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Sigfile Follies presents:
On The Wing
(By Jack Kerriac)
It was in the LaGuardia International Airport that I ran into
Dean Moriarty. My flight had been cancelled and the airline had
rerouted me through New York. The postcard had cost me 38 cents
and as I scribbled the trite mundane patter I wondered why I didn't
just photostat the usual diatribe on some address labels and affix
them to cards as needed. Dean was wandering through the airport
looking for a stamp machine. He might just as easily have been
looking for the holy grail or fountain of youth. The best one
could find was a Northwest Passage and that only at the cost of
losing your luggage. I had learned long ago that the postcard would
be delivered regardless of whether postage was affixed and even
though the rubber stamp had threatened that I now owed double postage
they'd have to cross the border in order to retrieve it, by which time
I'd probably be half way to Victoria, which is more than Victoria
had ever done for me. Dean was hesitant to attempt such a flagrant
disrespect of postal laws, so we wandered to the magazine rack where I
picked up a thick collection of slick computer ads and watched as several
subscription cards emerged from their paper cocoon and butterflied to
the terminal floor. I affixed a label to the southwest of the business
reply stamp and scribbled a Winnipeg address on the label.
"Happy Birthday to you" on the flipside of the card along with a check
mark indicating "Tell me more about the exciting world of COBOL programming"
and the card was sent on its way with a click and clang of the postal drop
box cover.
Sitting at the gate waiting for our flight, Dean watched the marquee
random flight generator turn over until he exclaimed "Orlando, yeah,
dig it Orlando, we can fly there and meet up with Sal and Carlo, from
there it's a quick drive south where we can be hip to the Dave and
hose down with Eric. Judi can swing with us and Somer be beat.
Let's flip the switch and hum to Florida, I'd give both my ears to hear
that tune." I thought of the added expense and travel. Arizona would
still be there next weekend and my wife and daughter would understand that
business was business and long hours were part of the job and she'd forgive
everything as long as it was pretty. The company would cover the flight
and there'd be plenty of conferences in Orlando to hitch up with and
provide morning meals and evening hospitality. So we ambled to the counter
and I took the lead trading my ticket for the back of the plane South.
Dean was wide-eyed and readying for take-off, but waved the ticket lady
off. "What about your ticket?" I asked, but Dean answered "I was going
there anyway, you were the one who needed convincing"
33 000 feet up and no risk of derailment, I check the in-flight magazine,
the focus is on chefs who work for the airline and I wonder if the
chefs are willing to release their recipe for the individual packs
of sourdough pretzels. Dean busies himself splicing his headphone
wires and trying to tune in to the bop recordings on channel 6.
83% of the recommended daily allowance of sodium, how hard would it
have been to add the extra pretzel to the package? The stewardess is
named Chantel and she cups her hand around the hospital portion sized
glass of ice, necessitating the slight touch of hands as we transfer
ownership. I smile and our eyes lock as she leans forward improving
the view from my aisle seat. "I couldn't help notice", she says starting
a familiar refrain, "that you have a pretzel lodged between your front teeth.
Given my diastema this is no mean feat, and with the assistance of the
corner of the wet-nap package emancipation is proclaimed. By now, the
opportunity is lost and Dean is cupping his hands to receive her cherry coke.
Passenger 11C is cut off from the commode by the beverage cart, he settles
for an empty coke can and returns to his seat.
As the plane descends, Dean returns our stewardess to her upright locked
position and I lament the price of a package of chewing gum, overpriced
in the airport confectionery and yet so valuable in comparison
to the pre-moistened servings affixed to the bottom of the
chair. Such is life, to be unexpectedly unwrapped
and thrust into the jaws of the world. how quickly chewed up, how quickly
hidden away from view for others to only note in passing. Dean reads over
my shoulder, "I like the part about the sodium" he says.
Back on the ground we trace through the terminally winding road,
like rats hunting for cheese we finally spy the baggage claim.
