New York and Washington leaves at nine o’clock at night. When Mark and I were single and he lived in Washington and I lived in New York, we could never have a serious fight late at night, because there was no way to slam out the door and go home. There was something I liked about the fact that our lives and temperaments were controlled by an airline schedule, but the truth is that there were many things I liked about the Eastern shuttle. Not the comfort, and not the courtesy of the flight attendants, both of which were negligible. But the things you were supposed to like. The fact that it tended to leave when it said it was going to and to get there on schedule an hour later. The fact that you didn’t need a reservation and always got a seat. The fact that there was something so utterly no-nonsense about it, just like its passengers. No one ever seemed to be going from one end of the Eastern shuttle to the other for fun. No one ever seemed to be
traveling.
They were all simply going to meetings that were in offices that happened to be in another city. Everyone carried a briefcase. Everyone was dressed for success. Everyone was serious. Indeed, it seems to me that the Eastern shuttle was almost a perfect reflection of the Puritan tradition in its attempt to make a virtue out of suffering, abstinence and plainness; and it always seemed fitting that one Eastern shuttle flies New York to Boston, where the Puritan tradition began, and the other flies New York to Washington, where those produced by that tradition are rewarded with the power to force the rest of the country to heel to its values. Iloved that it took such an austere conveyance to get me to Mark; there was something wonderfully romantic about it. I looked like everyone else on the shuttle, I dressed like everyone else, I carried the
New York Times
and the
Washington Post
and the
Wall Street Journal
like everyone else. But everyone else was on their way to work, and I was on my way to Mark.
Then, one day, Mark and I were on the Eastern shuttle and he asked me to marry him. This was when he was asking me to marry him a couple of times a week, but he had never asked me on the Eastern shuttle.
“This is your chance to say yes on the Eastern shuttle,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“This is your chance at a really bad metaphor,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“This is your last chance,” he said. “I’ll ask you to marry me again and again, but I’ll never again ask you on the Eastern shuttle.”
So I said yes.
Our friends the Siegels gave us ten shares of Eastern Airlines stock for a wedding present. Ha ha. The fare on the shuttle went to fifty dollars. And to fifty-four dollars. And to fifty-eight dollars. Arthur Siegel said: “It’s a good thing you two met before the fare went up, because no fuck is worth $116 round trip.” Ha ha. I moved to Washington and Sam was born and Arthur said that the money I saved not taking the Eastern shuttle almost paid for the baby’s diapers. Ha ha. Eastern shuttle jokes. Not particularly funny jokes, but what do you expect?
Anyway, just try flying the Eastern shuttle with a baby. Try flying any plane with a baby if you want a sense of what itmust have been like to be a leper in the fourteenth century, but try the shuttle for the ultimate in shunning. All those men in suits, looking at you as if your baby is going to throw up over their speech drafts; all those men in suits who used to look at me with respect when I pulled out my American Express gold card, now barely able to conceal their contempt for me and my portable Wet Ones.
And just try flying the Eastern shuttle with a baby
and
with a husband who is barely speaking to you. Mark deserted me the minute we got to the terminal at La Guardia and went off to buy magazines and newspapers and to call the office to make sure something important hadn’t happened while he was off in New York on a trivial personal errand. I got on line for the plane. Sam was cranky and
traveling.
They were all simply going to meetings that were in offices that happened to be in another city. Everyone carried a briefcase. Everyone was dressed for success. Everyone was serious. Indeed, it seems to me that the Eastern shuttle was almost a perfect reflection of the Puritan tradition in its attempt to make a virtue out of suffering, abstinence and plainness; and it always seemed fitting that one Eastern shuttle flies New York to Boston, where the Puritan tradition began, and the other flies New York to Washington, where those produced by that tradition are rewarded with the power to force the rest of the country to heel to its values. Iloved that it took such an austere conveyance to get me to Mark; there was something wonderfully romantic about it. I looked like everyone else on the shuttle, I dressed like everyone else, I carried the
New York Times
and the
Washington Post
and the
Wall Street Journal
like everyone else. But everyone else was on their way to work, and I was on my way to Mark.
Then, one day, Mark and I were on the Eastern shuttle and he asked me to marry him. This was when he was asking me to marry him a couple of times a week, but he had never asked me on the Eastern shuttle.
“This is your chance to say yes on the Eastern shuttle,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“This is your chance at a really bad metaphor,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“This is your last chance,” he said. “I’ll ask you to marry me again and again, but I’ll never again ask you on the Eastern shuttle.”
So I said yes.
Our friends the Siegels gave us ten shares of Eastern Airlines stock for a wedding present. Ha ha. The fare on the shuttle went to fifty dollars. And to fifty-four dollars. And to fifty-eight dollars. Arthur Siegel said: “It’s a good thing you two met before the fare went up, because no fuck is worth $116 round trip.” Ha ha. I moved to Washington and Sam was born and Arthur said that the money I saved not taking the Eastern shuttle almost paid for the baby’s diapers. Ha ha. Eastern shuttle jokes. Not particularly funny jokes, but what do you expect?
Anyway, just try flying the Eastern shuttle with a baby. Try flying any plane with a baby if you want a sense of what itmust have been like to be a leper in the fourteenth century, but try the shuttle for the ultimate in shunning. All those men in suits, looking at you as if your baby is going to throw up over their speech drafts; all those men in suits who used to look at me with respect when I pulled out my American Express gold card, now barely able to conceal their contempt for me and my portable Wet Ones.
And just try flying the Eastern shuttle with a baby
and
with a husband who is barely speaking to you. Mark deserted me the minute we got to the terminal at La Guardia and went off to buy magazines and newspapers and to call the office to make sure something important hadn’t happened while he was off in New York on a trivial personal errand. I got on line for the plane. Sam was cranky and