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CHAPTER – 2: Encounter and Requiem
“Sonny?”
I opened my eyes, blinking them to clear my vision.
“You better get a cup of coffee and a cigarette. This will take more time. I’ll call when we’re ready,” said the driller.
Yeah? Why didn’t you say so? Like an hour and a half ago? All I heard was, “We’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
It wasn’t his fault. Sometimes, when something went wrong, it was followed by a flood of other problems. There’s nothing you can do about that but deal with it. It just took time and effort, but when you’ve been on your feet for 30–something hours, even a minute delay seems like an hour. They had been busy with the high-pressure lines and the pumps for the last two hours. The pipes kept freezing or leaking. Then, one of the pumps broke a piston. We had a standby pump, but if something happened with that, we would be caught with our pants down. Not a good thing in the middle of a critical operation. By the time both pumps were checked and operational, the lines had frozen again. In the meantime, I had been standing in the cold, expecting to get on with the operation in the next ten minutes. I could have gotten at least a catnap. But, that’s the way things went.
You never know when Murphy would come for a visit!
I chuckled at the thought. The strange sense of humor that was prevalent among the drilling bunch had grown on me from the first day I had stepped on a rig floor as a visiting student. And, I never lost it, even through my anger. I didn’t feel like a chuckle let alone laugh—I was just too tired—but I could still appreciate the humor. Without that I wouldn’t have lasted here this long. You can’t run on empty or on anger only. I was dead tired. I just wanted to find a warm bed and crawl inside. Every joint was stiff from not moving and I was cold to my bones. It wasn’t that cold, perhaps -8 C, but the lack of sleep, and the tiredness took its toll. I didn’t think a cup of coffee or a cigarette would help. I’ve been going on that for the last seven hours, taking ten minute breaks every two hours or so. I just needed the sleep.
Instead of answering, I nodded, and tried to loosen my muscles. That done, I took a couple of tentative steps to test my legs. I had been leaning back against a wooden panel with my knees locked stiff and trying to sleep on my feet. Well, you wouldn’t call it a sleep. I was resting my eyes, and had been following the progress with my ears; listening to the banging of hammers, and yelling and shouting. I walked down the stairs, and headed to the kitchen. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of chocolate bars from the fridge and a jar of honey. I needed some sugar. Filling up a large mug with coffee, I added five large spoonfuls of honey, stirring the mix. That was a trick I learned from the German driller. I used to dump 10–15 lumps of sugar to my coffee. I was young enough not to feel the effects of too much sugar, but it wasn’t a healthy thing to do—young or old. Honey was a much better replacement. However, that was my only concession. Chocolate bars were non-negotiable, when I didn’t have something to eat. If I hadn’t forgotten to arrange some egg sandwiches and soup with the cook for the late night operation, I wouldn’t have to settle for chocolate bars.
Back at my office cabin, I ate the bars, chasing them with the coffee, and lit a cigarette, keeping an eye on the rig floor from the open door. A few minutes later, I was feeling much better. The chair looked inviting, but if I sat, I wasn’t sure I would be able to get back on my feet—not even with the assistance of a forklift—so, I kept pacing the small space. By the time I finished my coffee and half way through my second cigarette, there was a sharp whistle. When I looked at the rig floor, I saw the driller signing me, “We’re ready!” Putting out my cigarette, I left the cabin, and headed for the rig floor at a brisk pace.
Here we go. Come on, Murphy! Why don’t you take a fucking hike and let us get on with it?
* * * * *
Two and half hours later, I was sitting in my office. The casings were in place and cemented, and the crew was busy making the preparations for drilling the next hole section. There was some more work to do, such as changing the blow out preventers, and slipping and cutting the drilling line, and preparing the new mud, while waiting on cement to set. All I had to do was type in my report and fax it to the office. Easier said than done. I could hardly see the characters on the little five inch orange screen of the IBM portable. With a sigh, I put on my glasses and started to peck at the keyboard. Half hour later the information was saved and printed out. I checked my watch and was surprised to find it was already 5:30. Just then, the driller walked in.
“Shit son, why do you keep your door open? It’s cold in here,” he said.
I always kept the door open and the heater off when we had a night operation going on. Otherwise, I had to take off my jacket and the thermal coveralls every time I stepped inside—pain in the neck. What’s more, it was easy to catch cold if you moved between cold and warm frequently. Besides, cold kept me awake when I was tired.
“Trying to stay awake, chief,” I said tiredly.
“Report ready?”
“Yep.”
“You look like hell, son. Catch some shut eye,” he said taking the printout.
That was a nice idea, but not practical. In two hours time I would be on the phone, talking to the Operations guy back in town, going over the morning report. I was starting to feel perky again. That’s what usually happened when I reached a threshold with all that coffee, sugar and nicotine. However, in a few hours time, I would be down—and I mean, really down. But, that was OK. I could catch 4–5 hours sleep, do the handover to my counterpart who will be arriving around lunch time, and then hit the road. I had a flight back home late in the afternoon. There was nothing special going on until late evening, when they would start drilling again, so my counterpart would have no trouble picking up where I left off.
“Later, chief. I just need some coffee, and a smoke. I can sleep after the report.”
He gave me a disapproving look. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground, kid, if you keep that up.”
“Well, I know somebody who can scrape me off the floor,” I quipped with a grin.
“Where is the fun in that? I’d rather wait until the rig move, and drink you under the table,” he retorted.
That had been couple of months ago, when we were both off-duty during a rig move. It had been good. No, it had been better than what happened a year ago, when we had had our first encounter. After that little episode, things improved, and we had developed a certain rapport. I still kept to myself most of the time, and we weren’t close, but there was a rapport. A few months ago, during another rig move, we didn’t have to parry, and just went straight for the bottle. It had been fun, both of us letting off some steam, and trying to relax, taking some time off from the demands of the work, and other responsibilities. In the end, I had to concede defeat, before I lost my mobility to make my way back to the bed on my own. Back in the cabin, I had taken a few aspirins and chased them with four big glasses of water, so that next morning I wouldn’t feel like a dish-rag. It had helped, but not much. I had to wear my shades all day long to keep the blaring sun away, and he would snicker every time he saw me rubbing my temples.
“Shit, pops! You know how to hurt a guy.”
Despite my response, I was looking for a repeat of the drinking bout. It had been a nice diversion.
“Well, if you get your head out of your ass, and keep to your lessons, you wouldn’t give me the opportunity, would you?”
“Ouch!”
“Come on, let’s get a cup. It’s freezing in here.”
“I’ll be right behind you, chief. I want to get rid off the thermals,” I replied, standing up.
