At the Tampa airport, the lady in the security line in front of me is wearing heavy perfume. She looks to be, roughly, in her late 60's, and she is wearing a brightly flowered shirt. She turns to kiss the man standing next to her on the cheek--he is also wearing a flowered shirt. He asks her to call him when she gets home, and she agrees, hurrying off to catch the next shuttle to the gates. I catch up with her just as we emerge on the other side of the shuttle, and watch her pull a tissue from her purse to wipe her eyes. I wonder just when the moment was that she started crying.
Lying on Neven’s floor last night, I looked for shapes in the popcorn coating while he drunkenly psychoanalyzed me. "The problem with you," he said as though he’d just then realized it "is that you pine for the right men and pick the wrong ones." "Out of everything you could have come up with, you give me that? I thought you were providing information." I rolled over onto my stomach and combed the carpet with my fingers, disappointed with the lack of new insight.
In Dallas, one of the golf cart elderly transport vehicles passes me. The horn is broken, so the lady driving is yelling, "Beep beep! Beep beep beep! Move!" Anyway, I think the horn is broken. It could be that she just feels like shouting.
Around the table at the wedding, conversation centered on plans for our own matrimonial events. At the end of every obviously well thought out item, someone would throw out a halfhearted variation of, "But it’s not like I’m ever going to get married, anyway." We all seemed to be terrified and not a little confused by the prospect, but up for the adventure nonetheless.
Halfway home we fly through an electrical storm. I know that I should be trying to take pictures for the 'Electric' show, but I'm too busy being scared and trying not to look out the window. When we come out on the other side the horizon is a rainbow as far as I can see in either direction.
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