QUOTHE THE MAVEN-NEVERMORE

There are fifty nine Delta gates at the LA airport.  Before looking at the numbers, I knew, positively knew, I would have the longest walk from Security to my flight. And that is where I was, at 58, no more than 20 feet from the last one.  I knew too well  that while having the worst gate number, I’d be the first passenger to lead off the group that will fill the huge waiting area in jig time. Why do I rush to wait? I’ll never have a decent answer except, ‘that’s the way it is.’ It is said the early bird gets the worm but I don’t like worms and would gladly give you my bowl if the plane would come in on time.

 

For today’s wait I sat close to the red tape so I could board flight 3421 from LA to Atlanta early. By doing so I went thru security  as smoothly as an Olympic ice skater does the triple axle. Needing five bins for my assorted items, removing my jacket, my shoes, getting my purse into my cloth shopping bag  my breathing was labored, but I managed to get early boarding and was the non-first class passenger  aboard. I had to walk thru the large leather seat area to reach the mere mortal area and was amazed to see the size of the plane.

 

Before moving forward, I moved sideways to ask a stewardess if the wheelchair I had ordered would be waiting when I departed. Would I be the first off the plane or do I have to wait until all passengers are gone? Most likely I looked as glum as Stan Laurel when I was told I would leave last. The plane held 258 passengers plus crew. No way will I chance missing my final flight from Atlanta back to Ft. Lauderdale. The stewardess suggested I leave the plane as soon as I can get thru,  go up the ramp where lots of wheel chairs would be waiting. She told me to look in the book about the lobby area that is in the pocket of the seat in front of me to locate the ramp. Hellsbells. I found it but couldn’t follow it as I didn’t yet know the gate we would be using later.

 

The plane was clean, had double seats at the windows and triple in the center. Overhead, extra large bins for big carry-on bags ran the length of 3471 on both sides. Watching passengers arrive, made it all look easy, as those already seated helped others find luggage areas, lifted bags for women as aged as I–except as I reached my seat, a tall woman about 40 seated in front of where I was going to be, left her seat and with one hand got my computer case settled nicely in a bin. 

 

Everything was going well, except my feet were frozen, the ceiling was too high for me to reach the reading lamp. We were to depart at 6:20 a.m.  And at 6:20 a.m. the jet thrust began. By 6:25 we were airborne. My hands stayed still but my mental applause must have reached the captain.

 

My young seat companions talked a lot to each other but soon became engrossed in magazines. I couldn’t understand how the girl, wearing a cotton T shirt wasn’t turning blue. I felt like I was still in LA shivering my tail off, needing two pairs of sox at the same time and layered clothes. The ill clad girl had curly dark hair, half way to her waist and wore a jacket so thin it wouldn’t warm a fly in someone’s un-iced coke. In five minutes of flying time, she curled up her legs, bare feet next to me, her head on her male companion’s lap, her eyes closed and she was in sleepville. I didn’t see her blink or twitch an eye. If I were a doctor, I might have tried to revive her.

 

Passing time, I studied the two of them. They didn’t seem to be husband and wife but surely care about each other. He covered her shoulders, let her sleep on his lap. That was when I realized my seat was still in the erect position. I pushed the button on the arm to get a  bit more comfortable, pushed it again, harder. It didn’t budge. The non-husband asked me if I needed help and, of course, I answered, ‘Yes.’ I was told to push hard against it and I did, but the chair wouldn’t move. If I were birthing a child, I couldn’t push any harder.
The guy’s gal woke up, leaned against me and barely touched my chair back and it moved. The ‘she’ went right back to sleep.

 

Breakfast came down the aisles. What was happening? Passengers were ordering alcohol instead of coffee. Was I on an AA plane or were the other passengers simply trying to warm themselves? I didn’t know and opted for black coffee, two pink sweeteners. Two sweeteners were 1 ½ too many. The paper cup was extremely small, inadequate for a coffee drinker. Two swallows and my cup was empty, my feet still frozen. The twosome next to me ordered breakfast on the t.v. screen, including two cans of Canada Dry. Just looking at the cold cans made my blood stop flowing.  My long cotton slax looked nice but offered no respite from the cold. I great thought came to mind–‘Sit on your legs!’ Opening the seat belt, raising my legs, didn’t work. There was no room to close the belt. I scootched over to the arm rest, pulled up one leg, and lasted in that position for about 7 minutes then had to give up.  

 

How nice. A tall, good looking gentleman across the aisle from me, had slept on a neck pillow he had brought with him. When he woke, he tapped my shoulder and handed me my reading glasses that I hadn’t even missed. They had slid over near his feet. Of course, I thanked him and his very British accent glowed with warmth, but not enough to warm my legs or even Rudolph’s red nose.

 

With 2 ½ hours flying time still left, I had to do something. Again I unlocked the seat belt and this time thru my left leg over my right aqnd got a rip roaring Charlie horse. The pain brought tears to my eyes and a stewardess to help me straighten myself out.

 

From there on my plight didn’t matter. I met Crista who was not the person I thought she was. She was not a student but was ‘with’ her companion and was a writer- a real honest to goodness writer who feels the same passion I feel. Once she gets a few words down on paper, the rest flows by itself. She is part of a group who share their time, their feelings, their thoughts, their love of writing. They are working on a book. My seat mate has talent, spunk and lots of patience. Not once did she call ‘time’ on me. She let me run my mouth for hundreds of miles. I was able to get her e mail address and expect to add it to my own small fan club address book. If Crista deleted my daily stories, doesn’t reciprocate mine with something of her own, my soul will cry.

 

There is still 1 ½ hours to go before reaching Atlanta. Even though I talked and talked, enjoyed the youthful Crista, I was slightly aware that very few people had walked down the long aisles, been to the loo, the entire trip. In fact, I saw no sign of its location. Most likely it was in the rear of my seat. This reminded me of Bing in ‘Going My Way’‘ Which way would he go if he were on this plane?

 

A steward walked past me, noticed I was writing and switched on the high ceiling light for me. What a difference it made. He showed me how to use the t.v. screen to get help, but could someone warm my feet? More than the light is improved for me. I have met a young writer, a hopeful young writer, full of passion a desire to write and be somebody. And I think that maybe she will be sometime in the future. She has the courage, the love of writing and may possibly be another Alcott, another Dickens, another Morrison. 

 

I will hover above her from my cloud and I will smile to the others near me—I knew her when she was just Crista.