His office was usually very warm. After he left, I changed into jeans and a shirt, and checked the thermostat in the bedroom to make sure it wasn’t too cold or hot. I wanted to have a decent four hours sleep at the minimum. I set the heater in the office as well, and closing the door, I went to his office. While he was busy with his paperwork, I quickly updated my handover notes for my counterpart, and then we faxed our respective reports to our offices.
“When is your flight?” he asked, as he took a sip from his cup, relaxing in his chair.
“Late in the afternoon.”
“Going to your parents?”
“Yeah, for a few days, and then I’ll pick up my car and hit the road.”
“Somewhere nice?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere along the coast I guess,” I said, my thoughts going to that beach.
I might drop by there for a few days. It will be empty, with only a few year-round residents. I want to see it again. I want to know if it’s still there for me.
I realized—and not the first time—I had mixed feelings when I thought about that beach, my beach. I had always believed that it would be there for me, but sometimes, there was an uncertainty associated with that belief, making me uneasy, however much I tried to ignore it. I had too many good memories in that place, and at times, when uncertainty crept in, I was scared I would lose one of my anchors—perhaps my only anchor. It was time to put the theory to test, and know for sure if that beach was still my beach. I also wanted to check out a few towns along the coast, where they had good bars, and perhaps, some chicks getting away from the big cities for the weekend or some tourists. In some of those places, there were always tourists, summer or winter, and it wasn’t winter yet, just mid-October. Here in this place, it was getting below zero at night, but day-time it was a comfortable mid to upper 20s. It would be slightly milder in the west coast, where my beach was located.
If it’s too cold for my taste I can always drive down to somewhere along the south coast. It’s always warm there.
“When are you heading to town?”
“Around two. Depends on when the other guy arrives. I need to go over a few things with him.”
“You ain’t sitting in the office until your flight, are you?”
Heh! You know me well, pops!
“Nope. I want to get a haircut, and get this wild growth on my face trimmed. Then, some shopping for Sis; a nice silver necklace.”
He nodded in agreement. “They have some good stuff in the town. I bought a pair of gold earrings for my daughter.” After a slight hesitation, he asked, “Any reason silver?”
“She likes antique looking stuff, plus when she tans, she really has a tan, so the silver looks much better.”
“Strange girl. Most women would go for gold.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I know. But, she already has enough of that, and doesn’t wear it much. We went shopping the last time I was back home, and I saw her look at silver necklaces. They weren’t as good as what they have here, handcrafted, so I stopped her from buying it.”
“She’s also patient enough to wait,” he quipped.
“Well... It’s not the same thing if she buys it herself, or receives a gift from her brother, is it?” I retorted.
“You have a point there,” he chuckled. “So, she knows you’ll be bringing a gift.”
“She’s not really expecting something, but you know how women are. I think she sensed what I was planning.”
He let out a groan. “Tell me about it! It gets worse when you’re married. In a few years, they get to know everything.”
We carefully avoided my parents as a subject matter. It wasn’t because it was a sore point. He just knew I didn’t like to talk about them, and he had seen the change—the telephone calls—it had gotten better. I had gone back home at the first opportunity last year. They had tried, but when I didn’t respond, and refused to be drawn into any discussion, they eased up. After a few days of subtle prodding, they stopped all together. It hadn’t been easy; for any of us. But, I guess they sensed the distance that was growing between us, and realized they were running the risk of pushing me away. I should have done that long ago, but I had too much respect for them, and didn’t want to hurt their feelings at the time. This time, I just gave them the cold shoulder when they got insistent. It was better than a full confrontation, and that was the end of it. Over time, the uneasy peace turned into comfortable coexistence. I guess they had seen the subtle changes in me. At least, they could see that I wasn’t so sullen, or my anger and hurt wasn’t as obvious as before, and I kept visiting them more often despite my frequent travels to various places. I did a lot of sight seeing, and told them about the places I had been to, and they probably realized I was starting to enjoy life to a degree. They still worried about what might happen, here, but there wasn’t much any of us could do about that. To have some peace at the home front helped a lot; I didn’t have to be preoccupied with what was going on there all the time.
By the time our conversation came to an end, the sky was lighting up. I stepped out for half an hour to watch the horizon change color. That was one of the rare things I enjoyed. How the dim stars slowly disappeared from view, as the dark mass took on a lighter hue, the distant end looking like somebody lit a slow burning fire. First a pinkish tint, that slowly turned red, and the few clouds changing from orange to a translucent silver color, to eventually white, before the sun showed its face. The ground was still hard. It would take several hours before it would heat up and soften. I could almost hear the soft groan—the sky finally waking up from its deep sleep. I just let the feelings wash over me, as if floating somewhere beyond the horizon, getting warmed up, even though it was below zero as I stood in front of the cabin, without a jacket. I didn’t stay long though. Once the sun was up, my sleepy eyes would start to hurt, and I knew I would hardly be able to keep them open.
When I stepped in the cabin, it was time for the morning report. The telephone wasn’t working. Damn! We had to use the radio. At least, we had the reports faxed before the telephone quit on us. Sometimes that happened. Either the relay stations had problems, or our microwave antenna failed. When that happened, it was a pain in the neck to dictate the report over the radio, and then we still had to go through the details.
“You better go first, son. You need to get some sleep,” he said.
“Thanks, chief,” I said. Then, I saw the opportunity to get back at him, and with a wicked smile, I asked, “You sure you don’t mind sloppy seconds?”
He let out a long, rumbling laugh, shaking his head. “The coffee must have helped more than I thought. You’ve been hanging with us too long, son. Save that energy for your vacation and the chicks, will you?”
The drilling bunch was a bawdy group. There were rarely any women around, so the jokes were always off-color, if not downright dirty. I guess it was no different than any other industry where women were a rarity.
“Whatever you say, pops. I’ll be good,” I retorted.
“I don’t doubt that; just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he replied with a knowing grin.
He had once told me a story about one of the guys he had in his crew. An electrician, about 20–21, and recently married, working a schedule of four weeks on and four weeks off. After two tours of duty, the electrician requested his tour to be shifted a week—before or after his current schedule. When he was asked the reason, the guy couldn’t give a satisfactory answer, so Pops had refused the request. After another tour, the electrician had made the same request. After a lot of prodding and pushing, the electrician explained his little problem—with a lot of embarrassment. Every time he got back home, his wife was having her—well, I don’t have to spell it out, do I? You get the idea—It was funny as hell, but Pops understood the situation, and granted the request, making the young man a very happy man. When he had told the story, I was on the floor, laughing my ass off. With a chuckle, he gently admonished me; “Yeah, son. It sounds funny as hell, but not when you’re on the receiving end of it... or not receiving, as the case might be... so, keep that in mind.”
