Travel Notes…04.21.05…6:20 a.m.
The alarm sounded at 3:30 a.m. just as it was supposed to. I managed almost four hours of sleep, which is better than I expected. Showered. Dressed. Kissed my Baby Boy as he slept. Gathered my bags and headed out.
Not many cars on 440 and then I-40. I like driving the Interstate when it’s dark and nearly empty. There is something peaceful about the headlights hitting the spaced lines and then watching those lines as they race beneath me like a filmstrip. Thunderstorms were predicted but I meet only sporadic misting rain and then nothing.
In long-term parking at Nashville International (BNA), I find a spot near bus stops 5 and 6. Should be interesting to see whether I remember that in five days when I return. I am one of four people on the shuttle. I stare out the window as we bounce our way toward Departures.
The airport is quiet enough. I notice a woman in a wheelchair making seat arrangements. Her laugh—more of a nervous chuckle—annoys me and I feel a brief pang of guilt. There is a boy—or perhaps man—with a dark complexion. He could be 17 or 25. He is dressed too nicely, it seems, for a 6:00 a.m. flight. I stereotype him as Muslim. He seems nervous until it is time to board. His eyes are smiling and he is handsome. He carries only a black bible and this strikes me as odd.
I am tired and my eyes hurt. I’ve decided to forego the double Makers and Coke on this first leg. I’ll be in Denver in a couple of hours and will likely indulge then. I ask for a Diet Coke. Frontier offers Diet Pepsi. Who in the fuck drinks Diet Pepsi? This morning it is me.
Ken will meet me in a few hours. We will smile and shake hands. I may still be warm from the Makers. We will go someplace good for lunch where Ken will worry too much about whether I am comfortable and whether I like the food. We will drink beer. Ken will search my eyes periodically, trying to get a read on me. And in his Ken voice that is home to me as iced tea and humidity, he’ll say through his smile, “So what’s up?” That’s the way we talk to each other. It is at once a question and a statement. It is genuine and it means many things. Sometimes we answer one another. Sometimes we don’t.
After a year and a half I will meet Baby Ava tonight. I will pick her up and hold her tight—if she will have me. I will kiss her cheek and run my fingers through her thick hair. I will tell her about her Mommy and Daddy. I will tell her about Emerson. And then I will tell her that although I had to drink Diet Pepsi today, she is worth it.
Not many cars on 440 and then I-40. I like driving the Interstate when it’s dark and nearly empty. There is something peaceful about the headlights hitting the spaced lines and then watching those lines as they race beneath me like a filmstrip. Thunderstorms were predicted but I meet only sporadic misting rain and then nothing.
In long-term parking at Nashville International (BNA), I find a spot near bus stops 5 and 6. Should be interesting to see whether I remember that in five days when I return. I am one of four people on the shuttle. I stare out the window as we bounce our way toward Departures.
The airport is quiet enough. I notice a woman in a wheelchair making seat arrangements. Her laugh—more of a nervous chuckle—annoys me and I feel a brief pang of guilt. There is a boy—or perhaps man—with a dark complexion. He could be 17 or 25. He is dressed too nicely, it seems, for a 6:00 a.m. flight. I stereotype him as Muslim. He seems nervous until it is time to board. His eyes are smiling and he is handsome. He carries only a black bible and this strikes me as odd.
I am tired and my eyes hurt. I’ve decided to forego the double Makers and Coke on this first leg. I’ll be in Denver in a couple of hours and will likely indulge then. I ask for a Diet Coke. Frontier offers Diet Pepsi. Who in the fuck drinks Diet Pepsi? This morning it is me.
Ken will meet me in a few hours. We will smile and shake hands. I may still be warm from the Makers. We will go someplace good for lunch where Ken will worry too much about whether I am comfortable and whether I like the food. We will drink beer. Ken will search my eyes periodically, trying to get a read on me. And in his Ken voice that is home to me as iced tea and humidity, he’ll say through his smile, “So what’s up?” That’s the way we talk to each other. It is at once a question and a statement. It is genuine and it means many things. Sometimes we answer one another. Sometimes we don’t.
After a year and a half I will meet Baby Ava tonight. I will pick her up and hold her tight—if she will have me. I will kiss her cheek and run my fingers through her thick hair. I will tell her about her Mommy and Daddy. I will tell her about Emerson. And then I will tell her that although I had to drink Diet Pepsi today, she is worth it.
posted by Ryan at 3:38 PM
2 Comments:
Been wondering where you'd disappeared to...glad you're back!
Thanks, MJ! Glad to be back.
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