Blind?: PLANE OR GAIN?

 PLANE OR GAIN?

It’s 10:30 a.m. on a gorgeous Sunday morning. I, unlike my neighbor, Jim Crawford, have not yet started my lawn mower. He woke me and most every one else on this block at eight. In spite of my disgust at his disregard for others, I give him a ‘good morning’ greeting. Maybe he wasn’t looking but he did not acknowledge my presence. ‘Nuts to you, Jim,’ I say to the whirring lawn mower next door and start my own
chore.

I work systematically, starting at the farthest edge near the alley, follow the outer edges, end in the center of the lawn. Jim lets me know I am stupid and should walk in circles like he does. More than once I have told him to mind his own business. Today he is just finishing as I start and I feel relief.

As he cleans the motor, starts to rake, I hear a loud noise in the sky. It cannot be thunder. My first frightening thought is two planes have crashed into each other. I run under the porch in case debris starts to fall and I laugh at my pitiful attempt to protect myself. Jim must not have heard it as he has gone inside.

There is another boom and a flash. Guesstimating I figure 150 feet above my house. That is too close for comfort. Maybe 1000 would be better. The flash flashes again. ‘Mollie, Mollie, come quick. My Mollie is making pancake batter. She opens the screen door and I point, ‘Look, look up there, way over the chimney. What is that silver thing? ‘How do I know, Gary? You’re the scientist in this family.’ ‘O.K., Molly. I’ve ruled out a plane, a lost condor and a meteor would have hit by now. Then I give a bog ‘YOW!’Mollie it looks like a person. Go call the newspapers, the police.’ My wife tells me I am insane and she refuses to make such inane calls. I don’t argue, run in the house myself and am ridiculed off the phone by fools.

As I return to the lawn, there is the loudest explosion of all. Grey smoke, flames burst near the horizon. Sirens, fire engines fly in, from and to all directions. I catch a fast glimpse of something metallic, gold colored, roundish, sailing upside down to oblivion. On the bottom that might be the top, I make out the dome of a mosque, the one way over near the Pentagon.

The giant of a person I thought I saw before the explosions comes down, closer to me. My god, it IS Superman in a new outfit. His cape is shiny silver. On his chest is a is a big red crest with a shiny Silver ‘S’ in the center. As he comes even closer, he gives me two thumbs up and whoosh he is gone. Another blast, another mosque dome, white, twisted explodes. Super man and the domes have gone their separate ways.

Women in our neighborhood, women I have never seen before, come out of the woodwork. There are dozens of them, veiled, enclosed in their burqas except for their frightened eyes. Where have these women been hiding? I am nervous wondering what, who else is ready to wipe out the USA?

I don’t want these people here. Let them go back to their own countries. Call me names, call me stupid. I don’t care at all.

Once more I look to what was the beautiful blue sky and it is gray. My day, my sunny day, and heaven knows what else, has been ruined. Smoke blows in every direction, settles down, messes up my home, my neighborhood, my life.

My cell phone jiggles in my pocket. It is Jim Crawford. ‘Hey, Buddy, when you finish your lawn, want to take a ride with me to see what happened to the downtown mosque?

All I can say is. ‘No thank you. I know what has happened to it and am looking forward to seeing more of them go up in smoke. You go if you want.  So long, ‘Buddy.’