Yep! It’s an interesting mix of people and stories. There’s always something, and that’s what I like about this work and the people.
Before I could call the office, we heard the Ops guy calling us on the radio, so I took the mike, and replied. After covering the major points, he started to ask questions about the delays. After I explained the problems, he kept on it, mostly about the length of downtime. I got the feeling he was trying to blame the drilling contractor, and that was starting to piss me off.
What part of frozen lines, broken piston don’t you get? You’ve been on the rigs, waiting for repairs, because something is broken or something is frozen. It takes time to fix it. This isn’t a lab where everybody works in lab coats, where everything is clean, and you have heating and air conditioning. I had to wait in the fucking cold, so don’t tell me it’s a long delay, sitting at your comfortable chair.
The last was a result of resentment rather than envy. I would have been the first to accuse the drilling contractor if I thought they were screwing around, since I was at the receiving end of the delays. He had no idea. In a way that was normal. The Ops guys—I was ostensibly an Ops guy, but had started to think and act more like a drilling guy—didn’t really get involved with the tiny details about how a rig runs. They—well... we—were responsible for the technical side, the engineering calculations, and looking at the overall picture, and making decisions on the problems, and going over the operational steps, discussing them with the drilling contractor. The driller then went over the operational steps, and took care of the micro-details of each operational step. Ops guys were not involved in micromanagement such as ordering oil for the engines. That was the responsibility of the drilling contractor.
The point is I had gotten involved in the hands-on side of it more than I was supposed to be. About eight months ago, there had been a labor dispute. The crews went on a slow down. Each shift was missing a few guys—sick. Sometimes there were only one or two guys showing up for their shift. All the other personnel—the foreigners—that were assigned to the rig (like mechanics, electricians, etc) took on additional workload. I, on the other hand, didn’t have much to do. First, because I wasn’t qualified for doing anything on the rig floor, and the only help I could lend was dumping sacks of chemicals while preparing the drilling mud, measuring the pipes, and other simple manual labor. Another major problem was my contract. It didn’t cover the other work and that meant I didn’t have any insurance coverage in case I had an accident. I was covered in case some accident happened, but my insurance would be void if I did something like operating equipment, or working with the equipment on the rig floor for which I wasn’t qualified. I was willing to learn and do the work on the rig floor. However I wasn’t going to risk it. Rig floor work looks simple; just heavy labor, but it’s potentially dangerous, especially for a rank beginner. I knew that.
It was obvious that they could use an extra hand, so I had a quick discussion with my boss, and suggested they make an addendum to my contract for additional work (for which I retained the sole right to refuse anytime I chose to do so) with specific insurance and disability coverage. I wasn’t going to let the Company use those additional work clauses to take advantage of me at a later date... especially if I ever had to take a position against the company for one reason or another. Later, I heard that some people didn’t like that clause—me retaining the sole right to refuse the particular work added to my contract. Heh! Tough shit! I didn’t have to offer the help I was offering. Instead of saying “Thank you,” they were whining. It was probably the few assholes in the management—I had stepped on some toes several times—and the Legal Department. Pricks! A couple months after the labor dispute was resolved, I had gotten an extra check and a “Thank you,” and I think the drilling contractor, and my boss might have had a hand in that. But, my offer had been attractive. I didn’t demand extra pay or anything else; I just wanted to have proper coverage for any unfortunate eventuality. A few phone calls and faxes between the office and the family lawyer, and everything was settled. I worked on the rig floor, I worked on the pumps, I helped the rig mechanic and the electrician. Basically, I did a lot of the manual work that the crews did, getting my hands dirty, and I enjoyed it. Thus, I had a different view of things, and developed an appreciation of what was really going on. I didn’t know everything, but I was very much interested in learning. I would never break speed records for changing gaskets, or driving a forklift, or handling other equipment, but I had done all those things, and more.
I was almost tempted to give the Ops guy a snappy reply, before I realized we were on the radio. Just then, the driller tapped me on my arm. I shook my head indicating that I wasn’t going to do anything rash, and he nodded his understanding. In my tired state, my patience was wearing thin, and he had noticed that.
You’re a good man, pops. Every other rig in the vicinity that tuned into the frequency for their morning report are listening in! It would have been rather tacky to let the whole world hear the exchange. If we were on the phone... well, that would have been something else.
Taking a deep breath, I told him I would be in town in the afternoon, and suggested we go over the questions then. I followed it with a remark about not wanting to tie up the radio traffic discussing a non-critical item. Basically, I was telling him to quit nitpicking and move onto something important, like getting the reports from other rigs—in a polite manner. He got the hint, and since we had covered everything else, he signed off, and called up another rig.
“Sorry, chief. I almost blew my top,” I said.
“It happens. I don’t think it would have been that bad, just embarrassing for him. You don’t go out of your way to embarrass people in public. You’re tired, but still managed to remember that you were on the radio.”
“Yeah, but thanks anyway. And I’ll be patient with him when I go over the stuff.”
“You do that, sonny. Maybe next time they’ll be more appreciative, and won’t start nit-picking.”
“I hope so. Some of them think they aren’t doing their job if they don’t ask questions or try to make a point. It gets worse on the radio. Once, I had a real prima-donna on the radio.”
He nodded with a tired but knowing grin. He had had his share of the same people. “I know what you mean. You give it a try in private and see if he gets it. Some do, and some don’t. When you’re working in the office, don’t forget the field people and this experience.”
“I don’t want to work in the office. But, if I did end up there, do you think I would forget?”
“It’s a matter of time and keeping in touch with the field hands. I doubt you’ll forget it, after all you’ve seen and done, but it happens to the best of them.”
Yep. More often than not, that was what happened. People forgot how it used to be in the field, once they moved to the office. The good ones kept visiting the field, and tried not to lose touch.
He was busy switching to another frequency to call his office to give his report.
“Well, I’m outta here. I’ll grab a bite and then it’s nap time. See you ‘round lunch,” I said, before leaving the cabin.
The first business of the day was to grab a quick shower. Next, the dining room. When I walked in, the cook was busy in the kitchen making some eggs and pancakes.
After the usual pleasantries, he asked, “Pancakes with honey?”
God, no! I don’t want any more sugar.
“Nope, just scrambled eggs and sausages. You don’t have soup by any chance, do you?”
