Grabbing our carry-ons we crowd towards the gate. We form two lines handing the ticketing agents out boarding passes. He no doubt passes the entire line as the agents tear off the stubs -invisible to all of us
No boarding pass
No luggage.
No place to sit.
On the plane, we walk through the aisle and fumble around to find our seats. Looking up at the tags to match them up to our ticket stubs - 4A, 7C, 15E and so on. Finally, settling into my aisle seat, I await take off.
The plane levels out after takeoff and I take out my laptop. I lower my tray table, place the computer on it, lift the lid, and turn it on. After a few moments, I begin navigating around the many icons on my desktop. As I am pressing on the touchpad I notice him through my periphery on my right. Sitting there, rubbing his hands together, and staring at my screen. I think about how he made it here – nested in someone’s carry or just clandestinely through the doors. I don’t bother him and I start playing a video game.
I awake after having nodded off a few hours into the flight. Groggy, MP3 player on, adjusting to the bright sunlight reflecting off the walls, I look around to reorient myself with my surroundings. I see him again roaming listlessly around the cabin – I stare, begin to fantasize about his journey. My staring goes unnoticed. The movements make me drowsy. My eyelids grow heavy, and I return to sleep.
We land in Dublin on schedule. Everyone stands and begins to shuffle around the overhead compartments for their belongings. After standing for what seemed to be an eternity, hear the sound of the door open and begin to file out. The steward has on a fake smile and is repeatedly telling everyone to have a nice day.
I smile.
As I step through the door he zips past and heads to the terminal at a record pace. No one seems to notice. I put my bag on the ground, extend the handle, and begin rolling it behind me towards the terminal.
I think back to New York imagine what he has experienced - seeing the concrete and steel; hearing the city street noise. I think of the flight and the distance he's traveled. I think of all that he has ahead of him. Who knows how much time he has left or what he will see - the green pastures, the stone castles, the water landscapes.
I think that he will have seen things in his life that very few of his kind, or even us, ever will.
The Fly Who Saw Ireland.
0 comments:
Post a Comment