I was tired. After
getting up at 4 am, I’d been traveling for the better part of the day coming
from Newfoundland, and now the plane was making a descent for a connection in
Vancouver. All I wanted was to go
home. The last thing in the world I
wanted to do was to land in yet another airport to board yet another
airplane. I made a mental note to
sacrifice some cash for a direct flight next time.
Once we arrived at the gate and were able to deplane, I made
a beeline for my connecting gate. With
only 15 minutes until departure time, I knew that the other plane must have
been waiting for us, and even though the gates were both in Air Canada’s
terminal, they weren’t close to each other.
My exhaustion was overrun by the adrenaline-fueled need to make my
plane, and I hustled past the shops, boarding pass in one hand, passport in the
other. There were others making the
same hasty connection, and we chuckled and exchanged understanding glances as
we checked in and walked through the collapsing corridor leading to the plane
door. I pulled the strap of my carry-on
over my head, carrying it in front of me to avoid hitting the passengers
already seated. As I looked at the
overhead compartments for the little aisle picture with number 22E, my eyes
passed over a few scattered empty window seats and I silently prayed I’d be
seated next to one. If I couldn’t get
home quickly, at least I wanted my last 2 hours to be quiet and comfortable.
I saw him as I approached my aisle and I knew he’d be next to
me. I sighed internally and
checked. And double checked. Yes, he was definitely 22F, but I smiled and
asked him what his number was, as much out of politeness as to make some sort
of small talk. If you’re going to be in
a stranger’s personal space for any length of time, I find that it sometimes
helps to break the ice early. He looked
young, with eyeglasses and what looked to be curly dark hair pulled back into a
ponytail. Plaid flannel shirt, jeans, I
figured he was a college student. In
fact, he was making notes of some sort, and I wondered if he was returning from
or going to a family holiday vacation.
He looked like a nice enough guy, whatever his story.
“22F?” I asked, as I
put my bag in the top bin.
He smiled and reached over to remove his bottle of water off
my seat. “Yep, that’s me. Looks like we’re neighbors.”
“Looks like,” I replied blandly.
I got myself situated and buckled in, then leaned my head
back and just stared ahead. In addition
to being worn out, I was now wired from trying to make the plane. I was also getting hungry, but decided that
another two and a half hours until dinner wasn’t so bad. I was just so desperate to start the runway
taxi, I didn’t really care when I ate, as long as I could see Mt. Rainier
rising up to welcome me back to Washington.
Soon.
“Man, you looked wiped.
Long trip?”
I looked at him without turning my head and smiled, in spite
of the fact that I felt like doing nothing of the sort. “Yeah,” I answered. “I’m coming in from Newfoundland. I’m dying to go home.”
My seat partner laughed.
“I am so with you there! I’m
dying to go home and I’m only coming from Calgary! Of course, I was in a house with 8 other people for two and a
half weeks,” he shrugged, “maybe that’s why.”
I groaned sympathetically and actually turned my head
towards him. “Wow! You must have quite a family.”
“Actually, I was hanging with some friends. We were having a ‘multi-culti’ winter
celebration,” he smiled. “We started
with the Solstice, and ended with Kwanzaa. It was pretty amazing, but I’m really ready to sleep in my own
bed, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I said. My
mind was stuck on his words about that celebration, though. It sounded interesting, but I wondered how
it all came about. “You guys weren’t pushed
to start World War Three with all those religions in there?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“You know, a lot of people ask that,” he said as he sort of
turned his whole body toward me, clearly ready to explain. “It’s not like that at all. See, my friends and I are of the same
viewpoint that all of those holidays – and we included five of them, have much
more to do with community than religion.
Whatever they started as, in our minds, they have become about togetherness
and love, with whatever higher power you subscribe to thrown in for your own
spirituality. All of us were raised in
different religions, but whether we were Bar Mitzvahed, confirmed or baptized,
we’ve all sort of developed a…” his hands made a rolling motion as he searched
for his words, “melting pot of religious beliefs as we’ve become adults. My generation was brought up in an era and a
culture where religion can be and is questioned, and most of us have
done enough traveling and/or studying to know that there are so many doctrines
in the world that we can choose what we believe! We can take what we need and make it our own private
religion. Because, when you get right
down to it, all religions speak of the same things, they just get pissed off at
each other for saying it differently.”
I stared at him, intrigued by his convictions and somewhat
taken aback by his passion. Before I
was able to stop myself, I’d asked, “And, when were you born?”
He smiled in a way that can only be described as rakish,
“’69.”
“Ah, of course you were,” I laughed and nodded.
He laughed good-naturedly and raised his tray table as we
headed toward the runway. We were quiet
during the taxi and ascent, then once we’d been airborne for a while, I decided
that I wanted to know more about him.
He really was a nice guy and seemed interesting, like the kind of
guy a person could have a conversation with for hours and never get bored.
“So, you spent the holidays with friends. Where are you going now, back to school,
or…?”
He took off his glasses and before he even answered, I was
struck by his eyes. I usually don’t
notice things like that. I mean, I
notice the color of a person’s eyes sometimes, but normally, I just look to see
that they’re looking at me, or whether or not they seem trustworthy. This man’s eyes were a really nice shade of
blue. Big and pretty, like a girl’s
almost, although there was nothing feminine about him. I imagined that he probably had lots of
girls after him. Guys, too, more than
likely.