“So, you were the one who raided the fridge, last night?” he asked. Every time I raided his kitchen at night, the next morning I asked the same question, “Do you have any soup?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I had forgotten to ask for sandwiches and soup last night.”
“Why didn’t you check the dinner cabin? There was some cake, and rice pudding in the small fridge. Better than those chocolate bars.”
Damn! I didn’t think of that. Rice pudding. That would have been great.
“What’s for lunch?” I asked, as if I didn’t know, receiving an annoyed look. It usually was steak with potatoes and some vegetables. There wasn’t much variation. Sometimes he made an Irish stew or hot curry, but it was always meat. Well, that was to be expected, with a drilling crew. The night shift personnel usually had their dinner in the morning, so it was steak, fries and fried onions. I had that several times, too, when I had to work night and the following day, but it’s not something I was used to. When you start working late at night and have to continue during the day, it was normal to have dinner instead of a light breakfast in the morning. I rushed through my breakfast and 20 minutes later, I was having a cup of tea. I didn’t eat much, but that little bit of food eased my hunger, and I was getting sleepy.
Time to hit the sack.
* * * * *
When the alarm clock went off, I barely managed to get myself out of bed. A cold shower did help, but I was still groggy. The short sleep wasn’t enough, I could have gone on for an additional ten hours.
Well, tonight, I could and would sleep better.
For the first three years, I was constantly fighting the memories and dreams, especially when I wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep. Sometimes, I would stay up much of the night, reading or doing some paper work or studying. Night operations helped. I could catch on my sleep with short naps during the day. The last year, it was better. Most of the time I could sleep, but it was uneasy, mostly due to the fact that I would be listening to the heartbeat of the rig.
A lot of the drilling people suffer from that. Your brain recognizes a distinct pattern of sound that defines the activities that are taking place outside your cabin. After a while, these patterns are filed and catalogued, so you know what each means in your subconscious. If the pattern changed, it usually indicated a problem. When you’re sleeping, your brain is still aware of what’s going on, and notices the changes in the sounds, and wakes you up. Most often than not, a few minutes later, you’ll hear the knock on the door. Problem! That also acts as a positive feedback loop, firming up the conditioning. The most distinct pattern is when everything suddenly goes quiet when you expect the regular squeak of the brake while drilling. Those are the times every driller and engineer hates. If you wake up to that, you better get your ass out of the bed, and start getting dressed. Mr. Murphy and a bunch of his relatives are probably paying an unscheduled visit that will turn your night into something of a major hell. No need to wait for somebody to knock on the door. The whole experience was Pavlovian, and unfortunately, it made for a restless sleep. I guess the only time I had a good sleep on the rig-site was when I was tired and dead to the world.
After the shower, I packed my suitcase, and stored my rig related paraphernalia (boots, coverall, thermals, etc) in the closet. I caught my counterpart at lunch, and gave him a quick summary of what had been done, and what was coming next while we ate. Back in the office, I gave him the handover notes, and answered his questions. Then we went over the well program and the progress made until now. There wasn’t much. He just had to read the reports of the past few days, and he had plenty of time to go over them before they commenced drilling later in the night. The next few days they would be drilling, so basically he was ready, and I was ready to go to town to catch my flight.
After putting my suitcase in the car, I did my rounds to say goodbye to the people, and hit the road to the accompaniment of Chris Rea on the stereo. As he was singing Looking for the Summer my mind was busy with my vacation plans, which route to take, what towns to check out and so on. I was planning to spend most of my time in the south coast, after listening to the weather forecast, with a short visit to the west coast to visit my beach. As I had expected there was quite a bit of temperature difference between the two coasts.
It will be a welcome difference to drive along the coast. On one side the Mediterranean, and on the other side the mountains, the air filled with the smell of pine trees. After the dust and sandy roads here, and the desolate scenery, finally I will see something nice.
* * * * *
Back in town, I went to the town center, and checked out the jewelry stores. In one shop, I finally found what I was looking for. Instead of silver, I ended up buying a platinum plated necklace, handcrafted with a very delicate design. It looked great, and I hoped my sis would like it as well. My next stop was the barber shop. I got my hair cut, and my beard and mustache trimmed. When I looked at the mirror, I had the shock of my life. Around my temples there was a distinct grey and white strip. With the long hair I hadn’t noticed it, but when the hair was cut short...
Jeeez. When did that happen? I’m just 25. My dad had his gray hair when he was 37. Shit! Mom and Sis will definitely notice it.
I looked five if not ten years older than I was, especially with the beard and mustache. I thought about getting it shaved off, but that would have looked ridiculous with all the suntan I had. My eyes were bloodshot, and sunken from lack of sleep. I hate to admit it, but I looked bad. On the way to the office I contemplated postponing my flight, and getting a goodnight’s sleep, before going back home to see my parents. But in the end, I just didn’t want to waste my time here. I missed good home cooking—All right! I miss Sis, and the folks back home as well—and I wanted to get on with the program, and have my vacation.
When I walked into the office, the secretary gave me a strange look. I knew what she was thinking after I had had a good look at myself on the mirror.
Don’t say a word!
“You look... umm... tired. Was it that bad?” she asked.
Heh! . I look tired? Understatement of the year... Lady, I look like shit!
I felt like that as well. I was running on pure nerves, and the excitement of getting the hell out of here.
“It got busy frequently, and I had only four hours rest in the last 37 hours or so,” I replied, trying to form a smile. I don’t know if I pulled off a smile or a grimace.
“I better get you a cup of coffee. You look like you could do with one,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
“Ah, thanks, but no coffee please. If there’s tea or something cold, that’s OK.”
Few minutes later, she returned with a big mug of tea. We chatted for a short while and she gave me my tickets. That done, I went looking for the Ops guy, to go over the stuff he wanted to discuss. It didn’t take long to cover the various points, and I explained the problems patiently without getting sarcastic. However, I hinted that he wasn’t there in the office to nitpick, but deal with serious problems and give us technical support. I don’t know if he got it, but I was hopeful. I handed over the electronic copies of the files on diskettes, so they could keep their computers updated with the information. Unfortunately, the com lines were not reliable to do it via modem, so every time somebody was heading to the town, they would have copies of files from our computer on the rig-site on diskettes, and drop them at the office.
He offered to drive me to the airport for my flight, and I accepted.
* * * * *
The waiting room at the airport wasn’t crowded. It was a mid-week, late afternoon flight, so that was normal. This was a small airport, with two strips, and the airplane was parked some distance away from the gates, with the fuel truck next to it.
