Green to Black?

CHANCES ARE

 

The quarter in my jacket pocket is handy, if I really want it. My brain vacillates, leaves me dissatisfied with the insecurity that lives within it. My choice of whether I want to stay in Boomtown, GA, USA maybe forever or get the hell out while I still have a lot of living to do. The 'lucky' quarter I twist and turn found me when I was sweeping the gutter in front of my tiny apartment. It was under damp mulberry leaves and ordinary gutter dirt. It struck me as being my personal pirate treasure and has been in my  bureau hosiery drawer for a long time. To my knowledge it has not brought me luck of any kind. It is a 1954 coin,  larger, than the 2008 one just reaching circulation. The new one is as big as an Indian head nickle was when I was a kid. It surely has no silver in it and doesn't even cover the cost of an ice cream cone.

 

Phil Darwin and I have been betrothed for close to a year. Betrothed? Heck, we've been sharing our heavy breathing and beds a long time but have not set a date. Why do we need a ceremony, invite family we rarely see, make a big megilla out of it? We don't. I am the major player in our marriage game, have been calling the shots. My stand is we should spend our money on a luxury cruise, see what else is outside of Boomtown beside our stifled world. It must be at least three months since either of us has brought up the topic. My homework tells me June thru September can be iffy in the Atlantic. Hurricanes can wipe out ships, entire islands. When Phil isn't looking, I toss my old quarter and call heads we cruise. It comes out tails. I toss it again and get heads once more, change my silent call to tails. Chances of it coming up other than I hope for are small but it comes up heads.  The quarter goes back in my pocket, then into my hosiery drawer before I fall asleep.

 

I am a Google nut and ask the freaks behind all the info they spit out in five seconds, if London is too foggy, too cool in March. 'It varies.' I could have saved some cyberspace and not asked what any fool knows. Phil wants to see the palaces, the Beefeaters, take a boat ride down the Thames, a tour of Shakespear's house. It sounds boring to me. Montmartre, the cafes, the Opera House, a walk up the Eiffel Tower excites me. We take a vote, decide not to take chances, stay in the USA, maybe go to the Green Mountains of Vermont in July. It is heavenly there in the summer we are told. Feelin' good about this idea, I push it on Phil. He admits it won't cost anywhere near as much as going overseas and he can take golf lessons from somebody who speaks English if he chooses.

 

The ball is in my court. I locate an ad in Cosmo that looks fab. A Mr. Hollifield answers the phone, and all of the questions I throw at him, location, price, facilities, car rental, glider flights. His two story condo is only one year old and is decorated in excellent taste. It is close to fine restaurants. He names a few, none of which I recognize. We have to give this Vermont trip some serious consideration. He calls Mr. Hollifield back, goes over a few more details and is ready to give him
our charge account info.

 

'Whoa' Darlin', let's not jump into anything so fast.' Phil's dander is up. 'So fast, we have been talking about getting away for two years. Let's do it.' I am not sure yet. 'Phil, I have to give this a little more thought. I'll call the Chasons who have been to Vermont, or, if you insist, I'll give in and take a chance.' Something gnaws at my gut but I have agreed and won't be a ninny backing out.

 

I get my lucky quarter out of my drawer and in privacy toss it in the air. Heads will be a 'yes.' Heads it is and I chance leaving Boomtown. USA. Southwinds Air Flight 106 flies us and a few Vermont lovers to Sugarbush where, we have been told, super skiing is available, but it is summer. Golfers are everywhere. They think they are supermen because their shots go further than ever. It's the mountain air that gives them the lift, but I tell no one. Let them have their kicks.

 

Phil and I are going gliding with a pro. The Green hills are the greenest green imaginable. Our pilot guides the plane and we just relax, soar silently up, up and over the mountains. The only noise is the pilot chewing bubble gum. I want to bash him but keep quiet.

 

Phil is extremely quiet. He is surely thinking about our black Jewish pilot who, when we land, is going to perform a small, very small, wedding ceremony for us. The heebee jeebees envelope me as we soar, come so close to each mountain that I lose my breath. The rabbi is sweating a lot. So am I. The mountain moves, comes closer and closer to our glider and the three of us.

 

I am frightened as we go down. The mountain comes up to meet us.  I have just a second before my eyes close as I wonder why I took this chance and who will find my lucky quarter.