(Requiem to a Plane Flight)
I may have just taken the strangest plane flight since William Shatner in the Twilight Zone episode, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.
No. There weren't any destructive gremlins on the wing of the plane. The adventure took place inside the plane, my friends. Inside the plane.
The trip started off normal enough with me running late for my flight , getting searched by airport security and running through the airport to my gate at the far end of the airport. When I got to my gate, passengers were already lined up for boarding. I found my place at the end of the "C" line, smoothed my frazzled hair and took a look around at my fellow travelers. I saw the usual suspects: a group of uniformed soldiers, business men and women, couples who looked straight through each other when they conversed.... It was then that I noticed.
I noticed that there were several groups of moms with little girls. The little girls were dressed just like their moms. Identical. Fair enough. I'd seen yuppy families doing this all of the time. I then began to realize that the little girls were holding dolls that were made in their images and were dressed just like them ! So, here were these dolls who looked like these kids who looked like their moms. Everywhere. They were clustered up in groups of stair-stepped triplets. Their clothes matched. Their hair styles matched. It was freaky. The detail was mind-boggling.
I had seen the dolls before in this catalog that came to my house for the previous owner. I had kept it and showed it to friends and we laughed at how bizarre it was. For some ridiculous amount of money you can send away a photo and get a doll made to look just like your child. I learned by eavesdropping that they were on their way to Chicago for a convention of these doll owners. What we had here were the Nashville members. I was freaked out and at the same time curious. I wondered if their luggage was filled with three sets of every outfit. I listened as they talked about their dolls as if they were actual people. The mothers talking to children vicariously through the dolls - telling them that a plane flight would be fun.
We boarded the plane.
Being in the last-to-board "C" line, I slowly walked on board and searched for a seat. Most of them were taken and I eventually found one beside a well dressed man who had his jacket up over his face. I nudged him out from under his sports coat hide-out and he let me in to the row and then put his jacket back over his face. He had come to hibernate and it didn't bother me. I was bound to score his peanuts as he hid from the world. And, it was better than next to the man that I saw in line who had big scabs all over his face. I took my place, adjusted my seat belt and took out a book on beat poets.
The plane flight started out pretty well. The usual steps were taken to welcome us aboard Southwest Airlines. The main flight attendant was a well-coifed effeminate man who took great pride in hearing his voice over the P.A. system. He made coquettish jokes and kept everyone in good spirits. We were a pep rally with wings. He seemed like a good choice as I summed up the other two attendants. One could have easily been a chain-smoking truck stop waitress and the other was a mousy muted woman with a wild mane of red hair and eyes that seemed to always be looking for someone who disregarded the tray table rule.
From my seat beside the window, I could see the man under the jacket tent, a couple of sleeping business men in front of me (I had to make myself stop being transfixed by the patterns of their stiffly sprayed comb-overs) and a nun wearing full habit and a head set. I noticed that she thought she was above the flight rules as she always got up when the light said "seat belts on". I wondered if this disregard of the rules was her one way of being rebellious. I wondered why a nun needed a head set. I imagined that God was talking to her - giving her directions as we floated up above the clouds. I also wondered what God might think of all these dolls created in the kid's images. I wondered if he might see the joke in that. I wondered if the nun did. I wondered which outfits came first - did the dolls come with those outfits first and then the moms hand crafted larger scale outfits for themselves and the child? Or was it the other way around? I wondered what the husbands/fathers must think of this whole thing. Were they sitting at home with a large stiff drink and thanking their lucky stars that they had the house to themselves for the weekend without dolls that looked like their kids staring out at them with glass eyes from behind sewn-in bangs? Plane flights give you a lot of time to wonder about things. To sit and think. To concentrate on the larger picture. Unless.
Unless you have a little teapot sitting behind you. Behind me was one of the mother/child/doll sets. About 10 minutes into the flight, the mother began to read to the child and the doll about a little boy named Sterling who couldn't go outside because he would get a sunburn or a bee sting. He couldn't run or play because his bones were brittle and would break. His lungs were too weak to whistle. I wondered some more. I wondered where this lady got this book and what the possible moral in this sadistic story was going to be. Would Sterling somehow rise above at the end - the townsfolk building him a bubble to run and play in? Would he die in a blaze of ill-advised dodge ball glory? I never got to hear the end of the tale as the kid decided that she was tired of the story about the breakable little boy. This child had a song in her heart and she was ready to sing it.