I was starting to have a queasy feeling in my stomach, which was strange. I enjoyed flying and I wasn’t afraid of air travel. At first, I thought something I had eaten was giving me the problem, but that wasn’t it. This was more like a signal, a quiet alarm bell going off—little flutters in my stomach. I tried to figure out what exactly was causing the signals. The more I tried, the more evasive it got. I was giving serious consideration to skipping the flight, thinking perhaps, I shouldn’t be on a plane that might... but that didn’t help.
I let my mind wander instead of listening to what my body was trying to tell me, so I could take an indirect peek, and understand the nature of the signals, and the possible cause of them. After a few deep breaths, and loosening my muscles, I managed to get a better read. It was only little flutters in my belly, as if expecting a surprise. I didn’t have the muscle ticks, or the tingling at the back of my neck, or the ants crawling on my spine. There wasn’t a sense of unease, and I didn’t have the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something wasn’t right. It wasn’t a danger signal, just a small blip; sort of an expectation for something to happen—like a premonition.
That piqued my curiosity, but I couldn’t figure out what the surprise might be. Every time I took a look at the airplane, my heart was skipping a beat, and that was strange. If there was going to be an accident, I would have the danger signals. My body was telling me, there was no danger. I had come to trust my instincts on those matters, as they had served me well countless times before. While I was busy trying to figure out this puzzle, they called the flight, and people started to head for the apron through the open doors.
As I made my way to the plane, behind the other passengers, the flutters increased in frequency, and that gave me a pause, so I slowed down my pace.
There’s something in that plane! What can it be?
What’s usually in the plane?
The cleaning crew already left, so... the pilots... the flight crew...
Flight crew? Flight attendants...
Shiit! No... can it be?
The last I remembered, she was a flight attendant and flying the international routes. She could be on a domestic flight, but...
This isn’t even a major domestic route. That can’t be...
As soon as I had hit on the thought, my flutters were replaced by a tugging feeling. As I slowed my pace further, I went to overdrive, checking everything I felt.
Yeah. It feels like she’s here! There’s no mistaking that. I know this feeling.
I knew this feeling... spinning out of control... the tug... the pull... every time she had been around... ever since that very first moment I had seen her... it had been there... always... I had felt that in my belly... even when my heart ignored the pull...
Jesus! Out of hundreds of flights, among major domestic routes, could she be on this minor route, on this particular flight? What are the chances of that? Why? Why now?
I faltered. There were still some people walking ahead of me, and some on the stairs boarding the plane. I stopped, and taking off my shades, spent a few minutes cleaning them with the hem of my shirt, while trying to calm myself. If she was there, I didn’t want to face her without being ready in some way. I went through my routine to center myself. While taking deep breaths, I imagined the beach.
Stepping into the water, and feeling the cold on my ankles. My feet trying to get a good purchase on the soft sandy floor, becoming anchors. Sinking, sinking into the ground. The tug of water. Moving with the water. Fluid, swaying. The waves wetting the rolled up legs of my jeans. My jeans getting heavy, pulling on my hips. Feeling each wave tug at my hips. Sinking more to the ground. Catching the rhythm of the waves. Matching my breath to each pull and push. Empty and full. Deep in the belly. Pull and push. The fluid motion of water. The great mass behind it. Deep in the belly. The power in the mass. Absorbing and filling it inside my belly. Calm. Becoming one with the water. Calm. Becoming the sea. I am the water.
The flutters in my stomach ceased, being replaced with a warm feeling of energy. I resumed my walk with sure steps, feeling connected to the ground in some inexplicable manner.
I hope she is not he—
Why am I lying to myself? I-I... I missed her. I still miss her.
That admission filled me with unease, and I felt the tug that I had always felt when she was around me, like the oceans felt the pull of the moon, like the tidal waves. It was there, and was getting urgent, insistent, threatening to overcome the calm and peace. It was very distracting.
I guess it’s been too long.
There was a certain comfort even in the chaos it caused in me, perhaps a comfort born out of familiarity. Worse, there was the longing; the longing to be sucked into the crazy maelstrom, swirling and spinning uncontrolled, letting go of all control. It had always been such a dichotomy: my struggle for control, and the influence she exerted on me, pulling me into chaos. How she felt in my arms, the feel of her body, her hot juncture pressed against my leg as we danced. Her fingers busy at my neck, with my hair, as we kissed. And how she had exerted the same pull without a touch, as if we were connected by an invisible cord. I had never been able to fend off her influence successfully. After all this time, those feelings were rising to the surface, trying to answer the call of the Siren’s Song.
God, it’s been long... so long since I’ve felt this... I missed it... but she couldn’t be here, could she? And, I’m so tired. I don’t know if I could handle it. I’ve never been able to. Will it be any different this time?
When I stepped inside the plane, I saw the first flight attendant, standing by the galley. There was another on my left towards the pilot’s cabin. Taking off my shades, I turned right towards the passenger cabin. About mid-way, another flight attendant was busy with the overhead compartment, picking up a pillow for a passenger.
There she is!
For a moment I considered putting my shades back on, but decided against it.
Why hide behind anything... we never had to before... did we?
She hadn’t seen me yet, as I made my way looking for my seat. A quick scan revealed that the plane was more than half empty, with most of the passengers in their seats in the front half, except a few who were busy placing their briefcases, personal belongings to the overboard compartments. As I neared her, she finished helping the passenger, and straightened up, turning to face the corridor to help the remaining passengers.
That’s when our eyes met.
She’s changed. Why did she cut her hair? Short hair doesn’t suit her. She... she looks old and... tired. Too much make up... She never used so much make up before...
At first, she was surprised to see me there, standing and looking at her. Suddenly her face lit up with a smile—as if she was genuinely pleased to see me.
“What a pleasant surprise!” she said.
Is it?
“Hi,” I said, not able to respond in any other way, even though I had prepared myself to face her. That warm smile, the look in her eyes, and the melodic sound of her voice cut through my carefully erected defenses. For a brief moment I wondered if that’s how it felt when you were cut with a katana—at first no pain, then an intense searing heat that overtook all other senses.
“You look tired. Let’s get you comfortable,” she said, while leading me to the seats towards the very back of the cabin, away from all the other passengers.
I could see several heads turn in our direction, their eyes following us, wondering about the treatment I was getting from this pretty flight attendant, but I was too busy trying to collect myself to be concerned about such things.
She showed me to one of the seats, and leaning, she asked, “Once we take off, I have to help the others with the service. Do you need anything until then?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you. It’s... it’s nice to see you.”
“It is nice to see you, too. Get comfortable. After the service is finished, we can chat... It’s been too long,” she said with another warm smile, before leaving me to help her colleagues with pre-flight preparations.
