little sister is a freshman at college? Sheâs changed since you saw her last, grown up and pretty. She got three Bâs and two Câs and your father said that was good enough for first semester. She says she wants to major in home economics. Your brother is still with that building firm but he and Marilyn are having their troubles we donât know if theyâll stay together. Bad newsâBuffy the neighborâs little calico cat you remember was killed last week. Mrs. Harmon said they came home and found her right there on the doorstep. She said the cat was just torn apart. We think itâs a dog, that big shepherd from down the street I think. He was always a mean one. Well itâs time for your father to come through the door and Iâve got supper on the stove so I better go. We all love you here and think of you often so take care of yourself as I know you will and come home safe. I pray for you every night.
Love, Mom.
2
We lost altitude over the water until the water was alive again and the aircraft met the runway flashing on a grunt and shiver of metal plates and tire squeak, hangars sliding the airfieldâs edges and California opening a flat sun-burnt haze forever, glinting over the hammered silver of the wings.
Inside the airport the PA system piped an orchestral version of âNorwegian Woodâ and I walked along the rows of old women enclosed by shopping bags, mothers shouting at small children, soldiers drooping asleep in front of coin-operated televisions. A window the length of the concourse opened onto the runways as one of Braniff âs pink and ochre jets tipped up and left earth, glittering in the sun. A woman with a suitcase on wheels bumped me, excused herself, and moved on and I blinked in the luminous corridor, following signs down a carpeted incline to the luggage carousels. When I recognized my duffel bag I pulled it off the conveyor, away from the crowd and to the end of the exit line. The business of any day at an airport all around me, the place and the people and the nature of the business well-lit and clean and comfortably efficient. It was a bright and alien world and I felt as if I had no idea where I might be.
âDo you have a claim check, sir? For the bag?â A uniformed woman at the gate of the baggage claim area.
I showed the stub.
âThank you,â she said, looking past me to the next in line. I stepped through the gate like a man getting out of prison, confused by the sudden wealth of choice and space. I shouldered the bag and walked in the same direction as everyone else. I walked a hundred yards and realized I did not know where I was going and sat down on a bench and watched the crowds traffic past.
I sat on the bench and told myself to relax. Youâre home. Youâre going home. I took a breath. Youâre going to visit your grandfather, and then youâre going home. There was a public telephone next to the bench. I could call Mary, I thought. I could call the folks. I sat and looked at the phone. A woman moved in and picked up the receiver, dropped two coins, glanced at me absently as she dialed. She was beautiful in the strangely perfect manner of a magazine photograph. She began to talk but I could not hear the words. She looked at me again, this time smiling briefly, and tossed her chestnut hair like a mane, the hair catching light as it moved. I looked away.
After a few minutes she hung up and clicked past in high heels. I stood and picked up my duffel bag and walked, and when I came to an airport bar called The First Stop I went in and sat in a booth in the rear.
Â
I drank tequila straight up with beer chasers, drank quickly at first, slowing as the alcohol waded into my blood. The lights in the bar grew auras; the bar girlâs face seemed bigger than before when she came to ask if I wanted another round. I shook my head and she walked back to the bar. I watched her go and something in her walk reminded me
Love, Mom.
2
We lost altitude over the water until the water was alive again and the aircraft met the runway flashing on a grunt and shiver of metal plates and tire squeak, hangars sliding the airfieldâs edges and California opening a flat sun-burnt haze forever, glinting over the hammered silver of the wings.
Inside the airport the PA system piped an orchestral version of âNorwegian Woodâ and I walked along the rows of old women enclosed by shopping bags, mothers shouting at small children, soldiers drooping asleep in front of coin-operated televisions. A window the length of the concourse opened onto the runways as one of Braniff âs pink and ochre jets tipped up and left earth, glittering in the sun. A woman with a suitcase on wheels bumped me, excused herself, and moved on and I blinked in the luminous corridor, following signs down a carpeted incline to the luggage carousels. When I recognized my duffel bag I pulled it off the conveyor, away from the crowd and to the end of the exit line. The business of any day at an airport all around me, the place and the people and the nature of the business well-lit and clean and comfortably efficient. It was a bright and alien world and I felt as if I had no idea where I might be.
âDo you have a claim check, sir? For the bag?â A uniformed woman at the gate of the baggage claim area.
I showed the stub.
âThank you,â she said, looking past me to the next in line. I stepped through the gate like a man getting out of prison, confused by the sudden wealth of choice and space. I shouldered the bag and walked in the same direction as everyone else. I walked a hundred yards and realized I did not know where I was going and sat down on a bench and watched the crowds traffic past.
I sat on the bench and told myself to relax. Youâre home. Youâre going home. I took a breath. Youâre going to visit your grandfather, and then youâre going home. There was a public telephone next to the bench. I could call Mary, I thought. I could call the folks. I sat and looked at the phone. A woman moved in and picked up the receiver, dropped two coins, glanced at me absently as she dialed. She was beautiful in the strangely perfect manner of a magazine photograph. She began to talk but I could not hear the words. She looked at me again, this time smiling briefly, and tossed her chestnut hair like a mane, the hair catching light as it moved. I looked away.
After a few minutes she hung up and clicked past in high heels. I stood and picked up my duffel bag and walked, and when I came to an airport bar called The First Stop I went in and sat in a booth in the rear.
Â
I drank tequila straight up with beer chasers, drank quickly at first, slowing as the alcohol waded into my blood. The lights in the bar grew auras; the bar girlâs face seemed bigger than before when she came to ask if I wanted another round. I shook my head and she walked back to the bar. I watched her go and something in her walk reminded me
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