"I'm a little tea pot short and stout.
Here is my handle. Here is my spout.
When I get all steamed up - hear me shout
TIP ME OVER AND POUR ME OUT!"
The first couple of times it was kind of cute. I thought her voice was sweet and funny. I smiled at the unknowing Linus beside me. I smiled at the nun.
The little girl sang on.
I lost count at the 19th time.
I thought that I might propel myself over the seat and show her why Sterling from the land of Hypochondria had it good. The same song. Over and over and over ........at the top of her little lungs. Each time, the mom told her how wonderful it was and said that yes, she could sing it again if she wanted. So, the teapot kept steaming and the kid kept singing as into the clouds we went. I made a mental note to research the suicide rate of people who lived next door to home schooled children. I made a mental note to ask my librarian friends if they knew what dark cloud this Sterling character was born under and if he made it out alive in the end.
I hunkered down and tried to read a Ginsberg poem. I sucked on ice cubes and squirmed in my seat. I fought the urge to climb under the womb of that guy's coat. I fought the urge to scream for the nun to start praying the prayer of the mute child. When I was about to climb the end of my last rope, the child stopped abruptly between verses and said, "Mommy, is it snowing in Chicago?"
Mother: " I don't know, honey."
Child: "Do you wish that you knew?"
Mother: "Yes."
Child: "Why? Why do you wish that you knew?"
Mother: " I like to be the master of my own destiny."
Child: " What's des...tiny?"
Mother: "It's where you are going."
I imagined Ginsberg's voice from inside my book. " Yeah, man...it's where you're going...it's where you're going...."
I smiled and searched for a pen.
The flight attendant called us all to attention and let us know that we were about to land. He gave us the usual instructions about our electronic devices and seatbelts. He told us whole-heartedly how he hoped that we would have a great weekend and how much Southwest loves us. There was something in his voice that made me believe it when he said it. He signed off with a click of the microphone.
A few minutes later, he came back on the intercom and said that there was something that he didn't want to die without doing.
I wondered, "What? Are we about to die?? Did I miss something?"
My mind searched for the instructions that had been given to us in a lackluster fashion only audible to the first few rows of passengers at the beginning of the flight. Something about seats as flotation devices and if the people at the evacuation doors didn't think they could take control in the event of an emergency, they should change seats. I noticed that I was still at the evacuation door. I wondered if I was worthy to lead an evacuation. I looked at the jacket headed guy and realized that it was either him or me. I suddenly felt responsible for all of these dolls and the nun and the sleeping business men. The teapot girl and her mom who chose books from the odd books of the month club. All of the passengers in front of me and behind who I could only identify by the tip-tops of their heads and their drink orders. I was about to be that black woman in the folded evacuation brochure crammed into the seat pocket in front of me. The one that I had laughed to tears at on my first flight. Karma was about to rare up and bite me in the ass. Never make fun of animated safety characters. Not Woodsy the owl....not Smokey the bear...and especially not the lady in the brochure who led her entire flight to safety down the inflatable ramp even though she was wearing a skirt and high heels.
The attendant then soothed my soul and clarified his declaration. He noted all of the doll totin' passengers on board. He asked them to raise their dolls in the air high above their heads. Dolls began to spring into the air from front to back. The airline attendant advised them to dance. He sang "Movin' on up" from the Jeffersons at the top of his lungs. He knew every verse. The dolls danced and swayed above the tops of their seats as he sang about the deeeluxe apartment in the sky. The other attendants clumsily clapped along as if time were only a magazine. The nun stood up, removed her head set and began to get her luggage with no regard to unprotected heads around her as the crucifix around her neck rocked and swayed with the dancing of the dolls.
After we departed, I stood at the baggage carousel watching the suit cases go by. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little teapot girl. She was transfixed by the moving luggage. I remembered how only moments before I had hoped that she would become quiet. Then I remembered how her little voice was the reason that I was reminded what destiny is. I was unnerved but at the same time bemused. She picked up her little suit case and her mom picked up a larger matching one...and they were gone
