Memories of Hazey Jane – Part 5
Posted on November 14, 2008
“Did what?”
She pointed to the mother, leaning back in relief, as if the cries were haunting her. “She doesn’t look more than a kid herself.”
“I think we’re both kind of young to be saying that.”
She stretched long, marvelous arms. “Still…I’m pretty sure she had plans for herself at one point.”
“Family’s not a plan?”
Hazey Jane scrunched up her mouth doubtfully. “Maybe, but what does that take? A few beers and a latex shortage?”
“Well, what about you? What’s on your calendar?”
“I-” The captain interrupted her to announce that we were cleared for takeoff. My bandage, already pretty sweaty, started to itch. Remembering how I got it made me buckle my seatbelt extra tight, and I gripped the armrest, waiting for the sweet inevitable. I swallowed hard as we shot down the tarmac, waiting. Jane leaned back and closed her eyes; I surreptitiously placed my hand in the right position, next to hers on the armrest, waiting. Waiting because I knew it was going to happen. And I didn’t doubt for one second – not even as we ascended smoothly, and the bright sodium lights were reduced to distant memories in the dark.
Then the seatbelt sign went off. Jane unbuckled herself, and tucked her shoulder-length golden hair beyond her ears, exhaling as if a herd of elephants had finally decided to step off her chest. “If you’d asked me that a year ago, I would’ve sent you to my publicist.”
It’s a rule that anyone requiring one of those is usually worth knowing. But something didn’t quite mesh. I don’t claim to know the whole New York scene, but I’d never seen her around, and I see pretty faces every other minute. I told her this; it came out a bit harsher than I expected.
I prepared to lose her forever. But she just laughed it off. “Yeah…as you can see, he wasn’t very helpful. Bit of a scumbag too, but I thought it came with the territory, and that it could only help. Boy was I wrong…” She clicked her tongue. “I had a decent job…a small cafe at the corner of Grant and Union. I let him and a few people calling themselves my friends convince me I could act.”
“How did that go?” I yawned, curiously.
She shrugged. “I’ve got myself and most of my worldly goods on a 737 leaving the West Coast at half the speed of sound. So much for those dreams of Californication.”
My head started to throb. Apparently, a good part of it hadn’t forgotten the takeoff incident. If that part of yesterday’s today never made it over, my body did its best to remember, nearly drowning me in adrenaline. I grabbed a Kleenex and wiped my brow. Explaining my predicament to anyone would lead to nothing but a logical and philosophical sinkhole, so I just let it ride. “And now you’re trying your luck in the Big Apple.”
“Trying my luck? That implies I have a chance in the first place. No…I’m keeping it simple from here on out – I owe my girl that much.”
“Girl? You mean your-”
“Yup. She’s turning five next week.”
By now, my heart was pounding. I even felt the sharp pain in my forehead the moment it should have kissed the tray. “Was she part of your dream?”
Outside the murky window, the lights of the City by the Bay were only a distant memory. Jane leaned over to watch them go, and I couldn’t help but think she hadn’t quite taken everything with her. “What can I say? I guess there are dreams that are just given to us.”
“I’ll stop talking now.” she added. “It’s a long way to New York, and you look like you’ve been through a long day.”
“You have no idea…”
“It was sweet of you to listen, though.” And the smile she gave me was enough to turn my insides to Jello. A weariness rose from my bones and blew through me like a chill wind – a receding tide of adrenaline, as my brain finally decided the “danger” was over. Then my thoughts wandered to the copy of Deathly Hallows still in the seat back pocket. The inside cover had my name, and the dusk jacket still had that pizza stain from Friday night. It was even dog-eared at the part when George loses an ear. I was really holding it! I’d left it behind, but here it was, moments before I was supposed to leave it behind. And yet, I hadn’t taken it on the plane with me, so I how could I leave it behind, anyway? Only if I ignored it, I supposed. And if I ever came back to this now, I guessed I would find it again. But I had been in a cold and dark Union Square too long, contending with cloaked wannabes shouting and waving wooden sticks to test my luck.
When a flight attendant came, I asked for the only help she could give – a nice, cold Guinness. I nursed this one nice and slowly, and it cast a warmth over me better than any blanket’s. I stopped trying to make sense of things and caught up on my sleep. And it felt good. Even the dream – it was about the redhead, strangely enough. We were sitting together at a park bench, holding hands – this was early in the morning, with a blazing sunset over the East River. I remember feeling desperately vacant. And then she reached up, and pulled my head down to her lap, and I wept. While living this scene, I was pretty sure why. When I woke up, I could feel the memory slip through my fingers like sand. Only that last image stayed with me – so well, in fact, that I didn’t even notice that I was staring into my new friend’s Hazey eyes.