Dean leans against a post while I wait for my chance to grab at
the carousel ring. Blue tape on a black case is only somewhat
less conspicuous than the silver duct tape on the dilapidated
brown bag that spells out D E A N M O R I A before he ran out of
tape and real estate. Dean passes by the rental counter and
finds the first placard. The clean cut driver knows better than to question
Jin Ho Cho's parentage. Dean throws his satchel in the back and rides shotgun,
I lie down in the back seat and watch through the sun roof as the palm
trees wave to me. Dean tunes the radio to the end of the dial with no
success, he pops a tape into the deck and soon Chet Baker is Almost Blue.
The driver pulls up to the hotel and Jin Ho Cho is registered in the hibiscus
court. The pink buildings have a soothing effect at least when it's
discovered we could have been in the lime green of the palm court.
Night falls and Dean scores a conference badge from registration while
I try to score with the rep from Maori semiconductors. The pool waters
ripple over her emerald green wrapped form and the pool lights hint
that the air is colder than it seems. I float in the water and gaze up
at the stars which tell stories of long ago and yet these stories recount
ageless themes, conversations I can only echo, images I can barely shade
and characters I can only add a couple of kids and a dog to, then slap on
a laugh track and try to sell to CBS. Waves displace me and my emerald
cetacean breaches into night air. Armed with white towels
I surrender the night and at 3 am with a three-quarter emptied bottle of
dark rum, the night becomes fluid and the sheets become laundry.
Morning arrives with a slap against the door at 5:30am. Though the hall
is only eight feet in width, somehow the complimentary paper has insulted
me from nine feet away. I stumble towards this beacon of knowledge
while the door instructs me on the hazards of his automatic lock.
Back in the hibiscus court, Dean awakes fearing his door is being
buried in newspapers. He lets me in and then passes out on the bed.
I extract some underwear and ugly socks from my suitcase. My still folded
suit forgives the imprisonment and breathes the refreshing motel air as
I hang his plastic crucifix from the bathroom door. I run the shower hot
and sharp to revitalise my rum-punched senses. The rough grains of
the sandpaper towels file off dead skin. My razor clear-cuts yesterday's
growth before I can even think of a dental metaphor. I brush my teeth
and floss, because a dentist might have actually read this far.
Suitably dressed I assimilate with the breakfast crowd and heap
bacon on my plate. Pictured here with this nutritious breakfast
I join a conversation wrapped in acronyms and jargon and nod
reassuringly to the sound bytes which punctuate the air.
"What time do you present Cho?", I nod and realize half way through
the bacon that I've cornered the market on interested stares.
Retracting my cured pork tongue, I realize that the blue speakers
ribbons like the one affixed to my name tag have not been as widely
distributed as the Participant ribbons from my grade school
track meet days. "9:30, right after me", my answer appears
from a separate pair of lips. "I'm looking forward to your
insight on wideband impedance matching." I nod and continue with
the bacon. It had to be a technical conference, I couldn't have roomed
with a psychic convention, it had to be a technical crowd.
"I think I found a mistake in your derivations...."
Thank heavens for dweebs. I take the copy of Cho's slides and
make some notes. I call Dean on the hotel phone, no answer so I leave
a message. In the convention centre the first speaker is finishing
up and asking for questions. I ask about frequency considerations, techs
love to talk about frequency, nobody likes to talk about documentation.
I picture myself kicking the speaker "What's the frequency Kenneth, What's
the frequency Kenneth?" The second presentation goes long, my first hint
I'm in for a long ride is when they comment that rehearsal took 90 minutes.
I'd appreciate the delay more if it wasn't like watching the golf channel.
The crowd is too apathetic to ask questions. "Our next speaker....",
I pick up the mike at the conference chair's table. It's sort
of gratifying to hear applause from 1000 people who have no idea
who you are, but applaud all the same. I check my watch, I scan the
crowd waiting....The crowd shifts in their seats.
"How is everyone, are you having fun in Florida?"
Silence.
"Have you been to Disney World yet?"
Silence.
" I wish Rob had told me he was planning on running long, I would have
been in here with a bag full of whiffle balls charging a buck a throw."
