Martin arrived at the boarding gate prepared to wait. He retrieved new bounty from his carry-on. He had never been a reader, but with time to kill, and no one in particular to kill it with, a book became the diversion of choice. A “best seller” offered hope for time to pass painlessly.
He set his carry-on aside and leaned back. Before he cracked the book, it seemed best to study his surroundings. After all, he was a spectator at heart; not so much for sports as for the vicarious pleasure of enjoying the people around him. He had been forced into the sport of watching as a pre-schooler. Polio had kept him bedridden for six formative months. Though the sickness had left his body unscathed, his lifestyle had been set on a course of discovery through observation. Not that he was any good at it; he lacked a sense of priority, and tended to seek out random issues. He innocently and unwittingly looked for the fractals in daily life; he kept trying to reconcile the irregularities with the symmetries that forced their way into the human condition.
ANGL; You do this often?
Martin; Yes. I find it comforting.
ANGL; What do you see?
Martin; Stress and tension; rushing, indecision, uncertainty. Everyone seems out of their element.
ANGL; Yes. There is a lot of excess energy being expended.
Martin; Yeah, I guess it’s just that this is not routine for anyone but the employees.
ANGL; It’s a troubling place.
Martin; There are a lot of contrasting agendas. Though everyone travels along a parallel course for a short time, their agendas are vastly different. Some are busy with blossoming, some are concerned for the cares of others, some seek the cause of death, and others for a reason to live; all are unaware of a stresses that bind them. Look at that woman fussing with her kids. She probably does it naturally but here it embarrasses her, and them. And that boy, he is electrified by the girl sitting with her mother; and the businessman trying his best to make this trip a painless event. How about the old guy asleep, slouched over the luggage . . .
ANGL; He seems out of place.
Martin; I suppose. He’s at least taken a few bad turns in his life. My guess is that he spends a lot of time walking with one foot in the ditch.
ANGL; ???
Martin; He swims up stream; goes against the flow; he is forever at odds with his environment. I guess that’s some kind of idiom; I made it up myself.
ANGL; What about her. You keep looking at her.
Martin; Yes. It’s almost as if we’ve met; as though I know her. I keep trying to place her. But it might just be wishful thinking.
ANGL; Wishful thinking, in what way?
Martin; Some people are too complete to be disturbed. It’s as though I would damage the image if I were to attempt to possess it. Look at her, she’s the most peaceful person here. In fact it’s a total disconnect. She doesn’t even have a purse. How many women do you see wearing denim bibbies here, and over a full silk blouse with puffy sleeves; no make-up. Her arms are straight to her sides. She’s in need of nothing. She seems to be here for the bidding of no one and everyone at the same time. I find it almost selfish, even arrogant to think that we’ve met, and yet . . . even she must have a purpose here.
Look at the guy at the counter fussing with the agent. I have no idea what his problem is but you can bet he’s been there before. He’s in a loop and he doesn’t know it. He is swimming up stream just like the old guy.
I guess I should get to my reading.
ANGL; You don’t really like reading.
Martin; No. But I haven’t given it much of a chance. Dyslexia doesn’t help either. There isn’t . . .
“I think she’s calling your number.”
Martin jerked to attention “What?”
“Your number; your ticket number; I think she just called it”
Martin looked at his book. His ticket, the one he was using as a book mark, stuck out from the pages, in full view. He looked at the agent who had finished her bout of verbal gymnastics with the irate passenger. As her eyes panned the waiting area, their eyes met and Martin knew that he had in fact, missed the call.
As he gathered his carry-on Martin turned to thank the woman standing next to him. It was the woman in the bibbies, she smiled and silently dismissed him to his appointed task.
He stepped to the counter. The agent became distracted with the phone and while Martin waited, he turned to glance back at the Good Samaritan, wanting to further nod an acknowledgement. She was no longer there; she had moved back to her previous perch.
Martin; Did you see her move over next to me?
ANGL; No. There is no recollection of movement by anyone.
Martin; Did you hear the agent call a number?
ANGL; No.
Martin; Hmm. That’s odd.
The agent finished her phone call. She acknowledged Martin with a slight look of despair. “We have a situation. We’d like to ask for your help. It seems we have a booking problem. We would appreciate it if you would consider a change in flights, moving to the next one to be exact.”
“Sure, I guess that wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve got all of tomorrow that I haven’t used yet.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad. The next schooner leaves in four hours. And for your trouble we’d be glad to buy you a dinner and issue you a one-month transportation pass, good throughout Europe. We’ll expedite your luggage . . .”
“Not necessary. This is all I have.” Martin held up his carry-on. “I’m sorry about missing your call. I didn’t hear you call my number.”
The agent cocked her head “I didn’t call your number. I was taking volunteers. Thank you for stepping up.”
Martin pondered her reply. What’s going on??
As the agent finished the rebooking she called a number. Martin noticed the responding passenger arise, liberating his carry-on from under the bald head of the sleeping wayfarer.
Martin pursed his lips, hiked his brow and resigned himself to continuing his bewilderment with a shrug. With meal ticket in hand he turned and headed up the concourse toward the restaurant.
* * * * *
Chapter 13 – The Wave-Schooner
Worshipping the god of technology is like swallowing a string.
Anonymous