Five
Flight Log, Chicago/Toledo
Smooth air into Chicago this morning. You would have liked it, probably. I mean it would have reminded you of yourself. The sun was rising over the big lake and the captain took the plane around downtown in a circle. We get sick of that kind of view, I mean the captain and I, because after all that splendor we have to bring her down onto some sad tarmac.
* * *
Everyone thinks I’m drunk these days. Even in the morning. I’m sure you’re doing fine.
* * *
As the navigating pilot, I felt like it would be fine if we made a nice soft landing in the water, which looked very smooth and dappled from the morning light or similar. That’s not something one suggests, of course. It was what we referred to in the Air Force as an internal opinion.
* * *
And then from Chicago we headed into Toledo. It’s hard to leave Toledo. Just kidding.
* * *
I do wonder what the captain is thinking while we’re bringing the plane into some place like that where people live their lives. I’m afraid of what he’ll say when I ask.
* * *
It’s probably time to go back to base when every question from the flight attendants inspires me to make the words “Please leave me alone” inside my mouth while my lips are closed while I am smiling and sometimes nodding a little. When you make the words silently, it becomes a secret you can keep. I learned about this in the Air Force.
* * *
Some nights, I feel I could slip away into a hangar and live in a janitor’s closet.
* * *
This morning I bought a banana and left it on the counter because I didn’t like the look of it. I can’t even remember where I was at the time, if you can believe it.
* * *
You’re such a pretty skeptic.
* * *
I’m afraid he’ll say he doesn’t think of anything at all and then that will make two of us.
* * *
I wonder about janitors. If when they close up shop, they go home and clean their own homes. I figure if I was a janitor I would pop a squat on the floor and make a watery BM every now and again to keep myself humble.
* * *
What do you do to keep yourself humble? You’ll have to remind me because I can’t think of a goddammed thing.
Loop
You are one man standing barefoot in a grocery store. You regard rows of snack-cake cartons stacked like bricks when your mind begins to go. You knew it in your heart: Your heart is a wall of the same brick repeated. You’re standing barefoot because you put your slippers into the coffee bulk bin where they make like rabbit ears and listen up.
At home, you call your mom and her voice reminds you of a pancake you dropped on the floor that morning. Because you have no dog, you got on your hands and knees and ate that pancake up off the floor. You licked your lips and the floor and took a nap in your nap spot.
You tell your mom you don’t remember her wearing a lot of denim. Your mom corrects you and says she did wear more denim than you remember. She says, Your father worked in denim. Your crib was made of denim. He covered it for your safety. Every problem can be traced to attention or its lack. As your mom goes on you watch a video that features a woman facing the camera and talking about yoga, and her nipples straining her costume are themselves talking in a sea tone of the responsibility of owning animals.
As you watch the video for the tenth time you work your way down the numbers in your Casual Encounters file but each call receives no answer. You try one number again and again until a bird picks up and tells you to fuck-right-off, fuck-right-off. Your heart is a wall of the same brick repeated.
A man returns your call and asks if you’re the guy who wants a visit. Says he knows a guy, knows a lot of guys actually and some women, that every one of them knows a thing or two about bricks and they’re all coming over.
You have been surrounded all your life by people concerned for your health. Men build scaffolding to protect your stupid skull. Cars stop and allow you to cross. Every problem in the world can be traced to attention or its lack.
The man arrives at your door wearing some serious denim. You carry a folding chair and follow him down the steps to the alley. He has assembled a crowd. He produces an awl and taps it around the circumference of your neck. Checking out, he says. I’ve had my days and yours aren’t my business.
You can’t feel it. The man tells the crowd That’s all, folks. He angles it in the nape of your neck. He is a magician. You smile for the crowd. Your heart’s a wall. Your heart is a wall.
Mom calls, but the man is tapping his awl beside your ear and you can only hear her saying denim denim denim, denim denim. Denim denim. Den-den-denim-denim. Denim. Den-den. Denim-um. Denum. Denumm. Den-den-den-den. Um. Umm. Um-um.
Your collarbone crk-crks and is liberated. The man in denm is whistlin “Home on the Range.” Word lip saside. Yu make a momont to fleck on the lean of the nalley, the pn sponch & yr hart it’s a wallv th sambrick repeetd, th snik-snik, th sm-brk, rpt-rpt-rpt.
Thank You
The woman checked her mail every afternoon. One day, she found a card from her friend. The card, pale green and decorated with filigrees and flowers, was lovely. Inside, the woman’s friend had written a sweet note, thanking the woman for a baby-shower gift she had sent from a catalog.
“Such a beautiful card,” said the woman, turning it over. She wanted to show her appreciation for the sentiment presented and the effort implied, given that her friend was quite pregnant and still thought to sit down and write a heartfelt note in a darling card.
The woman sat down at her desk and opened the drawer, extracting a few options. One card was festive, with holly sprigs and a touch of glitter. Another featured a nautical stripe and a jaunty anchor. The woman, feeling the season appropriate, chose the first. She picked a fresh pen and wrote: “Thank you for your kind thank-you card. I appreciate so much that you considered our friendship this month, and I so look forward to meeting the new addition to your family. All my love.”
She signed her name, addressed and stamped an envelope, slipped the card inside, and dropped it in the mail.
Some days passed, and the woman received another letter. Inside its sturdy envelope, the cream-colored card was embossed with her friend’s name on the front and inside that, with the woman’s name. The woman gasped with delight and sat down in her office to read: “Thank you, my dear, for the thoughtful thank-you card in response to my thank-you card. It pleased me greatly to see your response, as I count you among my most polite friends. Yours.”
Such a thoughtful gesture! She immediately picked a card from her drawer; this one was sunny yellow, with four butterflies in a line. Inside, she wrote: “Thank you for your thank-you card recognizing my thank-you card for your thank-you card. We are truly friends.”
This returned sentiment seemed slightly less personal and the woman panicked before remembering the small craft supply she kept for her children to play with when she worked late. She uncapped a tube of silver glitter and deposited a healthy quarter cup into the envelope before inserting the card. She dropped it in the mail and went to bed.
Eight days later, a brown paper package arrived. The woman took it up to her room. Inside, she found a handful of bright cherry bombs and a decorative plate, on which her friend had painted the words THANK YOU. The woman lit a cherry bomb, threw it into her bathtub, and watched it crack merrily about, thinking of her friend’s thoughtful nature.