I found myself watching her departure. The almost sinuous quality to her moves in whatever she did, reminding me of things I didn’t want to think about. I was losing the battle I had been fighting, and already felt as if I was falling into a deep abyss, pulled by invisible strings. The timing couldn’t have been worse, when I was so tired. Now, this unexpected encounter was threatening me, and what little I had accomplished in fighting my past. I was hanging onto the last reserves inside me to keep myself centered, but it was a slippery and treacherous slope. As soon as I tried to recall that beach and the sea, other images started to force themselves in, breaking my concentration. The scenes when she was part of the beach, and of me... I picked the airline magazine, knowing I would not read a single word or pay attention to even the pictures. Once we were airborne, the in-flight service started and—since the plane was half-empty—it was over a half hour later.
Her colleagues took the two seats at the very back of the cabin, just few rows behind me, and I saw her making her way to me. She motioned me to take the window seat, and then moved into my seat.
She’s still beautiful... her smile is still warm as her eyes... how could she? Is this an act? And, she looks tired and old... older than her 23 years... Where did that 19 year old girl go?
I didn’t even try to give a comforting grin. I was just too confused. She gave me a long, inquisitive look, and hesitated before speaking up.
“Are you... are you angry at me?” she asked hesitantly.
Angry... at you? Why should I be angry? Do I look angry?
Maybe I do... I’m used to being left alone, so I don’t notice it. But perhaps, that’s what people think or see... an angry young man. As your friends once said... angriest of all the angry young men... Yeah, I was angry at the time... angry at you, maybe a bit... but mostly angry at myself.
“You are angry at me!” she said.
I had taken too long to reply, and she had drawn her conclusion. I wasn’t angry at her, but didn’t know how to tell her or make her see it.
“Do you remember how you trusted me? You know I never told you a lie...” I said.
She nodded.
“Then, please trust me when I say I’m not angry with you or at you. There was a time, I was angry at you... a very short time... but I wasn’t really angry at you, and I’m not now... It’s just...” I said. Then with a tired sigh, I gave up, “It’s difficult to explain.”
She spent a few minutes mulling it over in her mind, thinking about what I said and not said, but her eyes never left my face a moment.
“You’ve changed... changed a lot,” she said, softly, her voice tinged with something I couldn’t put my finger on... something like sadness, but not exactly.
As you did, baby girl... as you did, apparently. Where is that carefree laughter, those bright eyes? The wild 19 year old? You look older than your years. Why? It was only a few years ago... four and a half years to be precise.
“You’ve not changed much. You’ve cut your hair,” I replied.
“It’s easier to keep. So, you are going home now?”
“Not really. Just a few days visiting parents and Sis, and then I’ll take a vacation.”
“Isn’t it a bit late for vacation? It’s mid October.”
“I work an unusual schedule. A couple of weeks work, couple of weeks off. So you could say I work only half the year... roughly.”
“It must be nice... but also tiring, if they allow so much time off,” she said giving me a critical look.
“You don’t have to mince words. I know how I look at the moment... Yes, it can get tiring at times,” I replied.
But I like to be tired... I like to be busy... It helped... It helps... most of the time.
“Ummm... don’t have much time left. This is a short flight, so I need to get back to work. I have about an hour till my next flight. Would you like to catch a cup of coffee with me when we land?” she asked.
I grimaced at the thought of coffee.
I don’t want to hear about coffee. I had enough coffee to last me a lifetime!
She must have taken my expression the wrong way, because she hastily added, “Unless you have other plans...”
“No, I don’t have any plans. I was thinking about coffee. I think I had more than enough coffee the last few days,” I said with a small smile.
“Oh!”
“I’d love to join you for a drink.”
“OK. I’ll catch you at the baggage claim area then,” and with that she stood up and joined her colleagues who were getting ready for the last minute checks on passengers. Just then, the pilot announced that we would be landing in ten minutes.
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, I was waiting for my suitcase at the baggage claim area when she showed up, pulling a small overnight bag on rollers. We waited for my suitcase to appear on the baggage carousel, both of us lost in thought. It wasn’t uneasy, but it wasn’t comfortable either. After an eternity of waiting, I had my suitcase, and we made our way to one of the cafeteria/bars, and found an empty table.
Even though I had had enough of it, I ordered coffee, which brought an amused smile and a raised eyebrow from her.
“One more or less won’t hurt anymore than it already had,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
For a split second, her eyes tightened, and she froze, and with an effort she recovered herself. I didn’t understand her reaction at all. Why would she react like that?
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked her.
My mind was running a hundred miles an hour, going over the scene from a moment ago, trying to figure out, and then I stumbled on it.
“I didn’t mean anything... I’m sorry. I was talking about coffee,” I mumbled.
“It’s OK! I know you were talking about coffee,” she said. Then reaching out with her hand she put it on top of my hand.
If I hadn’t seen her move, I would have reacted, but even then, it took a lot to steel myself for her touch. I felt that invisible cord tug, tug hard to pull me into the abyss, almost turning my insides to water.
You don’t know what you’re doing to me girl... or maybe you do...
“I never wanted to... I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said, her eyes luminous, almost moist. “You were the best friend I ever had.”
“I know. I understood that when you first said it,” I replied.
“Maybe you did... maybe not,” she replied. Her eyes kept searching my face, trying to determine if I did.
And what friends we had been. Friends don’t dance the way we did... or kiss... or make lo—
Don’t go there. It’s past! It’s over.
“You always tried to tell me before I made my mistakes. Sometimes I knew it... sometimes I didn’t, until later. But you were right. We both knew it. And you still tried to help. Unlike others. That’s what I valued most... your friendship,” she said gently.
“But...” I said, and then I changed my mind. I didn’t want to get into what I knew was still going on. I knew she had changed, but not much. I could see it in her eyes. She just couldn’t stay alone. She hated being alone. She always needed to be with someone. She always wanted attention, if she couldn’t get love. Yet, she turned her back to the ones that really loved her.
“But...” she said, urging me to continue with an insistent stare.
Don’t make me say it... It’s going to hurt you, and you know I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t you get it? Whatever you do, I love you. And I don’t want to hurt you.
“People change. It’s what happens given time,” I said. That wasn’t what I had in mind though. I just said it to keep her from pursuing that particular line, but she knew me well.
“You were a good friend. Are you not a friend... anymore? Was that what you were going to say?”
I know my eyes were almost pleading her not to go there, but she kept her gaze steady. I tried desperately another route. “You know how I felt about you. How can you trust my judgment, when it’s colored by personal feelings, involvement?”
