Diz
Overdosing on placebos
Hell.
That's where I am.
Or some place close to it.
Have you ever been trapped in an airport? Heavy snows grounded the plane, and you couldn't leave because it was too cold to step outside? This is what hell is like. Forced to sleep in cramped little airport chairs, the people near you shouting angrily into their phones. You are worried and tired and hungry and cold and irritable. It certainly wasn't torture, but it was close. Perfect for reflection.
Maybe it was purgatory.
At this moment, the power came back on. Maybe it was coincidence. Intuition told me it wasn't. My realization that this wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me triggered a positive response from my environment.
This was the key to escaping.
And once I escaped, I'd be able to see my family again. Susan and my kids, Andy and Nick. The last time I remembered them was last week, before my business trip. I had kissed my wife, and hugged the boys, and climbed into the car. I waved one time and took off. I had driven to the airport, one a lot larger than this place. I suppose God or whatever made this building didn't intend for many people to inhabit it. What a sad occurrence.
Shortly after I got on the plane, it took off. I was headed for Indiana. My company needed a representative to seal a deal with a smaller business that produced tooth brushes, only in half the time that our company did. I was supposed to butter their owner up, and get him to agree to tell us his secret.
I never got the chance. The plane was hijacked. Nobody hijacks a plane from Idaho to Indiana. How did the terrorists even get to Idaho? Who in Indiana had made these people want to hurt so many? Why this plane? Why today?
None of these questions were answered. The plane crashed into a stretch of field just outside of Fort Wayne. I remember an explosion, and seeing a large piece of plane frame-work crumpling toward my head.
And then I was in purgatory. Here, remembering my life. I remembered all the things I had done wrong. All of them. Right down to the time I cheated off of Sally Herman's paper in the fourth grade. All of it.
I cried a lot. Grown men don't usually cry, but here is was common. Many people were crying. Few weren't crying. Those few were the ones shouting on their phones. They banged on the closed grate were tickets were sold. They tried to leave, but the snow was thick and wet and it was deep. I went up to the second level, wiping tears, and saw that it kept going. Presumably it covered the building. No door would budge.
I helped people. I knew that I must. I hugged a woman. I held her until she stopped crying. All the clocks were stopped, so I had no idea how long she cried. But I stayed with her. The people brought around crackers and pretzels, or whatever they gave people on this airline, as well as water. I gave my food and water to a young boy. He said he died in a car wreck, driving home buzzed from a party. I knew he needed it more than I.
"Excuse me, sir," This was the first time somebody talked to me, without my approaching them, and it surprised me.
"Yes?" I answered without looking up. I was comforting a man who had gone back in for his book collection while his house was burning.
"Sir, your plane is boarding now." At this I looked up. The woman who spoke wasn't another stranded traveler like I was, but one of this place's staff. She was dressed as a flight attendant.
Shocked, I answered, "But I don't have a ticket!"
At this she smiled. I supposed that was good. "You dropped it when you walked into the terminal. I've been searching for you all over the place, trying to return it. And just in time too, sir, your plane is boarding." She took the ticket out of her pocket and handed it to me. I followed her, to a new part of the airport that I had never visited before.
I walked through the little hallway, and then I was on a plane again.
It took off, for who knows what destination. My life had ended on a plane trip, and now I supposed that it would begin anew on one.
For the first time since hugging my boys, I felt warm.
Comments, criticism, analysis?
That's where I am.
Or some place close to it.
Have you ever been trapped in an airport? Heavy snows grounded the plane, and you couldn't leave because it was too cold to step outside? This is what hell is like. Forced to sleep in cramped little airport chairs, the people near you shouting angrily into their phones. You are worried and tired and hungry and cold and irritable. It certainly wasn't torture, but it was close. Perfect for reflection.
Maybe it was purgatory.
At this moment, the power came back on. Maybe it was coincidence. Intuition told me it wasn't. My realization that this wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me triggered a positive response from my environment.
This was the key to escaping.
And once I escaped, I'd be able to see my family again. Susan and my kids, Andy and Nick. The last time I remembered them was last week, before my business trip. I had kissed my wife, and hugged the boys, and climbed into the car. I waved one time and took off. I had driven to the airport, one a lot larger than this place. I suppose God or whatever made this building didn't intend for many people to inhabit it. What a sad occurrence.
Shortly after I got on the plane, it took off. I was headed for Indiana. My company needed a representative to seal a deal with a smaller business that produced tooth brushes, only in half the time that our company did. I was supposed to butter their owner up, and get him to agree to tell us his secret.
I never got the chance. The plane was hijacked. Nobody hijacks a plane from Idaho to Indiana. How did the terrorists even get to Idaho? Who in Indiana had made these people want to hurt so many? Why this plane? Why today?
None of these questions were answered. The plane crashed into a stretch of field just outside of Fort Wayne. I remember an explosion, and seeing a large piece of plane frame-work crumpling toward my head.
And then I was in purgatory. Here, remembering my life. I remembered all the things I had done wrong. All of them. Right down to the time I cheated off of Sally Herman's paper in the fourth grade. All of it.
I cried a lot. Grown men don't usually cry, but here is was common. Many people were crying. Few weren't crying. Those few were the ones shouting on their phones. They banged on the closed grate were tickets were sold. They tried to leave, but the snow was thick and wet and it was deep. I went up to the second level, wiping tears, and saw that it kept going. Presumably it covered the building. No door would budge.
I helped people. I knew that I must. I hugged a woman. I held her until she stopped crying. All the clocks were stopped, so I had no idea how long she cried. But I stayed with her. The people brought around crackers and pretzels, or whatever they gave people on this airline, as well as water. I gave my food and water to a young boy. He said he died in a car wreck, driving home buzzed from a party. I knew he needed it more than I.
"Excuse me, sir," This was the first time somebody talked to me, without my approaching them, and it surprised me.
"Yes?" I answered without looking up. I was comforting a man who had gone back in for his book collection while his house was burning.
"Sir, your plane is boarding now." At this I looked up. The woman who spoke wasn't another stranded traveler like I was, but one of this place's staff. She was dressed as a flight attendant.
Shocked, I answered, "But I don't have a ticket!"
At this she smiled. I supposed that was good. "You dropped it when you walked into the terminal. I've been searching for you all over the place, trying to return it. And just in time too, sir, your plane is boarding." She took the ticket out of her pocket and handed it to me. I followed her, to a new part of the airport that I had never visited before.
I walked through the little hallway, and then I was on a plane again.
It took off, for who knows what destination. My life had ended on a plane trip, and now I supposed that it would begin anew on one.
For the first time since hugging my boys, I felt warm.
Comments, criticism, analysis?
