Fiery Crash

Written March 9, 2006

[Background: In the airport terminal, enduring a maintenance delay. On my way to London to visit a guy with whom I'd been talking to online for a year.]

I can see the rain coming down through the large windows that surround me. The odds of dying in a plane crash are almost the same as winning the lottery, and yet, the mention of a delayed flight creates a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A 1-year-old nearby is happily trying to make friends with all others who wait as her mother works to try to maintain her attention. Cute little Molly, it seems. The girl across the way obnoxiously devours her tortilla chips as she blabs on her cell to some boy named Josh and works away on a crossword puzzle. Something about her really annoys me. Most everyone sits as I do, laptop flipped open, headphones in place, trying to pass the time. I’m writing to keep my mind from drifting off to the drama stories it so often loves to weave. “Local Woman Attempts to Live Vicariously but dies tragically”…”The Price of Love”…”Dreamy British Boy awaits American Girl: Fate intervenes”. I’d make a nice cover story for the papers. And so I half-nervously glance around at those who surround me and wonder if they might be the people I die alongside. Then, I pray I’m not sitting next to the annoying girl when it all goes down or next to Molly but for different reasons.

Isn’t it funny how a small little part of you almost seems to want this tragic death, just for others to be able to pass on the irony of it all. There’s always some twist, some out of character or out of habit action that can be used to explain tragedy away. Dying just isn’t so bad if it makes for a good story.

And wouldn’t those last moments be grand. You know it’s all going to end and you weave your story of how it all came to be. You savor that last smirk & chuckle as you tip your hat to the forces and whisper, “Nice one.”