so that I could seat before many, many others.

The system never failed but once, and that was completely my fault. I bucked the system and was rewarded with the attractive woman I sat myself next to wondering when I would buy her a drink. It just doesn't work that way with me. I will buy a drink but not simply because one is attractive. The attractive woman's first words to me were,"Every man who has sat next to me has bought me a drink." Well good for them. I'm not that guy. How long had this chick been here? One of my allies looked at me as if to say,"Dude, why don't you let me do my job? I didn't set you next to her because she a gold digging turd of a woman and though she's pretty to look at, you could have looked at her across the bar." Lesson learned. They took care of me and I took care of them.

My allies however couldn't control everything. I arrived a little early, not too early but a little. Perhaps the parking lot bus made good time. There are many variables and it is smart, even for the professional traveler, to always arrive early. There is no reason to tempt fate. I sat at my preferred bar stool, one on the far side of the small horseshoe bar so that I could look out at the terminals. Everything was set and I was happy. The bar was a little crowded but not packed and most of the Friday travelers are going home so it is usually a happy crowd. It didn't take long for the socializing to begin, I always meet people, when a woman came over and offered to buy me a drink. I know, but it happened more than you would think, it was a business class airport and business women have no problem buying a guy a drink. However this woman was no business woman.

She was a little tipsy and having a great time and that's alright. Most of us in the bar were having a great time. The problem was that she was loud. Real loud. I get loud but there's a time and a place you know? She was also wound up a little too tight, her hair was a little too big, and a little too blonde, and her make up a little too...garish. It's not that she looked unattractive, exactly. She wasn't. She just behaved unattractive, I guess. After just a few seconds of conversation we learned that we were on the same fight. Wonderful. My allies couldn't do anything about that. She bought the next round and my guys were beginning to smile and chuckle a little at the on going situation. I had to be on the same airplane for at least two hours with this woman who was getting very comfortable with me.

I had an ace in the hole. The very best thing about flying on Southwest is that they have open seating and numbered boarding. I was A1. This is an almost mythical ticket. I had seen one before but never held one and now there was an A1 ticket in my hand. That meant that I was the very first person to board. There is no first class. A1 is the closest one could get to it and I knew exactly where my favorite place was on the aircraft. Emergency exit, front/mid plane, aisle seat. Plenty of leg room there. It was also my escape ticket from Miss Thang because after taking a quick look at her ticket and seeing that she was C23 I knew I was in the clear. C23 was practically steerage class. There would be another person in the A group that would want the other emergency exit seat. There is a double space there between rows of seats. Prime real estate. She may have to sit near the lavatories. I would wave and say hi whenever I used one. There was really no reason to be rude after all.

After another drink, bought by my new benefactor that I was soon to ditch, it was about time to board. A1 don't want to be late because if you are then A2 and A3 and so on will gladly take your place. A1 was NOT going to be late, even if Miss Thang was in tow because I knew the Gate Keeper would not let her board until it was at least the C group's turn. I even told her so when she announced to me, and the entire airport that she was going to sit with me. "No you aren't," I said. "Yes I am!" She yelled. "They won't let you on with me," I said. "Just why the hell not!" She again yelled. She paid the tab and I tipped, well, even though my allies were now openly laughing at me. Miss Thang would not be back next Friday and I would so I better keep the snickering bastards happy.

As I walked to my terminal with Miss Thang's arm now planted in mine I explained how the boarding system worked and that I was A1 and that she was not. She asked how I got to be A1 and I tried to tell her about how the airline miles system worked but it didn't matter because she said they, in fact, would let her on with me because she was going to say that she was with me. I said that they would not let her on with me.

We got to the terminal and I walked right past everyone waiting to board just like the A1 passenger should and gave the Gate Keeper my boarding pass. He scanned it and said welcome aboard. Miss Thang gave him her boarding pass and was told instantly that she could not yet board. I said, "See ya later honey, thanks for the drinks." And boarded the plane. I got to my seat as A2 and 3 were getting on and then Southwest Airlines failed me. Miss Thang boarded. What? It should be A4 though A25. There should be 24 more people on that aircraft in fact 71 more passengers before her! I would have been happy to sit with any of them, even if they had a damn kid. Crap.

She scooted right in there and sat right next to me. Three minutes later she was all up on me. Her arm around mine, her leg over mine. When the flight attendant took our drink order she was dubious and I knew I was in trouble. It didn't help when Miss Thang announced to all the passengers, the pilots, and the control tower that she wanted a screw driver, double. The flight attendant who couldn't possibly know better asked Miss Thang if she was sure. Miss Thang was sure and everybody knew it. Miss Thang ended her ordering process by saying, "...and whatever this guy wants! I'm buying it too!" Well, thank you. I tried to decline but then got a rum and coke. It was easier, even though I was going to be driving a rental car in about two and a half, maybe three hours.

When we finally took off she gripped my hand. Then continued to hold it the whole time until the fasten seat belt sign went off signifying that one could use the lavatory. I extracted myself and made my way down the aisle. That's when the flight attendant got me. "I think the woman you're with may have had enough to drink, don't you?" she said. She didn't ask me, she told me.
"Yeah maybe but, that woman is not with me." I said.
"Really because she looks like she's with you, sir," she said.
"Nope, she's not with me. Hell, I just met her at the airport bar," I said, pleading.
The flight attendant, looking dead at me the whole time, tilted her head up a little while still maintaining eye contact said," My, you work fast."
Ouch. Alright, enough pleading.
"Well be that as it may, ma'am, that woman is still not with me and I haven't bought her a single drink."
"We may have to cut her off, sir," she said.
"Oh I understand, I will try to talk to her, OK?" I asked.
"Thank you," she said, with the practiced flight attendant smile. The meeting was over and I was then free to use the lavatory.

