Chapter 18
18
Upon returning to my cube, I peeled my vision board and flight map from the wall and shoved them under my bed. I placed my chunk of 737 in the shoebox that housed my collection of flight safety cards. I knew I should destroy all the artifacts of my iniquity, but I couldn’t bring myself to do this yet, and tucking them out of sight seemed a worthy first step on my road to redemption. I deleted my flight-tracking app, cleared my browser history, and deleted the images of planes I’d archived on my computer and phone. At 7-Eleven, I purchased a 49ers hat, which I planned to wear whenever I was outside, shielding the sky from my view. I’d lost my right to enjoy the sky’s offerings. I could not even allow myself to contemplate the sun and the moon, much less the planes themselves and the contrails they etched.
Monday morning, I steeled myself as I entered Acuity. The terminals in the exterior row lay empty, and I saw that Karina had defected to the interior row. She sat next to Simon, who gave me a smug look as I proceeded to my terminal, while Karina’s eyes remained fixed on her screen. I’d apologized over text, and asked for a chance to explain, but Karina hadn’t replied. I was desperate to know what she was thinking, and whether there was a path to our reconciliation, however long and circuitous it might be. But Karina seemed intent on pretending I didn’t exist. She arrived early and stayed late, so our paths never crossed in the stairwell. She remained at her terminal until I returned from lunch.
On Wednesday, I stayed seated at my usual lunchtime, waiting her out. Finally, at one-thirty, she went to the break room, and I followed her.
“Hey,” I said. “Can we talk?”
“Not right now, Linda,” she said, stooping to pull a container of yogurt from the back of the fridge.
“I just want to explain,” I said, drawing near her. “I wasn’t completely honest with you before, about my interest in planes. It goes a bit deeper than I let on.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“I want you to know that everything I told you about flying is true,” I said. “It’s perfectly safe, as long as you’re not with me. I hope I didn’t sabotage your progress.”
“That’s exactly what you did, Linda,” she said, shutting the fridge door forcefully, though it was designed to prevent slamming and eased shut with a sigh. “Do you know how embarrassing it was to force my way off the plane? It was just what I was afraid would happen, and for what? Some sick joke?”
“It wasn’t a joke,” I said, appalled she would think this. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to hear any more about your obsession with planes, and your weird thing with…” She stopped herself before saying Dave’s name. “You know.”
“I understand,” I said. “I’m sorry, Karina.”
She leaned against the sink, facing me for the first time. For a moment, I hoped my apology had landed. “Anthony thinks you did it because you’re jealous,” she said.
“Jealous? Of what?”
“You can’t stand that we’re getting married, is that it? Because no one wants to marry a freak like you. So you figured you could at least stop me from going to Hawaii, because if you’re miserable, everyone else should be, too.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I don’t want to get married. Not to another person, at least.”
“See? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re fucking weird, Linda.” She left, taking her yogurt with her.
I was hurt by what she’d said, and in the days after, I avoided her just as she avoided me. I tried to focus on moderating, but my attention was fragmented. Without Karina, and without flying, I had nothing to look forward to. I rode the bus to Acuity, the brim of the 49ers cap pulled low over my brow. I put in eight hours of work, then rode home, hatted again, to eat a dinner of ramen and string cheese in my cube. The first weekend, I left the garage only to do laundry. When I returned home from the laundromat, I peeled the gel polish from my nails, leaving the nail beds dull and flaky. The sight of the hot-pink shards on my bedspread filled me with sadness, as they belonged to an era in which Karina and I were still friends.
I was bored, but I didn’t trust myself to go outside, beneath the sky’s canopy, in which commercial jets cavorted, beckoning to me. I needed a hobby. I watched nature documentaries and live streams of zoo animals. My favorite was the koala cam, the koala a gray blur between leaves. I felt solidarity with the little marsupial, who was alone and mostly sedentary, like me.
