They are all eating a continental breakfast. Everyone on my side of the plane, at least.
It appears to be a hyper-sugared granola
a couple of pastries that look like the two guys that thought they were gonna get there but at 5AM are merely commiserating as they arrived. Alone, together.
There's an out of place assortment of grapes straight from the hands of the Romans that sold Vesta for a couple of acres of Monsanto's land.
A flute of milk. Wait. Yes, that's accurate.
Everyone is eating it.
Everyone but me.
I'm reading about the dragon lady from Game Of Thrones. A show I don't like. And the opening of the article yells about Emilia the Dragon Lady cruising the Santa Monica Pier in an Air-Conditioned SUV, dressed in pastels from Prada and American Apparel. And I have a glass of water. Not plastic, glass. Actually, a goblet. A Goblet Of Water with the goddamn Dragon Lady in pastels in an AC'd SUV on the Santa Monica Pier.
I am First Class.
First time ever. On my 100th flight. I counted last night when I couldn't sleep. Business class a ton. Economy even more. Never First.
My brother flies frequently for work. So he passed along his frequency to me, because I am too poor to afford any ticket. So I go, from Massachusetts to Arizona.
My brother moved to Arizona in 2004. But I'm not going to see him. Though he's my one of my favorite people, ever. I'm flying first class, to Chicago, then Phoenix, to see my parents. They moved to Sun City West in September of 2012. Now it's July 2015. And Emilia and I are flying to see them. Well, my Mom specifically. The Dragon Lady is driving the SUV to the desert from The Pier. She's completely dolled to the teeth in pastels, on route to see my Mom with me and my Goblet Of Water.
Because my Mom has cancer.
I don't want continental breakfast. I have another early flight. It also serves breakfast. I ordered it anyway, though. Because I decided to give it away. No, not to some veteran in the back. Or some wayward-looking, gaunt child in 32C. Just to some unsuspecting gent who is awake.
"I am, actually"
He has a Kansas City Chiefs jersey on. His early onset grey glinting in the checkered sunrise that shoots through the only open window shade. Everyfuckingbody else back here is asleep.
"I don't want this. Do you?"
I turned to walk back to my seat and quietly
"Can't you get in trouble for this?"
"And you're not worried?"
I took a fairly deep breath, for me.
"Worried? Emilia the pastel wearing, dragon racing, cancer killing, SUV driving beauty can't be stopped. She gave me a goblet of water. And to you? Monsanto's Namesake."
His face was predictably crooked.
Pretty sure I'm getting no-fly-listed when we land.
Labels: Arizona, cancer, fiction, flying, game of thrones, Kansas City Chiefs, non-fiction, short stories, SUV, writing