I was sitting on the train heading my way across the city called Portland en-route to the airport. I watched people check their watches and phones in haste for the time and I smirked because what difference does it make if you know the time on the train or not? It wont change anything if you know what time anyway. It's really simple, the train gets there when the train gets there. You can't change a thing about it. So why check? Now, it might change the way you get off the train. You can either run to the check-out-counter or you can casually get off and enjoy a cup of coffee and watch other people run to the check-out-counter.
And so yes . . . I checked the time.
I reckoned that I didn’t have to do no running but I couldn’t go on sitting around wasting my whole life watching people either. I mean I was betwixt the two folks. You know I was kinda just on-time and well that can be a big bore if you ask me. How lame is it for a guy to be just on-time these days? No fun in it I tell ya.
The guy running with his arms flapping about is way more exited about the airport than I. He is on a mission, an adventure. Everyone is ducking out of his way because he seems more important that’s all. And then there is the guy who is far to early for anything productive. God's not even this early. This guy has the freedom to do whatever he wants. I'm jealous of this man's leisure. He has it made. And then there is boring old me. Standing in line. Getting out my drivers license and ticket information for the lady at the counter. No excitement in that at all. I am a predictable traveler but I have to remind myself that I am going somewhere.
The lady behind the counter greets me and then informs me that my bags are to heavy. I wanted to tell her that she was too heavy. But I didn’t. She said I could take something out and put it my carry-on or I could pay $25.95. I said, “25.95 for 2 pounds are you serious?” She said, “yes, I'm sorry sir!” So I took two big books out and re-tried. She told me my bag had lost weight. I said thanked her. But she hadn't lost weight.
Now my backpack was heavy and I didn’t like that much. It was getting to me and all. I have sensitive shoulders (not really). Lugging that around all day didn't thrill me much. So before I took it over to the guys with the big scanners behind me I slyly (I can be pretty sly sometimes) looked around and put one book back in the fat bag. I don’t know why I do things like this. Maybe I'm crazy. To know the truth I wanted to put both books back in but I figured that I couldn’t be that rebellious and still have a good day. My ethical self would be compromised. It's just not healthy for a guy to do. I figured it would be bad karma or something eastern like that. Fortunately for me nobody saw, or nobody cared. Yes, I know, God saw but I'm sure he didn't much mind. I don't see him getting to upset about something like putting a big book back in your bag when you have sensitive shoulders and all.
And yet I found myself in another line being prodded along with the rest of the heifers. There was this real dangerous couple in front of me that had this jar of Jam. I was getting pretty antsy and nervous about them. And then the-big-TSA-cow-prodding-rancher-lady came over and saved the day by telling them to throw it away in the name of safety. So I told them, they were from Madison, Wisconsin, that I was horrified and shocked that they would even try such a thing. Bastards, not on my plane. Then I asked what flavor it was and where they got it. They bought that dangerous, potent and conspicuous Rhubarb Jam at the Saturday Market here in Portland for his dear mother back home. After I heard that I was sure glad they threw it away and all. I told em' I would pray for em' and their evil ways.
When I made it to the front of the line the safety people made me take off my belt and de-robe my feet and then take out all the little clangy things in my pockets and then they scanned my bones and my luggage. Sure glad that happened. Aren’t dangerous people (I didn't use the word terrorist) smarter and more crafty than these safety nets we throw out there?
When I got on the plane I sat next to a lady that looked nice enough. But boy did she have a jibber jabber jaw on her. It clacked and smacked up and down. It sang the whole way to Phoenix. She talked my brain raw. She went on about her photography business, about her niece whose coming out to visit, about her husband, about her dog . . . I was damn near surprised she didn't start talking about her menstrual cycle. Though she was forty something...so I reckon that wouldn't be much of a problem...or maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. To know the truth, I'm sort of blushing now. But then Chatty Cathy (I don't remember her name) gave me her peanuts. A kind enough gesture for talking my damn ears off. I mean, I was trying to look out at the Grand Canyon for the first time in my life. I tell ya, we flew straight over the top of that magnificent red beast. The earth was jutted, clawed, rooted and creased. But little-miss-chatty-pants just kept jawing as we was flying right over Americas scar called Grand.
