Emily sat in the middle seat in row 26 of flight 945 from Seattle. It was the kind of flight that wasn’t too long or too turbulent. It was just one of those flights that kept you from sleeping and somehow got you completely untucked. It was Friday night and she was on her way home to Minneapolis after a long week of crisis management with her biggest client. The crisis was averted, she was good at that part of her life.
She wondered why no one ever spoke to her on airplanes. She would see people chatting often but it never involved her. Not even when she sat in the middle seat – as she was so lucky to do today. There was a middle-aged man in the window seat, reading a book. The aisle seat was occupied by a young woman in her mid 20’s who was on her phone for the entire flight. They were sitting so close together that they shared armrests and recycled air but they were so consumed by what they were doing and so not interested in her that she could have died unnoticed somewhere over Montana.
This thought was only slightly less depressing than what she had planned for the rest of her evening. She came off that jet-way a couple times a month with the hope of a friendly face yelling her name, smiling, waving. It had never happened before and today would be no different. Not only was there no one at the gate to meet her but she had to dodge a couple engaged in enthusiastic PDA. She considered running her roller wheels over the slobbering couples’ exposed toes just for sport but she didn’t even think that would make her feel better. Maybe a little? She walked away from Gate D4 with a heavy heart and sore feet. “What the hell kind of shoes are these? I’ve been sitting for hours and then I take a few steps again and my feet are killing me.” She stopped suddenly, walking and thinking. Did she just say that out loud? No one was looking at her so maybe not.
She rounded the corner and went up the incline to head out through the main terminal. She happened to look down the escalator to the baggage claim and wondered why the hell anyone would check their bags. Just then she ran into some jerk on a cell phone who wasn’t paying attention – or maybe she wasn’t paying attention – neither one apologized. She walked on and decided to check her voicemail. She was hopeful that it would be full of offers for a fun weekend. She flipped open her phone, hit speed dial, entered her code and heard that monotone woman’s voice level an insult at her “you have no new messages.” “Bitch!” She definitely said that out loud and a few heads turned. It had gotten much quieter in the skyway to the parking ramp than it was in the main terminal. She walked out of the skyway to the spot where she had parked her car and it was filled by an enormous SUV. “God Dammit,” she said even louder than her outburst at the voicemail lady. This surprised a passerby who glared at her because she was a blasphemer. “I always park on this floor in Green.” She continued to think aloud. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a Gold reminder ticket and remembered that she couldn’t find a spot in Green so she ended up in Gold.
She finally got to her car without any more talking – or swearing – out loud. Her car was one of the few things about her life that she truly loved. She deactivated the alarm and opened the doors, the beeps made by the car were converted to “hi, I missed you” in her lonely brain. It almost felt like a hug as she settled into the soft leather seats, adjusted climate control and hit play on one of her favorite CD’s. The roads were empty on Friday night and as her key hit the lock at home, for a split second, she dreamed that someone could be waiting for her on the other side with a meal and a glass of wine. Or, a mess in the living room and music playing too loud? She would have even settled for some lights on or a broken water pipe. That’s how lonely she was. But, of course when she walked in, everything was just as she’d left it. Sigh. She was tired so she got into bed, drifted off to sleep and settled into a dream about finding love.




building. It’s incredibly expensive to maintain a swimming pool with heat, chemicals, cleaning, etc. – but apparently the only time they want the pool to be used is one hour a day, in the morning, for water aerobics. There is to be no jumping, no toys, no splashing, basically no fun. In past year’s I’ve received warnings because my kids were playing with dive toys, throwing balls and because I was playing “marco polo” with them. Really? The other rule that I found myself breaking several times was walking into a “private” area of the beach and purchasing drinks from a “members only” snack bar. Don’t signs like this actually make you want to see if you can get in? Why would you refuse money from people who are thirsty on the beach? So, that retired people never have to stand in line at the snack bar? We’ve already established that all they’ve got is free time so what’s the big deal?
