plane talk

 

Somewhere in Brooklyn are these open windows and this one bend of fuschia petals. I wonder if the petals have dropped now that I am back home.

And somewhere in Ohio are the two cowboys who sat next to me on last week's plane taking us from Montana to our Minneapolis connection. From there, they were headed out to see Rick's barn. Middleseat-Wranglerjean-Man asked Windowseat-Levijean-Man how big did he suppose the airport was in South Bend. Windowman was surprised. After a bit he cleared his throat and said, I thought you'd want to know how big Rick's barn is. That's the only thing I know.

I confess to wanting to know how big Rick's barn is. Now I'll never know.

And flying back from Brooklyn via Charlotte to Denver the couple behind me fought. Both had aisle seats. Apparently she couldn't trust him with the simple issue of renting a car once they landed. Apparently ever since he bought the wrong brand of cheese at the market last Christmas, she's not let him make a decision. What's it going to take, he asked in the sleepy-dark cabin of our plane, to prove he's a worthy man?

This is something else I'll never know.

And then came the final leg back home: Flying in from Costa Rica, the young couple seated next to me confided they had just relocated to my home town and were camping at the KOA until they had enough money to move into a house. Tomorrow he was off to work the oilfields near the North Dakota border and she would remain behind. They are trying to have a baby, they confided in the dark, but so far nothing they've done has worked.

Will they ever have a baby? This is something I may one day know because they've invited me to pitch my tent next to their camper once the rains subside. It will be easy to know which camper is theirs when I reach the campground. The 4 foot tall, bamboo giraffe riding home on top of our three suitcases in the overhead bin will be playing sentry outside their trailer door.