“Because that’s not you,” she said, giving a squeeze to my hand. “You can’t protect me from myself. You think it will hurt me, but this... hurts more!”
Damn you... damn you...
With reluctance, I said, “Let me guess... Instead of the usual guys, you’re with a pilot... Late thirties, early forties... perhaps still married or divorced?”
She lowered her eyes in answer.
“And you feel secure, because he clings to you. Now, you don’t have to worry about being cast aside or being alone. What’s more, you can keep him in line... with all the young guys around you, he has every reason to be jealous and pay attention to you, if he doesn’t want to lose you. You stroke his ego, and he pays attention to you. He might even be in love with you.”
She nodded.
“But do you love him? Don’t answer me. I don’t need to know the answer. You need to know the answer for yourself,” I said, too tired to continue.
You have hardened... some part of you is gone... you’ve changed, but now, you have become more of a user. And still, you let yourself be used even if you don’t recognize that. What happened to that 19 year old who knew something about love? But you were already hurt, and lost some part of you even then, didn’t you?
I was too early to be able to recognize it, and too late to help... really help, that time. I realized that later, but then it was... it was over!
And now?
Her earlier wildness was just a show. When she was like that, people flocked to her, but it was a tiring performance. Now, a couple of years older, she knew she couldn’t keep it up indefinitely. Not with the kind of work she was doing. It was already tough enough, the irregular hours, the different places. I suspected the usual nightlife and partying that went on with the flight crews gave more than enough opportunity to keep part of her wild ways, but I have my doubts whether she was as wild as she was at 19. I had made it my business to learn some things about flight crews and their lives when I heard she had joined an airline as a flight attendant. Her tired and older look hidden behind the heavy layer of makeup confirmed my suspicions, as her nonverbal responses to my guesses. She had never used makeup when I first knew her, just a little bit of lipstick or gloss. Still, in all that, I could feel the pain, and hurt, and the loneliness she felt. I could feel the pull of all her emotions, and I was losing my balance. I tried to take couple of deep breaths to clear up my mind and calm myself, but it was a loosing battle.
The innocence lost...
She hadn’t been innocent then, not in any sense of the word—including the biblical sense—but there had been a little piece of innocence. Now, I suspected that was gone, too.
What a loss... what a waste... are you ever going to find some happiness?
She broke the silence. “You’re right on most accounts. This time it’s different though. He loves me, and it’s comforting.”
Oh, God! The question is, do you love him? Are you happy? You used to know what love is. You used to know how to love, if what I had seen wasn’t an act... if what we did, what we had wasn’t...
I was stunned by her statement, and her ignorance. I looked in her eyes, trying to find some hidden answers there, and she averted her eyes.
Why? What are you hiding? You don’t really believe what you said, do you? Then, why did you say it?
The sadness I felt was overwhelming me. I was too tired to be able to deal with it, or control my emotions effectively. I wanted to move to some distance and find a private place to pull myself together. Hastily, I said, “Excuse me. I think all that coffee caught up with me,” and left to use the facilities.
I was ready to cry, and I hadn’t cried in many years, even when I was a young child I had rarely cried. Now, I was fighting very hard the urge to cry. Once in the rest room, I washed my face, hoping the cold water would help, but it didn’t. As I concentrated on my breathing, I tried to recall a good memory. Not of the beach, because she had been part of that beach for a while, and I didn’t want her to intrude and break my concentration, but some place else, where I had found beauty, comfort, and peace; where she hadn’t been a part of the scenery. I remembered a trip I had made to a small town by the Mediterranean coast, before I went to the boot camp. A couple of miles outside the town there was a beautiful picnic area with a small waterfall, feeding a large pond. It was one of the nicest, most beautiful places I had ever visited. I pulled the memory of that place; sitting by the pond, and watching the waterfall, listening to the sound of birds, and crickets, feeling at peace.
I started to calm down, but the urge to cry didn’t leave me. However, I couldn’t bring myself to cry, so I did the next best thing. I let the waterfall cry the tears I couldn’t. I knew I had a hangup about crying... something about weakness. Intellectually, I knew it was a natural reaction of the body to extreme emotion or other stimuli, and the body needed to have some release. I wondered if this little episode would eventually catch up with me, later on. However, at that moment, I just didn’t want to return to the table with any traces of having cried, thus I sought the alternative, and it helped.
Back at the table, I had a semblance of control. I took a sip from my cup, and grimaced at the taste of cold coffee. “I think I’ll get orange juice or something. You want something?”
“Juice is fine,” she replied.
After picking up the glasses, I returned to the table. She was lost in thought, her eyes distant, and I didn’t like the way she looked. I just didn’t know what to do to comfort her, so I took her hand in mine, and when she looked up, I tried a smile. “Where are you flying?”
“Tonight is my last flight. Tomorrow is Rome, with an overnight stay.”
“Nice. So, you’ll have time to do some sight seeing.”
“Yeah. It will be my tenth time there. Well, with an overnight stay that is. We usually make a short stop there. What about you?”
“Nothing concrete. Few days seeing the parents, and my sis, and I need the car checked. After that, I don’t know. Probably the South coast. I might drive up to the Aegean coastline as well.”
“Have you been to...” she hesitated for a moment, then continued, “to the summer place?”
“Once. A few years ago. In November, when I had a week off after boot camp. Before I got transferred to my new unit.”
“November? That place?” she asked, with a quizzical look.
“Yep. It was on my way.”
“What did you do? It must have been cold.”
“It was, when I arrived... late in the evening. I had bought a small bottle of cognac and some sandwiches, so they helped... with two heavy blankets. Next day was great though.”
“Really?” she asked, curious and a bit skeptical, but somehow relaxed.
“Oh, yeah. It was sunny, and warm. Went to the town, and looked up a friend. We went to the little island for a bite and a mid-day drink... Ouzo and some fresh fish. God, how I had missed that stuff, when I was in the boot-camp. The next day, I took a bus to my unit,” I said with a laugh, remembering that beautiful day and how I had gotten tipsy with a small bottle of Ouzo.
“It must have been something,” she commented, giving me an amused look.
I realized how we seemed to settle into the conversation, as we had done so many times before. For the first time, the uneasiness had left me, and I guess she was feeling comfortable as well from the way she responded.
“Was that too obvious?”
That earned me a genuine laughter, and she said, “Kinda,” making me laugh again.
Then her expression softened, as if she was getting ready to say something, but then changed her mind, and kept smiling. For a moment, there was that girl from a few years ago... the same smile, the same laughter, the same soft eyes. My heart ached... something fierce.
