#183

One Morning at the airport, returning home, he uses the bathroom more than normal because he doesn’t like to go on the plane. Earlier, eating breakfast in the hotel dining room on his own, the rest of his colleagues in the office for a meeting that he knew he didn’t need to be at, an elderly couple, obviously from the South, acted rude to a waitress.

The yogurt here was better than in other hotels, but the coffee was worse. The plan for the morning was to go for a walk by the lake in the fall air before the return to the desert heat. And so he did. As he turned right out of the front of the hotel, skyscrapers all around, the week fell into place. Or, he was able to actually think about it then. The office and the view. His colleagues. The one who seemed to be flirting with him last night, but with a giant diamond on her hand in the right spot. The business itself. The odd feeling of being at home in the center of the city and feeling like a fraud. After a block or two, he cried and passed two consecutive donut shops. The hospital was nearby, and he could hear sirens. It was a Thursday.

Before that, right before breakfast, he worried that if he didn’t go to the office or the lunchtime cruise on the lake, someone would notice and he would be charged for abandoning the cause. The business cause that rotates around ideas of showing up, making sure the correct people know you are there, and then retreating after the socializing quota has been met or depleted, depending. His was depleted after two days of nonstop talking and meetings and lunches and drinks and walking and taxis. He tried to explain this but couldn’t. Or, no one understood. Or, no one was listening.

The airport smelled of grease, burgers, and popcorn. Sick to his stomach, he drank sparkling water and ate a granola bar from his bag, and tried to tune out the news that was on every TV. The announcements bothered him. People drinking before lunch bothered him. The way people dressed bothered him. The bathroom smell, the carpet which makes it hard to roll your suitcase on, the way the taxi driver drove, the smell of jet fuel, the unpacking of things to put through the machine to see if it’s dangerous or not, the color of the wall, the cost of the water, the way the light flooded into the hall, the un-purposed anger of the passengers. It all bothered him.

He sat and looked outside. His leg jumped in a jittery way. The bad coffee from breakfast clearly still holding on. He stood up, walked. Sat in a different spot, away from people. Outside, the little cars that pull the luggage carts zig-zagged across the tarmac. Planes landed, took off, pulled in, pushed back. A baby cried. A man laughed, a woman farted, a dog barked. In a corner, a teenager wearing oversized sweatpants and an odd kind of big plastic sandals with socks was on a video call and was crying. Her earphones were enormous.

Assaulted like this, he sometimes takes refuge in a bathroom stall, which feels weird, but it is a quieter spot, often. He doesn’t have to notice all the life happening around him, which obviously makes his leg move faster. Sometimes, it is the left leg, but recently, it’s been the right.

That morning, before breakfast, he thought: is the dog ok, do I need to call the vet, can I get anything gluten free at breakfast, do I need to text my mom, is my sister doing ok, why is my face so red, what was that song I heard the other day, how is the war going, who is going to win the election, should I get an allergy test, I should get blood work done, the soap in the shower smells weird, where did I park my car, is it going to be cool enough to go out this weekend, should I buy Oasis tickets, I need to finish that email, I have an Amazon gift card to use, the TV in here is too big, who lives in that building across the street, where do they buy their groceries, could I live here, do I want to live here, is this job worth it, do I feel alone or happy or sad or none of these, will the dog be mad at me when I get back, I need to vacuum the floor, change the sheets, I’m thirsty, I need to go to the office, I shouldn’t go to the office, will anyone notice if I don’t go to the office, can I change my flight, did I spend to much on my company card, where did Eric get that shirt, is my boss mad at me, will I feel better if I go home early, do I have any food in the fridge, I should get the dog sitter something, do I want to go to Argentina next year, I should book reservations at that restaurant I like, I need to make a dentist appointment, is it time to get up — all within a minute.

Later, on the flight, the man on his left was tall and lanky and didn’t listen to music, look at his phone, talk, or do anything else for the duration. The man on his right used an iPhone, iPad, laptop, earpods and watched free TV and sent work emails while drinking two tequilas and orange juice, then grimaced at a man trying to get off the flight fast to make his connection. The man on the right wore pink shorts and a white polo shirt and was bald. He was a VP of something and kept searching for flights from Oklahoma City to Washington, DC. The flight attendant made a funny face at him. Halfway through the flight, a woman vaped in the toilet, and that prompted a stern warning via the intercom, no one wanting an emergency landing for an arrest.

Later, in the hot car, before leaving the parking garage, he let out a little scream, which might have seemed cute to the right kind of woman, but was all he could squeeze out in such a public place, even though there were a thousand cars around him and not a single person. It was a little release. He felt the heat of the steering wheel, the radio was left on the classical channel, the seats were hot, he was dressed for fall, he was out of water, his bag looked dented, and the smell of jet fuel seemed to be in his hair.

Even later, at home, in the yard, with the dog, who looked sleepy, the man threw one, two, three plates from the pile at the concrete wall, each time letting out the tension of the week, each time, the scream made the dog bark, each time the plates smashed into pieces he felt a little more like himself. Each time.