The AC on the airplane is blowing
short stray hairs across my face,
triggering a memory of my Dad, asking
me to pull back my hair—when I leaned
over to kiss him goodbye those last days
we shared. I feel bad he had to ask me
more than once. It must have been
annoying. Is this memory surfacing
here and now a form of time travel?
Was there something else?
Something beyond the surface of
that request that day back then?
The stewardess with blue eyes and
deep cheek dimples—is holding a phone
to her ear. The tone of the plane is changing.
Soon the descent will be announced, but will
take forever. She is older, maybe my age, thin
and firm. This triggers for me the one interview
I had with United Airlines—how I had to walk
back and forth, then turn around, as someone
looked me up and down. I weighed 125 pounds
at five foot seven. Not quite good enough. I’m
glad I didn’t get that job, but wonder— if I had,
would I have learned to travel light, with ease?
Maybe I would have been laid-off, as so many
were--then what? Leaving my questions
up in the air, I fasten my seat belt, anxious
for a smooth landing, my life on the ground.
(c) elaine heveron