Imaginings of a Traveler

Last night, whilst taking a break between Sherlock Holmes stories, I decided to write a bit. I walked to my book shelf and grabbed the nearest notebook.  Stuffed between many blank pages were torn out pages from other notebooks. 

Some pages were unsent letters filled with angst and heart wrenching truths that made me cry, but were not meant to be shared then nor at this moment (though someday some of them certainly will see light and you may even read portions).  Three small pages, however, front and back, filled with tiny script ( which is odd because my handwriting tends to be as loud my mouth so I must have been nearing the end of the book) contained meanderings from a short sit in an airport lounge.

This is from a few years ago:

"No surprise to be surrounded by guys with high-n-tight haircuts.  My departure from San Diego Internat'l; if I concentrate I can smell the light salt of the pacific bringing images of ships at port.  And before me a young marine sitting "Indian Style" and barefoot in the soon-to-be uncomfortable black airport furniture.  Whoever makes these chairs is probably swimming in a pool of Cristal while money falls from their balcony, which the maids are cleaning.

But back to my marine, he's slight of stature and is demurely listening to his iPod.  If his hair hadn't belied his relaxed state I'm not sure the camo backpack & matching sandals would have given him away.  But I am still new to this "Spy the Military" game I'm playing [thanks to NCIS].  He is lightly tanned and his eyes have begun to flick nervously at the encroaching Tide of people to his row.

I sit almost singularly in a long row with my back to a wall.  I am waiting for him to make a move to a more defensible position - five seats to my left, near an emergency exit.  But the idea of making an immediate move would give away his agenda of solitude.

There appear to be a few crowd watchers, other than myself, But I am at a small gate.  A tiny plane to Vegas - seems odd- I wonder what the odds are.  Everyone is busy pretending to be separate from humanity - even myself with my chicken scratch in a novel sized journal.  Some are on their phones, pretending to be important.  A lean and not ugly young gentleman to my right is discussing selling/buying a few stocks but I will pretend it is for the benefit of the frumpy girl with the Pringles next to him.  It isn't hard to impress her, he thinks.  But I am she and I'm moving on to someone more appealing and less mundane. 

A man who is older cannot extricate himself from work.  He is rifling through papers, some containing graphs, perhaps they are statistics regarding the number of deaths each year by lightening (more than sharks as we do not live in the water). Yesterday, in VA, a 12-year-old boy was struck and killed by lightening on his little league ball field.  Game had been called.  His mother was screaming for him to get off the field.  Had she gone to get him perhaps her height would have distracted the gods - fooled Death for just a moment and went for her - sparing her son and the other boy playing catch with him. 

This man with his laptop open and reading PDFs from his email.  He is reading a study on lightening resistant clothing and this is how uniforms of the future come to made of rubber.  Oy! Again this mere babe to my right will NOT stop discussing the market, now with a new victim of his feel important in the airport cellphone drama.

And then the marine stood up and it makes a bit of sense.  Napoleon complex.  I almost wish I am seated next to him so I can ask why he enlisted, but it is better this way.  To imagine his need to prove himself to his tall and masculine father, or perhaps those bullies in school who found it too easy to pick him up in between classes and lodge him in an emptied locker in spite of his talent as a wiry wrestler.

There are many comical people at the gate today.  A large woman in platform vinyl shoes, Betty Paige hair, and her calves tattooed with Frankenstein (left) and Bride (right) in mini black convertibles.  I'm sure a glimpse of ink on her arms would reveal spider webs, bats, and perhaps an antique cross or sarcophagus.

An older gentleman is our flight attendant today.  He looks like a high school teacher - Math or PE.  His summer job allows him to travel around the US.  His name is Kyle and his goal for the next 3 months is to see all over sized monuments, such as the largest ball of yarn, the largest frying pan, the most ginormous shoelace, and, if lucky, the amazingly humongous collection of potato chips shaped like celebrities.

I would like to close my eyes and try my hand at sleeping; however, it is a very full flight and a listing head would not be appreciated, especially by the woman in white to my right.  The raspberry paint on my lips would ruin her lovely cover."