Although today in particular we may be looking for laughs or pranks, anything to distract us from the current world situation, this week’s post will provide a sideways distraction, of sorts. Unreliable narrators aren’t necessarily April Fool’s pranksters, but they are the closest thing in the literary world on a day like today – aside from court jesters or tricksters that belong in a different genre.
Happy reading! I truly hope this provides a distraction from any awful feelings or thoughts you may be having in the current climate.
“We will now be boarding rows 30 and on, as well as any other boarding groups we’ve already called.”
Finally! Marcy and Cody are right behind me, their carry-ons lugging behind them and their neck support pillows on their shoulders. I bought them those neck pillows at the airport, so we were sure they would fly and not get taken away by flight attendants before boarding. I would have loved one too, but budget for this trip is planned to the T, and today’s incidentals budget went on the pillows.
“Mr. Sonny Johnson?” The flight attendant glances at my boarding pass then at my face before scanning it in. The machine light goes red then green before she waves me through. I stand just behind the woman while Marcy and Cody give their boarding passes, their faces barely containing their excitement. They’re keeping a straight face, but that’s probably so they don’t come across a hokey or touristy.
Once they’re scanned, we walk down the jetway, stand in line again for a bit behind another family, one with a toddler who keeps glancing around and flailing. I check my watch – our departure time is ten minutes away and there are at least fifteen people standing in the jetway. Luckily we’re the last ones to board, and Marcy and Cody are so excited to go on this trip with me, they’ll be seated and strapped as soon as we find our seats.
We finally step onto the plane when another flight attendant puts her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, sir, we’re going to need to check your carry-on luggage. We don’t have any more space in the overhead bins.”
“We’re not paying for that,” Marcy says.
“It’s complimentary, ma’am,” the flight attendant says. “You can pick up your items at baggage claim at your destination.”
“Fine,” Marcy says and hands over her rolling bag before I give her mine. Cody only has a backpack and his fanny pack. My girl is always looking out for us and my boy is always ready to go. Care and practicality.
“Now we’ll have to pick up all our stuff at once!” I say as we walk our way back to the plane. “It’s probably better that way.”
“My shawl was in my carry-on,” Marcy says. “I’ll be freezing before we even take off.”
“You can have my sweater, honey.”
“Why did you even bring that? We’re going to Florida in April. There’s no need for a sweater there.”
Always thinking ahead.
We get to our seats but there are people already sitting down in our row. “Excuse me,” I say, “But I think you’re in our seats.”
“Sonny, leave it,” Marcy says. She probably doesn’t want to cause a scene or make the flight even later than it already is.
“We’re 32A, B and C,” I say. “Could we see your tickets?”
“Dad, leave it,” Cody says. “I’m on 34A and Mom is on 34E.”
“That’s not right at all,” I say. I checked the purchase almost ten times, and I made sure we all got the same seats.
“Just sit down,” Marcy whispers as she squeezes past me, then Cody does the same and she asks her seatmates for space to get in.
Well, that’s okay. We have two weeks together in Tallahassee, so five hours apart isn’t that big a deal. Beaches, parks and drives. And seeing Tessa too – it’ll be great.
Marcy and Cody were excited for the trip too, and their constant questions about money or time off work were fully about me and my well-being. We’ll figure it out, but as long as we’re together for two weeks. Since Tessa had gone to Florida State University, we hadn’t seen her except for holidays, and anything longer than Thanksgiving break, she’d go see friends or stay with her boyfriend. Liam? Or is it Rodney now?
Now we’re surprising her with a trip just before her spring break. She hasn’t said what she wants to do for the week that she’s off, but I didn’t say anything in case she stresses about trying to fit a family visit and a vacation into one week. We can even drive to Disneyland for a day. My $20 per person per day may just stretch that far.
Every half hour or so, I look back at Marcy and Cody. I can only see the top of her head, so Marcy could be reading. Cody has the aisle seat and he’s watching something on his phone, not using his neck pillow. Maybe he doesn’t feel like taking a nap yet.
I avoid Dad’s glances every time he turns around and keep checking on Mom. How they’re both coping without headphones is beyond me. Mom at least has a book, but the people around us are being loud and I haven’t seen her turn a page yet. Dad just stares ahead, watching the shows on the headrest TV. All of them keep glitching and the picture freezes often.
I tried telling Dad that Tessa doesn’t want us to come visit, that she’ll make it up to West Virginia eventually. But he insisted on surprising her and taking her to Disneyland, thinking we can show up and buy a ticket like it’s Six Flags. As soon as we land and find our hotel, I’m finding my way to Florida State, saying hi to Tessa quickly then tour around the campus. It’s a big enough campus for the two of us to never run into each other, but close enough should we ever need anything from each other. But then Dad would have an excuse to come down to see us.
Unless I tell him that I’m going to Florida State College in Jacksonville…
I’ve read the same sentence for the past hour, not knowing where I’m even at in the book. I grabbed one off the shelf last night as I packed my bag, fully convinced this trip would be cancelled at the last minute. I think I started reading this around Christmas, when I picked it up at random in Target.
Sonny has not stopped talking about this trip since January that Tessa said she wouldn’t be coming home for spring break, taking it as an opportunity to go see her rather than listening for signs that she did not want to see us. Or Sonny, really – it takes a saint to not be overwhelmed by Sonny a day or two after meeting him. It’s not the slow-burning entrapment of annoying personalities, or the secret Type A that lurks until something flips their switch. With Sonny, you got to a day where his mere breathing bothers you, the feeling of his presence a heavy fog. When he walks into a room, you immediately stop talking for fear that anything you say would send him into a dumb joke spiral he goes down to avoid reading the discomfort in the room.
So I continue to stare at the same page, hoping the drum of the engine and the flight will be numbing enough to let me read more pages, then hopefully finish it and start it again over the two weeks and again on the flight home if necessary. Anything to not talk to Sonny and kill time until we’re back in West Virginia and I can leave. I don’t even want a divorce – I just want to leave. I can’t think far enough down to divorce proceedings, splitting the stuff or fighting over who gets which car. Cody turns 18 at the end of the year then is off to college too, but I cannot wait that long. If I hear one more dumb joke, I will scream.