Thursday, June 26, 2014
A Man of Action
Taxiing before takeoff, not even on the runway yet, we all heard the dreaded thud. The contents had shifted seriously in the overhead compartment.
The perfectly shaved man in seat 10B, directly above whom the contents had shifted, looked up from his pulp thriller with vague panic in his eye. My God, it's actually happened. The contents have shifted!
Then, just as quickly, his eyes twisted quizzically and I could see him kind of laugh at himself as he realized: So fucking what? I mean--it's just my carry on!
He glanced over the aisle and caught me watching him. His hypershaved face blushed slightly and, annoyed I'd gotten into his head, he turned his eyes swiftly back to his Tom Clancy.
As for me, I took out my own book, another distinguished Jesuit explaining Aquinas. Our plane took off, and after a handful of pages on the Virtues, before we'd even reached cruising altitude, I'd somehow drifted into sleep.
Posted by Eric Mader at 10:23 AM
Labels: prose poem
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