I jerked back. She laughed. “It’s okay. My first boyfriend liked watching me sleep too.”
“If he wasn’t your last, I’m guessing it got old pretty fast.”
“Nothing gets past you, mister. Excuse me a minute.”
To my surprise, I blurted out: “Where’re you going?”
Jane glanced at me askance. “Girl business. You’re sure you want to know?” I pointed out the window, and pointed to a glowing Manhattan island. We probably weren’t even ten minutes from landing. But apparently, it couldn’t wait, because she unbuckled herself and got up anyway. A big mistake, to be sure, but there was no way she could have known, to be fair.
“Oh, shit.” I muttered.
The plane heaved, groaning as it shuddered to the left. Jane screamed, striking her head on the armrest as she fell. The worst part was watching the flight attendants, as usual, holding on for dear life with a grim resolve, as if finally caught by a possibility that was always lurking around a corner. As the plane pitched forward, my head went hurtling towards the upright tray, but I caught myself this time. Without a second thought, I grabbed Jane, and pulled her roughly to her seat, moments before our overhead bin flew open and my gear crushed the spot where her head had been.
The woman behind me started crying. By contrast, I nearly bit through my lip, desperately trying to imprison a laugh. Big things like that had to happen, I suppose, and strangely enough, I felt vindicated. We circled JFK a couple of times before landing; the pilot blamed “an unexpected crosswind” for our troubles. They asked Jane if she needed an ambulance. She said she was fine, which looked true, more or less; since it was Neil’s gear that had nearly ended her life, it only made sense to help her off the plane with her stuff. Again.
But then, I doubt we would have had it any other way. At my side, she looked pretty relaxed. Approaching the night’s great juncture again, I supposed that all she needed was a friend. After all, you can’t have too many in this city, can you? At least that’s what I was thinking when the decisive moment arrived, right on schedule:
“My girlfriend called.” She finally said. “She’s 15 minutes out from the city – you need a ride?”
I felt goosebumps as I recalled those more than familiar words. I shook my head, and told her the only thing I could muster in that moment – I lived in Queens.
“No worries – it’s all on the way back, right?” The girl held out her hand, and I resisted the impulse to lock her fingers in mine. “I might have told you this earlier, but I’m Ja– oh, I think I did, didn’t I?” She chuckled nervously, looking a lot like the waitress who shouldn’t have known my favorite beer. Laughter is the best therapy for cognitive dissonance.
“I’m actually getting picked up by my w- my friend.”
“Oh. Well, we might be doing something a bit later – I mean it’s kind of late, but-”
The opportunity gleamed before me like a needle in the sand. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card. My boss was such a cheapskate – these were the cheapest Kinko’s offered. It was plain, black letters on white, recycled stock, but I thought the cute little spiral logo made me look at least a little creative. I thought I felt my hand shake a little as I held it out.
Her eyes lit up. “You’re a photographer?”
I shrugged. “Nothing too big. You might see some of our work at the checkout counter, but I’ve never really-”
“Get out! There’s no way this can be a coincidence. We’ve really got to get together; one of these days we could-”
“I thought you were getting out of the business.”
“Yes, but…a girl has to find some way to survive…I mean, I did learn a couple of things bouncing from audition to audition…”
I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t we just talk about this? Keeping it simple, for your daughter, remember?”
“Yes…we’ll definitely see each other again. Jeff. I’ll definitely remember that.” Her Motorola buzzed, and she looked even happier when she saw who it was. “And it looks like she’s here. Have a good one, Jeff!”
She launched herself into my arms. Then she tip-toed up, and before I could pull away, gave me a quick peck on the cheek. In that moment, as the strawberries burst across my senses, I could only think of two things. First, I hope she didn’t press too closely to feel her effect on me. Second, I prayed with all my might that you were nowhere nearby. I watched her bounce through the threshold, dragging her bags behind her. My mouth went dry in my exhilaration – I had changed something again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I should have.
Then I remembered the message on my Blackberry. I’m not the kind of man who’s stubborn enough to make the same mistake twice, and so I waited, watching a sedate flow of traffic for the snot-colored Beetle Uncle Ralph gave as a wedding gift. I imagined you pulling up, scraping the door on the curve, and greeting me with a short wave. Then you’d give me one of those smiles that looked like you’d been practicing it all afternoon. And then to Van Wyck, The Boulevard of Death, and home – to an apartment you found, and an apartment you furnished – a place which saw me get a quiet night’s sleep, and little else.
But now, I had the chance to do things differently. “Screw that.” I declared to my congregation of waiting travelers.
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