Leave it Behind,
Baby
by Paul Perroni
Charlie's
always traveling, living in airports, amongst the
crowds, the baggage. He'll sit for hours sipping
Bloody Marys.
"Flight 742,
last call for Flight 742" rings through the
traffic, as Charlie eyeballs a family scurrying
along:
"Hurry! We're
gonna miss the flight! I dropped 5 grand on
Crayzzee Adventures, you little shit, now hustle!"
the father says.
"But we got
kicked out. You punched that clown," says
the boy.
"Well, he was
staring at your mother's ass...now, get moving!"
Charlie orders 2 more Bloody Marys, gulps them
down, and takes a pull from the beer of the guy
sitting next to him:
"Hey! What the
hell?!"
"You'll get over
it," says Charlie.
He hops from the barstool, stumbles his way into
the plane, and snakes down the aisle searching
for his seat. He finds it and stares:
"Of course, why
wouldn't it be the middle seat," Charlie
says aloud.
"What are you
looking at?" Charlie responds to the glaring
audience.
He plants himself in front of his two plane mates,
a man sprawled over the aisle, his neck like a
crane with his right cheek nestled into his
shoulder.
"Is this man
dead?" Charlie asks the flight attendant.
The old man slumps back.
"zzzzzzz-zzzzzz....."
"Guess not,"
says Charlie.
The other, a lady with curves snuggles up to the
window. She carries a baby dangling and squirming
from her lap, "shushing" and "coo'ing,"
the child bursting with terror:
"Of course, why
wouldn't I have to sit next to a crying baby,"
Charlie says.
He clicks the overhead compartment locked, inches
past the old man, leans over and shuts the window,
deadening the sunlight.
"Y' mind?"
says Charlie.
"It's fine;
maybe that'll quiet him down. Sorry," she
says.
"I'm just drunk
and hungover at the same time, this exact moment,
you see, that your baby is...I've never heard
sounds like that," says Charlie.
He flips through a magazine, reaches over and
grabs the old man's empty throw-up bag, clicks a
pen and makes a 'to-do list':
buy booze
feed the cat
The baby quiets down, sucking a pacifier, staring
at Charlie:
"Tkk-Skk, tkk-skk..."
"What's his name?"
"Johnny,"
she says.
"Hey,"
Charlie says to the baby.
"Tkk-Skk, tkk-skk..."
She tosses her hair over her shoulder.
"Your hair
smells great," Charlie says, "...like
strawberries."
"Thank you."
"May I ask you
question?" she says.
"Shoot,"
Charlie says.
"Why are you
drunk and irritable?"
"My life's a
wreck and my daughter's angry with me," says
Charlie.
"Why is your
life a wreck?" she asks.
"Many reasons,"
says Charlie.
"Why is your
daughter angry with you?"
"I told her she
had big boobs."
"Why did you say
that?" she asks.
"Poor choice of
words."
"Did you
apologize?" she says.
"I did."
"Then," she
says, "let it go."
"Let it go, huh?"
"Let it all go,"
she says.
Charlie rubs his fingers over the week old
stubble sprouting up like an uneven lawn. The
plane reverses, revs up,
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-ooo,
rrrrrrrr-rrrr-rrr-rrrrrrrr-ooo,
and speeds towards the open field.
"I hope we make
it," she says.
"We'll make it,"
says Charlie. He looks at her and smiles as the
big steel, full of baggage, shoots towards the
clear, empty sky.
"zzzzzzz-zzzzzz-zzzzzzzz"
|