The silence is interrupted as Dean enters. He's dressed like a sheriff
with a "Li'l Deputy" badge from the hotel gift shop. I don't want
to know where he got the gun. "Jin Ho Cho, could you come with me
please", and he escorts me out. "Something terrible has happened"
he explains loud enough for the audience to hear, "that opening joke
for starters..." he mumbles to me. Once outside we hop into what appears
to be an old police cruiser and we're off. To Miami? No back to the
airport, we're headed to Winnipeg.
"Winnipeg?"
"Yep, Lavallee's birthday, everybody's there."
Off we go to the airport and this time we have tickets through Pittsburgh.
The flight doesn't board for an hour yet, I watch the girl sitting on a
corner bench outside of the news stand, Dean returns and commands my
attention, "a buck for a pack of gum, it's flyway robbery is what it is",
he whacks my arm to reinforce the impact of his pun. I glance back and
she's gone. The bench sits empty and I can't help but draw a parallel
between the emptiness of that bench and the emptiness of life and whether
the re-appearance of the overpriced gum theme is some sort of reoccurring
metaphor. I decide it's just a rip-off and I hope the stewardess on the
flight is pretty.
She isn't. The trip back is uneventful, it seems to be a rehash
of the flight from New York, but in reverse. The drink comes first, then
the pretzels. Just five, 83% of my required sodium. The man in 11C
is still blocked by the cart. Dean doesn't even look at the stewardess.
The plane lands in Pittsburgh and sure enough the connecting flight to
Winnipeg leaves from Terminal E. It's a long walk, Dean decides not to go.
I stand there with my briefcase and watch as he stares up at the
screens offering his life options. "Denver" he announces.
I'm off to Denver. Maybe after that San Francisco" What about us,
what about Winnipeg? Dean reassures me, "You're getting on that plane.
If you don't, you'll regret it, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow....
but we'll always have Pittsburgh." Sure he'd jumbled up the quotes
and he still had my conference t-shirt along with several hotel
towels in his suitcase, but I didn't try to stop him. I watched as
he ambled through the terminal back towards the moving sidewalks.
He seemed carefree, at peace and me, for whatever reason I was getting
ready to board a plane to Winnipeg.
I checked in at the gate. The plane was going to leave in 20 minutes.
I watched the maple leaf pull up to the gate. I walked out on to the tarmac
and rain pelted down on me. I was soaked by the time I reached the stairway.
I climbed up and walked the aisle toward my seat. The briefcase sloshed
into the overhead compartment. I slid over to the window seat and grabbed
my last stick of gum. I waited while the airplane taxi'ed out to the runway.
I chewed the last stick of gum and wondered what lay ahead. (Aside from
Winnipeg of course, which I believe I mentioned earlier) The stewardess was
pretty. She smiled and poured me a Ginger Ale. Our hands touched as she
passed the glass of ice and the entire can to me. She passed me a
foil packet of pretzels, there were six. Life was good.
EPILOGUE
"So that was my trip. Here I am in time for your birthday party."
"Uh, Jeff, the party was LAST week."
"Oh, well how was it?"
"Beats the hell out of me, I wasn't here."
"Ah well, here's your gift."
"Hey a shirt......My friend battled alcoholism and depression while
attempting to relive Kerouac in the airports of North America and
all I got was this crummy shirt. You shouldn't have."
"No big deal, they were on sale in the airport. Cheaper than
a pack of gum too. So anything new to report?"
"I elected Liz as your keeper, that ought to be worth a few laughs"
"Oh yeah, does she do the thing with the handcuffs?"
"If the bathroom walls in the men's room are any judge of character,
yes."
"Oh hey, I brought chicken wings, you want any?
"No, why don't we head to the BDI for a goog."
"Sounds cool, I hear they renovated St. Vital."
"You know the zoo charges admission now..."
"Yeah, I knew that. Can we drive over the Charleswood bridge,
I waited twenty five years so I wouldn't have to smuggle beer through
Assiniboine Park and when they finally build it, I've moved away."
"The Pan Am Games are back."
"We always did kick El Salvador's butt at Hockey."
"Anything new at work?
"We have a pay phone that lets you trick the automated operator
into allowing you to download porn over the internet."
"Do I need the Cap'n Crunch whistle for that?"
"Yeah, say, did you get my card....
[FADE OUT]
Return to the
Theatre of the Imaginary