Sunday night, I was watching the koala cam when Simon texted. This was unusual. My messages app showed we hadn’t texted since a few days after our date at Peet’s, when I’d sent him a link to Acuity’s job site. Back then, I’d had everything, though I didn’t appreciate my good fortune. Karina was my friend, and the power of my first vision board coursed at my back. Flying was a fun, sexy ritual, safely cordoned from my work life and relationships. I used to think Simon was a fool. Now I seized upon his text, which simply asked how I was doing. It was a sign I hadn’t been cast out entirely from the village of humanity, to die in the forest, feasted on by wolves.
I told him I was okay, a little lonely, and Simon said he’d noticed Karina and I were “beefing.”
Did she say that?
No, Simon replied. But it’s obvious. She won’t tell me what happened.
I knew Karina prided herself on her trustworthiness. Simon didn’t share this quality, however, so anything I said to him would likely be relayed back to Karina. I sensed he was always looking for ways to ingratiate himself to her, though I could have told him his efforts were pointless. Even if she broke up with Anthony, she’d never stoop so low as to sleep with Simon.
I miss her, I wrote. I hope one day, she’ll forgive me.
Damn must have been pretty bad. Did you fuck Anthony?
I laughed. No, I wrote. Nothing like that.
Simon asked if I wanted to see a lady getting railed by a horse. I said sure. He sent the video, which was about what I’d expected. It appeared he’d bootlegged the footage on a secret cellphone when it came across his Porn queue. This was a violation of our work contract, one of the only offenses our bosses seemed to care about, as I knew of at least two mods who’d been fired for this during my time at Acuity. I considered telling Simon to be careful but decided it was none of my business. I thanked him for the edifying content and returned to the koala cam. The blotch of gray I’d thought was the koala turned out to be part of the tree.
—
The month of May proceeded, days blending together in a slurry of consciousness. I was sluggish and barely ate. Whole days elapsed without my speaking to anyone. A nod to the driver as I boarded the bus was often my only human interaction. My loneliness deepened, and I realized I’d have to find other reasons to live, now that planes were off-limits. I messaged Dave one night, apologizing for what I’d said the last time we talked. No worries, Linda, he replied. I’m sorry, too.
The next day, Dave asked if I’d have dinner with him, and in my fragile, friendless state, I agreed. He picked me up, and we drove south. Through the window, the setting sun warmed the right side of my face. The sky was probably beautiful, but I couldn’t allow myself to look at it. I stared straight ahead, through the windshield, my view confined to a strip of interstate beneath the brim of my hat.
Dave patted my thigh. “Good to see you, Linda.”
“How’ve you been?” I asked.
“A lot better, actually,” he said. “I’ve been working through some things in therapy. I don’t want to be angry at Michelle anymore. I feel like I’m getting some closure around it all, finally.”
“That’s great,” I said. “How’s Gabi?”
“She’s a moody teenager, but I’m trying not to take that personally. I let her get her nose pierced in Venice. Michelle was pissed, but it was worth it.” He paused. “I know I haven’t been the best dad. I’ve been stuck in this victim mentality that prevented me from showing up for her. I’m trying to make up for it now.”
I was impressed by the progress Dave had made in the weeks since I’d seen him. “Have you been flying to LA?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“Yep,” he said. “I missed you on those flights.”
I refrained from asking additional questions, such as which models of plane he had flown in and whether there’d been any turbulence.
Dave chuckled, no doubt thinking about the times we’d flown together. “It seems pretty crazy now, doesn’t it?”
I agreed, it did seem crazy. Dave handled his Prius competently, changing lanes in a safe yet assertive manner. He seemed respectable again, like when I’d first met him at Acuity. I now appreciated his positive qualities, while I’d once focused on his flaws. I found myself wanting to confide in him.
“I’m taking a break from flying,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not good for me,” I said. “It brings out a darkness I can’t control.”
“I see. Well, you don’t want that.”
For once, I was grateful for Dave’s glibness. I couldn’t have handled talking to someone who perceived my suffering and probed it like a tongue in a dry socket.
