Journey to Home

...driving me to the airport/and to the Friendly Skies...

Barefoot in the airport, I feel fuzzy carpet, ridged metal, cool tile against my soles. Asked to remove my shoes at Security, I carry them to the far off gate, making momentary friends along the way. Stop to shop where something smells wonderful. The fragrance with the fabulous name has also a seductive scent, and joins me on my journey.

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Melvin, charming as he checks my bag and battered box of broken computer, starts my voyage well with a quip and a welcoming smile. A man who reminds me of my friend the Maroone stands at the podium near the gate and tells me I'm all set to board.

"You mean, I didn't need to see you?"

"No, you didn't."

"But I enjoyed it."

And he smiled. His name tag calls him Kyle.

"Do I have time for a beer?"

"Uhh..."

"You have PLENTY of time," the woman beside him at the podium assures me. Hoping not to miss my flight over a five dollar Sam Adams, I lubricate myself for liftoff.

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Leap, leap, LEAP....Yes! The plane is in the air, surprisingly without disaster. Cars in parking lots turn to tiny twinkling toys. Over tract housing now, ball fields, warehouses, junkyards. I realize I don't know where I am.

I don't know where I am.

But gods, the clouds are gorgeous from this angle.

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Descent is a bumpy stumble down a lumpy slope. Trees rise up to meet me, tiny streams that feed the snaking silver rivers of Pittsburgh wink and glitter in between.

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A flight attendant with high beehive hair, quarter sized rhinestone studs and Vegas showgirl false lashes greets me as I board the crowded craft for Indy. I've seen women that look like her before, but they were men. Perhaps she is, too.

A dispute over seating assignments leads me from the front of the plane where I would have been trapped between middle aged businessment(one of them overly eager to have me there) to the last row on the ship, which is vacant. Once again, I score a row to myself, and a window.

After tense moments of actively engaging Faith, the world falls away again. Being that it's Pennsylvania, there's little to see but trees. The soothing whoosh of engine goes a long way to drowning out the incessant clacking of the Upwardly Mobile women in front of me.

The drink cart comes around. My beer is on the house...er, plane.

"Because you were so patient about the seating snafu," explains the Waitress In The Sky.

Cool.

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Descent into Indy. A Chicklet shaped building with a quilted top appears to be a stadium. I wonder if this is where the Baltimore- EXCUSE me, IndiaNAPolois- Colts play. A blue trailer with a white horseshoe says that it is.

Against the runway, I watch the shadow of the ship, complete with extended landing gear, stretch to meet its material counterpart.

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The Apostle calls, checking on me, asking if I've spoken to the man. Yes. No. Nothing's changed. We'll see. I give him my love, and something else, though there's no knowing what that was. He always gets what he needs from me, whether I'm conscious of having given it or not.

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I'm glad Steve is driving. He can't object, or, for that matter, notice, that I am staring, staring at his beautiful, beloved face.

I am not home. I am not visiting. I am not family, nor am I friend. I have no idea what I am, or where, though I am happy to be here.

I can live on the edge of everything.