I did not want to return to my seat but there's not much else to do on an airplane. So I sat back down and noticed my book that I placed in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me had been moved. Hum. Miss Thang noticed that I noticed and said she was wondering what I was reading. OK. Her arm went back around mine and her leg went back over my leg. Wonderful. The flight attendant walked by and quickly glanced at me. Her eyebrows were raised. I just had to smile. Work fast? Miss Thang was working fast, not me.

Miss Thang said she was ready for another drink. "That's not a good idea," I said.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because," I said.
"Why not, Honey?" she asked. Honey? Oh good lord, really?
"Because they are about to cut you off and that may be a really bad thing.
"Cut me off? Why?" she was loud again.
"Shhhh! Well because they think it may be possible that perhaps you could have had a tad too much to drink," I said.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I think it would be a mistake to test them," I said, and picked up my book and opened it. A dead sure signal that the subject was closed. That's when I saw it. Her phone number written across a page in bright yellow hi-lighter.
"That's so you can call me when we get back home," she said. Yeah, I know what it's for. "Speaking of that, are you married? Do you have a girl friend?"
"Separated and dating a little," I said, knowing that if there was a better time to lie then I would never see it.
"Anything serious?" she asked.
Once again, I should have lied but just didn't," No, nothing serious."

I didn't ask. I didn't care, but she went on to tell me that her husband and her were breaking up and that she went down to Houston to "Hook up" with some guy, I can't remember the details but she damn sure told them to me.

I tried to read again. She got bored. She sighed. She rubbed my arm. She moved her leg that was still over mine. I then sighed and again put down the book. That's when she asked me about the club.

Yeah, that club. The mile high club. She thought we should...uhh...become members. Then she tried to kiss me. I explained to her that: A, Perhaps I'm already a club member. B, That on this particular aircraft the lavatories are REALLY small. (I'm not what one would call small). And C, That I flew this airline every week, twice a week.

"So?" she asked. So? "Yeah, so what?" she asked. She may have had a point if I had another couple of more drinks, but no.

"In our current administration the climate for aviation misconduct is frowned upon. We would probably be arrested, at best I would be banned from Southwest, perhaps forever. Then what? I would have to tell my boss. He may think it would be funny but then again, he'd probably be pissed. I could be arrested and fired. Thank you but I'm going to pass." I said.
"OK, fine." she said. Now remember that this woman is loud. Everyone heard everything. People with earphones on were taking them off. We were the in-flight entertainment. The flight attendant walked by again.

She pouted, I read. She stopped talking and I was happy. The aircraft began it's descent. She grabbed my hand again when the airplane shuddered. I told her it was just the landing gear going down. She told me she didn't care what it was.

She gripped my hand very tight as we touched down and then when the plane slowed to taxi speed she kissed me. Yeah I know, but she surprised me. She then opened her bag and dug out a pen and piece of paper and wrote her number down for me again, I guess she forgot about the book. I said OK, thanks. That's when I decided to lie? "Sure babe, I'll call." Whatever.

I turned on my cell because you can do that then and she did the same and as I gathered my very few things she called. Many people make calls then, I'm sure I did too. The plane came to a stop and I let her out into the aisle so she could get her bag from the over head while she was still on the phone.

"I'm here. No, still on the airplane. Yeah so are you gonna come get me or do I have to get a cab? What? What?? Oh! Really? You're here waiting for me? Oh OK baby! I'll see you in a few minutes! I love you too!!!"

I smiled. Her phone snapped shut and she said to me that her husband was here! Waiting for her to get home!! Does that mean he still loves her she asked.
"Yeah he still loves you, and if you just calm down and stop trying to pick up dudes at the airport, I'm sure you guys will be just fine," I said, just as the door opened. She gave me a quick hug and fought her way to the front of the plane fighting, kicking, and shoving everyone out of the way.

Now, if you have never flown into Orlando then perhaps you may not know about the train. You have to take an electric elevated train from the aircraft terminals to the main terminal. Fighting, kicking, and shoving, usually doesn't save you much time because, though you may get to the train first, you will probably still be there waiting when everyone else from the flight gets there. And she was.

I know that if you walk all the way into the train area and get on the end car that you will be further in the main terminal when the doors open after the ride. So I walked on past Miss Thang who now knows that I know what I'm doing. She follows. Crap. The trains pulled in, the doors opened, and everybody got on the train. Even those injured by her dash to the aircraft door, though nobody said anything to her. In fact, nobody says anything. At all. It was awkward. It was great!

Maybe ninety seconds later we pull into the main terminal and the doors open, she dashes, again, out. She runs, squealing, loudly, into the arms of who I hope could only be her husband. I had stepped out of the train and stood there watching for a moment as the happy couple reunited. The husband looked up at me perhaps slightly embarrassed and nodded. I nodded back and they walked away. Forever.

That's when I heard someone behind me say," wow." I turned around and saw almost everyone who was just on my fight standing there behind me. "We thought she was with you!"





Oh, I got rid of the card with her phone number on it of course, but I still have the book...