When we got off the plane in Phoenix I got as far away from her voice-box as I could. I was getting kinda hungry so I went searching. I found a little place called Yoshi’s in terminal D that whipped up some Chicken Curry for me. After living in Oregon for so long I kinda forgot that most of the country has this thing called sales tax. So I'm guessing that I looked a little dumb when I pulled out the correct amount of change.
If you're ever there, the curry is good. My phone rings. It's Solomon my roommate. He's starts in asking me how far I am away from the apartment. And starts telling me that he doesn't have his keys on him. So I smile and try to tell him that I'm about a thousand miles away from the apartment. You see he thinks I'm down the street or something. He wants me to come back and let him in. I say, I'll be right there...he laughs. I laugh.
And then I make a phone call to this girl I recently met. A most fair creature to say the least. I'm sure I'll tell you more about her later. While I'm talking to her I find a huge window at the end of the terminal. And there are these giant binoculars that overlook the burnt and jutted desert. And some prince put the binoculars on a swivel and forgot to set its boundaries. You bet I didn't turn those suckers right round and look all the people. I felt a little creepy but I didn't mind to much. I didn't know any of these people and they didn't know me so continued to look. I did too. I saw a gentleman in a suit picking his nose. I saw a lot of things though I didn't look to long or nothing. I’m not that kind of guy. I just couldn't do it very long. But props to the bone-head who forgot to set the swivel. If you’re ever in the Phoenix airport don’t forget about the giant binoculars at the end of terminal D. It’s a good way to spend a few minutes, well maybe not so good of a way, more just like a way, one of many ways to spend a few boring minutes in transit.
I think, I'll end there in Phoenix. But actually I made it home and saw most of the people I care about.
I could tell you about taking my friend Brian and Veronica’s Great Dane Charles on a walk, or about their excitement showing me their babies room (Oliver is coming soon), or about meeting Jaymi Cook at Waffle House late one night for a cup of coffee, or the pain of getting my tires fixed at Wal-Mart, or roasting marsh mellows in the backyard with my niece and nephew, or about going on the roof at Columbia Traders overlooking Joplin with 8 different people in one night, or about having the president of my college Matt Proctor say “well done” in my ear as I walked across the graduation stage, or about singing along with the John Brown and the Cougars as they perform their last show, or listening to Alex getting jazzed about doing a new kind of Church in the ghettos of East St. Louis, or dancing with the Baugh side of my family at Kelly’s and Ryan’s graduation party, or about the excitement upon my friend Scott Jiang’s face as he talks about his upcoming wedding in a few weeks and about how his parents are flying in from China for the first time, or I could tell you about visiting my Church and my favorite Mexican restaurant El Charro’s, or about how my grandma is convinced that I’m finally losing all my baby-fat, I could even tell you about playing 54 holes of competitive-glow-in-the-dark-mini-golf with Sam and Andy all afternoon, or I could tell you about staying up till 2AM having a much needed laugh with my dad, or about hugging my mom goodbye in front of airport security.
But then I would be telling you way too much about myself and I don’t have that kind of time. Just know that I miss and love the people back home and that I made it back to Portland with a story to tell. I could even tell you about that trip as well. About the 6 foot 8 inch guy with high frayed jean shorts sitting next to me rubbing his knees on everything that moved, or about watching the sunset in the Reno, or about hugging that girl I was talking about earlier in front of baggage claim. Yeah, again I could tell you all that but why would you want to know?
Here is a quote that captures my sentiment about coming and going out of peoples lives. And go figure, I read it while in Wal-Mart waiting for my car to be fixed. It reads, “You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you” – by Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth.
-e.p.allen