We exited the interstate, and soon arrived at Dave’s house, a two-story, cream-colored structure with a gray roof. It was nice, but not the mansion I’d imagined Dave living in. His lawn, like others around it, was composed of wood chips with little shrubs placed at intervals. Green lawns were out of fashion, he explained, due to the drought.
“It’s modern farmhouse style,” he said, as we approached the front door. “That’s what the realtors call it, anyway. Three beds, two baths. Way too big for a bachelor.”
“It’s very nice,” I said.
“It’s all right,” he said, turning his key in the lock. “I bought it ten years ago, for eight hundred grand. My realtor says I could sell it now for two mil, easy.”
I was stunned by this figure. Two million dollars would buy roughly ten thousand round-trip flights to a regional hub. I dismissed the calculation, which had popped into my head unbidden; I had to break my habit of perceiving the world in plane terms. We passed through the foyer. To the right, through an arched doorway, lay a living room, white couches outlined in dusky light through the front window. Dave led us to the kitchen, gesturing for me to sit on a stool at the butcher-block island. He brought out a knife and began cutting a lime into wedges. The house felt sterile, like it had been staged for prospective buyers. A few items were arrayed on the counter: a wooden bowl of produce, mason jars filled with powders and seeds, a cookbook from a trendy San Francisco restaurant.
“You’re thinking of selling, then?” I said.
He opened the fridge and extracted a bottle of sparkling water. “I’m always thinking of selling,” he said. “But more seriously, lately.”
“So you can move to LA?” I was surprised that the prospect of his departure made me sad.
“Yeah, that’s always been the general plan.” He poured the water into two glasses, then squeezed a lime wedge into each glass. “I need to get out of here, one way or another. This place is haunted.”
“It is?” I said, feeling apprehensive. The last thing I needed was for a ghost to affix itself to me.
He laughed. “Not literally. Haunted by the past, you know.” He handed me a glass. “Michelle designed the whole place. It’s not really my style.”
We sipped our sparkling water. He explained that Michelle had taken most of their possessions when she left, claiming the artwork and furniture belonged to her. “Even though it was all paid for by my money,” he said.
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.
“I came home one day to a U-Haul out front. She’d hired some day laborers to pack everything up while I was at work. I was so shocked she’d planned it all out like that, I just let them do it.”
“Was Peter there that day?”
“God, no. She knew better than to bring him here. I’d like to think I’d have punched him in the face. But I probably wouldn’t have.” He set his glass down. “I’m a coward.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. I was trying to be kind to Dave, though I sensed there was more to the story, a version he wasn’t capable of telling.
Dave cooked us a meal—chicken for him, sauteed tofu and kale for me. I was touched that he’d finally remembered I didn’t eat meat. The food was bland, but I ate it gladly, not having realized how hungry I was.
When I’d finished everything on my plate, Dave crossed behind me and began rubbing my shoulders. “What’s on your mind?” he said. I tensed at his touch, then made an effort to relax. As he loosened my muscles, I felt the hold of the last month loosen, too. Emotion swelled within me.
“I’ve made a mess of everything,” I said. “Karina and I aren’t friends anymore.”
“What happened?” he said, pressing his thumbs into my back.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
I told him about our practice flight. How I’d been helping Karina overcome her fear of flying, but then, when we’d boarded, I had a premonition that the plane would crash.
“So I told her she should get off the plane, and she did, because she was terrified, and now she thinks I did it all on purpose, as a mean joke, or that I’m crazy, or both.”
“Why did you think the plane would crash?” Dave asked. His hands were back on my shoulders, though I imagined they couldn’t be further loosened without breaking my bones.
“I just had a feeling. Maybe because she was so afraid of it happening.” I chose my words carefully. I’d resolved to be normal, and I didn’t want to divulge my past transgressions to Dave. Besides, it was still too painful to remember that day. “It’s like the vision boards, though I know you don’t believe in them,” I continued. “The law of attraction. The things we focus on manifest in our lives.”
Dave sat on the stool next to mine. “That doesn’t seem rational,” he said. “Maybe you have a fear of flying, too.”
“In a way, I guess I do.”
