January 07, 2003

Stories beginning with 'how'

How can I do this?

More people are killed each year by goats than by airplane crashes.

He is repeating this over and over in his head as he streches out on the pleather seat at the terminal. He is so scared, so completely helpless that he has gotten sleepy, like his body has just given up all hope of survival and shut off, and he is trying to milk it. Maybe he can actually fall asleep and then when he is awaken rudely by the announcement he can just board the plane in a daze and not worry about his life being in other peoples hands - people who used to crap their own pants, who masturbate, who make mistakes. He thinks about plane designers sitting in cubicles drinking coffee and looking at internet porn and shudders.

The announcement comes. Now boarding. Jesus. This is it. He gets up and gets in line without even thinking; cows to the slaughterhouse. He feels stupid and irrational, everybody else is fine, reading their papers and wishing they were just home. I mean if they were afraid of the bus ride to the terminal then he would think they were crazy, wouldn't he?

More people die each year in car accidents than in airplane crashes.

But that doesn't include buses. And that goat stat can't be right because it is international, how many people come into contact with goats? All over the world probably millions. Planes, probably millions, but not the same set, so it really doesn't make a lot of sense. I am in the set of people who fly in planes, so I have a better chance of dying in a plane crash than being stabbed to death by a goat. Have I ever even seen a goat in person, in animal, in real life? That car stat could be the same thing, how do they do these studies, just compare numbers of deaths? Mother-fucking interns comparing numbers, what a life. My whole life, my contentment at this moment controlled by people drinking coffee wishing they were somewhere else.

Boarding time. Takes his seat away from the window, careful to not even look to see if he is near a wing because it shakes and then he can't stop sweating and grabbing the seat in front of him. He tries to relax and leans his head down. The seat to his right is empty and a business man is asleep already leaned up against the, thank god, closed window. Happy place. His fear is so strong now that he doesn't even look up or around, just stares blankly at the seat in front of him and awaits it. He hears a sound to the right of him and turns. Somebody wants to sit down but his elbow is in their seat. It is a nice looking older man with a goat on a rope leash.

How in the hell did I get here he thinks to himself, clutching the map and trying hard to see without his inside light. Damned old car, no heat and no light - the only two things that he needs right now. I always do stuff like this don't I? Where is the hotel, this town is so small it seems like only an idiot would get lost. Or is it could get lost. Well, obviously I could and would get lost. Aren't they sort of another tense of can and will: could and would. I can get lost and I will get lost. But in the future, the unknown, since I am a fool I could get lost, and I would get lost, knowing me.

"How do you explain this?" the attorney says as he whips out a manila folder full of pictures of the victim with the accused when they were younger. This flies in the face of his claim that he has never met her and just happened to be walking by her apartment near the time of the crime. This is one of those Matlock moments about six or seven minutes before the end of the hour when everything falls into place that are so very rare in actual trials and instead of furiously writing down the details so that he can do an proper write-up later, he is captivated by the thought that there may in fact be Doritos in the vending machine near the smoking lounge.

January 7, 2003 09:27 PM