God, I missed this. Missed hearing your laughter, and laughing with you.
“I missed your laughter, and smile. You should smile more. It suits you,” I said, instinctively.
“You always said that.”
“But it’s the truth. You don’t believe me?”
“Thank you. You’re still... a good friend,” she said, then waited as if expecting a response.
Don’t... don’t do this to me. What do you mean a friend? A friend or a lover? I can’t be either. You’ve changed, and lost something, along the way. I’ve changed.
I want that girl back. I loved that girl and still love her. But she is gone, isn’t she?
I don’t know if I love this woman sitting across me. Not when you’re not sure you mean it. I’m just barely managing. I don’t know if I can survive a second time.
“I-I... I try to be... but I know... I haven’t always been...”
“Don’t say that!” she cut me off heatedly, then more gently, repeated it again. “Don’t ever say that.”
Why? In the end, I quit trying. Maybe I could have tried harder. Sure, you didn’t listen, or help the situation, but...
I burned the bridge. Did I not?
“Thank you, but—” I said, but she cut me off gently with a shake of her head, not letting me finish what I wanted to say.
“You did the right thing. At least, one of us knew it was the right thing,” she said.
Huh? Right thing? Breaking up was the right thing, instead of fighting for what we seemed to have?
“I’m not sure if any of us knew what the right thing was,” I replied, my mind taking a stroll in the past, taking an inventory of all the little things we had shared and done.
“I wasn’t ready for a commitment, and you saw it,” she reminded gently. “You saw... what I was like...”
“Why are you putting yourself down? I know what I had seen... what I felt... Was I wrong in assuming you felt the same?”
She gave me a pained look before lowering her gaze to the table, and picked up her glass. “I told you then, I wasn’t in love,” she said before taking a sip.
You mean what we did was just a... fuck? Nothing more?
That cannot be. I had seen your eyes. How happy and content you looked. It wasn’t just good sex. We were connected. I know what a one-night stand is. That wasn’t a one-night stand or a casual fuck.
Why did you take me to your bed? Why do you keep denying it? You denied it then, and you’re still denying it.
I jogged my memory going over the times we had been together. Walking along the beach... the long talks in the evening... how we held each other as we danced... how she kissed and touched me... making love... and how she changed later, growing distant and pushing me away...
“I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she said.
At least I had some happy moments. I could say I had loved. That’s more than some people had or could say...
“Why? I’m not sorry, and you didn’t hurt me,” I replied.
She gave me a sad smile. “You are kind... you shouldn’t dwell on the past. One day a girl will be very lucky to find you. If you don’t know that yet, I know it.”
Well... there was that girl, once... and... there’s that woman who might find her way one day...
As the thought ran through my mind, I knew it was wishful thinking, and when my eyes settled on her, she shook her head slightly, as if reading my mind—almost saying “don’t go there.”
“I didn’t want to dredge up the past. It’s just...” I tried to say, but couldn’t continue.
“It’s been a long time. I know,” she said, with a soft, sympathetic smile. “I needed to talk as much as you did. I still remember how we used to sit and talk. I’m glad we had this chance.”
I saw her check her watch, and surreptitiously checked mine.
“You need to go?” I asked.
She nodded, then reached out with her hand caressing my cheek. “Get rid off that beard and moustache, will you? It doesn’t suit you,” she said with an affectionate smile.
I caught her hand, and brought her palm to my lips giving a kiss. “I will... if you let your hair grow long,” I replied, with a smile.
She laughed, her eyes bright with joy. She knew I loved her long hair, even when it was stringy with sweat, after we finished...
We both stood up, and she moved into my arms, hugging each other. Her hand moved to my neck, caressing, and playing with my hair, pulling me for a kiss, and I leaned in instinctively. At the last moment we both realized what we were about to do, and froze for a long second, our eyes locking. Then she gave a kiss to my cheek, and I tightened my arms around her. I knew she didn’t want to kiss. Not because we were in a public place, but perhaps it would have been too much, at least for me, even though I longed to kiss her one more time... after so long...
Resting her cheek against my chest, she let her body sag, hanging on my neck. How I missed the feel of her, of her body in my arms. I don’t know how long we stayed like that rocking each other gently, remembering happier moments. Reluctantly, she let go of my neck, and stepped back.
She tried to compose her face, but her eyes were big, and luminous. “Take care of yourself, will you?” she said.
“You know I will. You make sure you do too, OK?”
“I will. Don’t worry about me... and... thank you,” she said.
When I tried to help with her bag to accompany her to the flight-crew lounge, she waved me away, saying, “It would be better if you stayed here.” With that she took the handle of her overnight bag. Then, with a tight smile, she said, “I don’t like goodbyes... Till next time?”
I nodded. “Till next time.”
As she walked away, I whispered after her, “and I love you... too.”
She had taken only a few steps, when she stopped and turned to take one last look, with a happy smile on her face. For a moment, I wondered how much of that smile was for my benefit and how much of it was for her. “Friends?” she asked.
“Always,” I said, blowing a kiss with a smile I could hardly manage.
I watched her turn and walk away to the crew lounge, with a heavy heart. That invisible cord between us was pulling and tugging at me. It was still there. Suddenly, I felt drained, and sunk into the chair, not able to stand there to watch her disappear among the crowds. I knew this was the end. Maybe one day she would change, but it was already too late... Time had a way of bringing on the finality of a situation, and that was what I felt.
Is this closure?
I didn’t know. If this was closure, why did I still feel her presence, and the invisible cord that bound us?
I lit a cigarette, not wanting to head home yet. I went over the conversation we had. There was still something, if I was reading her correctly. Yet, she was unwilling to pursue it or let me pursue. That was clear. She had made that very clear. I didn’t hurt, not as much as I had a few years ago. I was just sad. We were like two celestial objects with different trajectories. At one point in time, our paths had crossed for a brief period, before moving away. The strange thing was, the gravitational pull was still there, as strong as before. It didn’t feel like a goodbye. It felt more like I was attending the burial ceremony. Perhaps that was true; that 19 year old girl with the bright smile, carefree laughter, and soft eyes was dead. She had been already a victim of time and youthful stupidity then, and now...
Was she gone forever, or was there still a small piece left inside her? I didn’t know, and I was too tired to be able to think clearly, so I let it go. Maybe some other time I would go over it, if ever. I just wanted to bask in the aurora she had left at the table, absorb and make it a permanent part of my memories. After all this was a goodbye—or a funeral. Right on cue, the soft music that was coming from the PA speakers changed to Who Wants to Live Forever by Queen.
Thanks Freddie! I owe you one.
* * * * *
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