“No. Well, yeah,
sort of. I’m a teaching fellow in
Anthropology at Rainier U. I’m also a
consultant to the Cascade Police Department, studying closed societies. My Roommate, who went to Tucson for
Christmas, is one of the detectives.”
“Really? Tucson,
huh? Not much of a white Christmas there,
I guess.”
“No way! It was
sixty-five on Christmas day when I talked to him.”
I looked at him and smiled as bells started ringing in my
head. I wondered if he’d realized that
he’d capitalized the word ‘roommate’.
There was just the slightest hint of something there. Curious, I continued.
“Wow, sixty-five, huh?
How long was he there? And was
he having his own ‘melting pot’ thing?”
He laughed and I could’ve sworn I caught a hint of a
blush. “No, he was visiting some family
friends for a little annual get-together.
They only celebrate Christmas down there. Not a menorah in sight!”
I nodded in understanding and laughed.
“He was only gone for a few days, though,” he continued with
that tiny smile dancing around his mouth, “so he’ll be back before me. In fact,” he said looking at his watch, “he
should be leaving for the airport soon to pick me up.”
There was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. He didn’t try to hide it, and clearly felt
no need to. I smiled a bit ruefully at
the idea of going home in a cab.
“So, you guys are close, then?”
He glanced up at me and smiled, communicating paragraphs
with a single look. I knew immediately
that I was dead on. He was in love.
“He’s my best friend.
Man, I can’t even tell you the shit we’ve been through together! The mere fact that I live with him came
about because my apartment got blown up by people running a drug lab next
door! He let me stay for a couple of
weeks, and I sort of set up house!
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind.
I think I’m easier to keep around than a pet, so he puts up with
me.” He gave a self-effacing laugh and
continued, “We’re really tight. I know
he’s always got my back, and I always have his, you know? In general, but especially on the job.”
“You mean the detective work?”
“Yeah. He’s smart
and intuitive. He’s a great
detective. I’m proud to work with
him. I’m proud to work with all those
guys, actually.”
His face looked a little dreamy and I smiled and looked
away. I felt like I was invading on his
privacy, although he’d said nothing all that personal. It was just the way he looked while he
talked about this man that made me feel intrusive. As if on cue, the pilot announced that we’d be landing soon, and
I took that as my opportunity to allow him time to himself.
“God, didn’t we just get up here and they’re already talking
about landing?” he asked as he closed his notebook and put it in his carry-on
under the seat.
“That’s the nice thing about these trips,” I answered,
bringing my seat up, “quick, and relatively painless. Usually, anyway.”
“Too true.”
***
We said our goodbyes and deplaned. I only had my carry-on, while he had to go to baggage claim, so
while we went in the same direction, I didn’t have to go to the carousel. I did, however, have to go to the
restroom. When I came out, I saw him
picking up his suitcase and handing it to a taller man in a baseball cap. The detective, I surmised. They were smiling and interacting
comfortably, clearly in synch with and glad to see each other. They were cute together in a Mutt and Jeff
sort of way, and I had to smile. I
walked close enough to hear the man say,
“What do you have in here, Chief, a body?”
To which my seat partner replied, “Just wait ‘til we get
home, Jim, you won’t believe what I have to show you!”
As I went out and hailed my cab, I thought truer words were
never spoken.
Jim held my hand almost all the way through dinner. He’d given it a squeeze shortly after we sat
down, giving me a heartfelt, “I’m glad you’re back, Chief,” and a look that
nearly stopped my heart. For the rest
of the time, he found reasons to touch me, tapping the back of my hand, for
instance, or just simply resting his palm on top of mine, fingers loosely curled
around each other. Sometimes accompanied
by a conversational point, other times, just touching, connecting. At that moment, I vowed to never spend the
holidays without him again.
By the time we’d gotten home, I’d told him all about
Calgary, from the 5-foot snow drifts, to the burnt latkes and the various
mistletoe “incidents”. I went directly
to my room and put down my bags, having taken the small suitcase from Jim,
which was slightly heavier than I remembered.
“Home, sweet home!”
I sighed gratefully, coming back out into the living room to put my coat
on the rack. “Ah, man, I can’t wait to
get into my own bed, use my own bathroom and speak nothing but English for at
least the next month!” Jim was hovering
near the couch and I walked over to him.
“So, tell me about Tucson.”
“I love you, Blair,” he said suddenly.
I blinked. Then I
smiled and stepped a little closer to him.
“Yeah. I know you do.”
I put my hand on his chest and leaned into him, brushing his
mouth with my own. His dry, soft lips
opened against mine and slid across them, catching my top one and pulling
slightly. That alone was enough for a
nice, slow start. He took my lips
between his and I did the same to him, over and over, until finally I opened
once more and closed around his tongue.
I opened my eyes and looked at him, beautiful in extreme close-up, and
kissed him with my hand on his face. I
felt his hand on my head as I held his, and I closed my eyes again, and let it
all go. I ran both hands slowly down
his arms and back up to his face, tilting my head up just enough to break the
connection of our lips.
“I love you,” I whispered against his skin, my lips grazing
the stubble of his upper lip. “I love
you,” I said again with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And with a fierceness I didn’t know I felt, I
said it again, holding him tightly as he kissed my neck.
His lips traveled slowly up to my ear, and he wrapped me in
a sweet, solid embrace as he whispered, “Yeah.
I know you do.”
The End