“I never got that impression when we flew together.” He winked, which discomfited me. “But you took the flight anyway, even though you thought the plane would crash?”
I wasn’t sure how to explain that part. “Yes, and obviously, it was fine,” I said.
“Did you come on the plane without me?” he said softly, though there was no need for discretion in the empty house.
“No,” I said, which was true for the first flight. I didn’t mention that I had climaxed many times on the return flight, on board a sporty Embraer 175. I knew it would be my last flight for a long time, if not for the rest of my life, and I wanted to make the most of it.
“You needed me,” he said.
I allowed Dave to believe this, when in fact, he’d been a tool I had used that, over time, had become more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps this was what it meant to care for people: to distort reality in a way that flattered them.
“I’ve missed making you come,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear.
I gulped my water, letting the bubbles burn in my throat. It had been three weeks since I’d flown, and though I still longed for planes, their absence in my life was becoming easier to bear, through a simple repetition of days. I felt a tenderness for Dave, after he’d been so kind to me, with the sparkling water and the tofu. I wanted to see how far I could ride this wave of tepid affection. What better way to prove I was reformed than to have sex with a man?
“I’ve missed it, too,” I said. “I’d love to return the favor.”
Dave’s face stiffened. “Oh yeah?”
“I always wondered why you didn’t try to make love to me in Denver.”
“We work together,” Dave said. “It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”
I was confused by this. “What about what we did on the planes? Wasn’t that inappropriate?”
“It was. Very.” He sighed. “The truth is, the antidepressants I’m on have totally killed my libido. Don’t get me wrong, it’s worth the trade-off. The meds pulled me out of a dark place. But when it comes to sex, I can’t be bothered.”
I recalled my hand grazing his erection on our flight to Denver. “You were aroused on the plane,” I said.
“I know. It was like a miracle. I felt like a sexual being again for the first time in months.”
I understood now why Dave had wanted to fly with me so badly. It must have felt like a matter of life and death, to get his dick hard. I saw that sex could be therapeutic for both of us. Perhaps we could both transfer our arousal from the flights. Dave could reclaim his sexuality, while I could forge a new path of enjoying sex with fellow humans.
“Maybe we could lie down together, and see what happens,” I said.
Dave’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want?”
“If you do.”
He said we could try it, though he didn’t seem excited. We went to his bedroom and lay on the king-sized bed. A streetlight shone through the venetian blinds, casting blades of light on the linen bedspread. I rested my head on Dave’s chest. He lifted my chin and kissed me.
“Is this okay?” he asked, and I nodded. He continued kissing me, and I did my best to reciprocate, accepting his tongue into my mouth and running my hands over his chest. I tried to recall the feeling when we’d kissed on the flight to Denver, and felt a flicker of arousal at the memory of the plane lurching in response. I caressed the side of his face. I ran my fingers through his sandy hair. I reached into his sweatpants and gripped his penis, feeling it firm in my hand.
Dave kissed me more urgently and lowered me onto my back. As he hovered over me, I imagined a 737’s face, his friendly white nose and intelligent windscreen. I closed my eyes and pretended the plane was penetrating me. With this mental work, I almost enjoyed the sensation of Dave inside me. After a few thrusts, though, I felt him shrivel inside the condom. He rolled off me again.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said quickly.
“I’m, shall we say, a bit out of practice. And something’s not quite clicking.”
“It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “But you did seem kind of checked out. Not that I would have minded, in my more virile days.” He laughed. “I noticed you had your eyes closed, like you didn’t want to look at me. I know it sounds silly, but I thought maybe you were imagining I was someone else.”
“We can try again,” I said, pawing lightly at his genitals. But Dave stilled my hand.
“It’s okay, Linda. I’d rather just lie here with you.”
I remained aroused, thanks to my plane fantasy, coupled with Dave’s brief infiltration of my body. I wanted to go to the bathroom with my phone and get myself off with images of planes from the internet, but I couldn’t allow this. Dave slung his arm across my chest, and I remembered, with a stab of grief, how Karina had done the same, the night before I betrayed her.