I liked, with a clicker on top, a clip for attaching, and a nice heavy weight. It was a retro sunny yellow color. The words Kate’s Paperie appeared in demure typeface on the inside of the back cover of my new journal Maggie knew that was one of my favorite stores in all New York. I turned the book over in my hands. I admired it. Maggie intended to make me happy with this gift, pure and simple. I noticed a little sheet sticking out. It read,
This present is not for saving, it’s for using. Signed, Margaret Doyle, Queen of Everything.
I lay my head back against the seat, smiling about my new gift. Packing a neck pillow would have been a good idea. I was tired, but so tense at the same time. My shoulders were in knots. “I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, just until the beverage cart come by with some coffee,” I thought. I tried to rest, but my mind wouldn’t quiet.
Tracing my fingers lightly over the relief of the flowers on my new journal, I remembered the daffodils that pushed up at my grandparent’s house upstate, sometimes before it was really even warm outside. My mom grew up in that house, situated on the east bank of the Hudson River. I toured colleges up that way: Vassar, Bard, Concordia. Hank pushed for Columbia or NYU so I wouldn’t have to leave the city.
“New York is the capital of the world,” he told me. “It’s the place to grab life by the balls.” At the time, the idea of grabbing anyone or anything by the balls seemed out of my wheelhouse. I needed to proceed at a slower pace; to test the waters. We compromised on Sarah Lawrence. “Good for writers; close to urban life,” so Hank said. The scholarly and artistic atmosphere suited me. That, and the culture of accepting hairy legs and a wardrobe of sweat suits. My seminars required prep time. I didn’t have the time or energy to doll up for classes.
When I was a little kid, mom and I had spent summers with my grandparents in Rhinebeck. I could almost smell the tomatoes she grew; she loved them so much, sometimes we’d eat them straight from the vine, still warm from the sun. And Grandma had her wonderful black and white Border Collie, Pip. I was so sad when he had died. Poor old Pip. When his time came, he was so weak Grandma fed him baby formula from a dropper to keep his mouth moist. His breathing became more and more rattled with each hour. That last night, we curled up next to his fuzzy donut bed by the fireplace and laid our hands on him as his body shook in one last violent spasm before he lay quiet. She and I spooned together and cried. We didn’t bury his body till the next morning.
I pushed away my thoughts and lay my head back, trying to blank my mind.
“Focus on one breath in, one breath out, breathing in a circle,” the yoga teacher from the one class I’d ever taken tried to teach me. I didn’t want to think about Pip, or Grandma, or how scared I was to be going halfway around the world alone. I pictured the tension in my shoulders liquefying, draining away. My body craved sleep. Breathing in, breathing out. The buzz of the aircraft and the vibration of the seat lulled me. The voices of the other travelers, popping of the soda cans, the thump of tray tables all faded away.
I emerged from the nothingness walking the hallway of Hank’s Upper West Side apartment, or at least it seemed like Hank’s place. Vines adorned the ceilings. They crawled with hissing cockroaches and tiny birds that shrieked occasional high-pitched complaints. I didn’t want to walk underneath these creatures.
It was very cold and dimly lit. I was only in my nightgown, wrapped in a red duvet, but when the elevator door opened, I got on anyway. Lizbeth and Jordan Silver were on, too. I stayed still so they wouldn’t see me. On the ground floor, I hugged Dmitry and told him I’d miss him, and that he’d been like a father to me. He tried to hide the cigarette in his hand. The smoke choked me but I said, “No, please smoke. You have every right to make yourself happy.” And I meant it with all my heart. He waved, smiling, as I walked out the door. Instead of exiting onto West End Avenue, I walked onto Grandma’s lawn.
The grass was cool on my feet, but the sun was warm on my face and shoulders, so I threw off my duvet. Pip was barking, and frisking; he beckoned me to follow. Seeing him made me so happy, it felt like my heart was filled with helium. I screamed, “Good boy! Good boy!” But it only came out as a wheeze. I chased after him, and he led me to a big double bed covered in soft pillows and pastel quilts. Mom was tucked in and she stretched her arms out to me. I climbed in and snuggled into a hug. Pip sprung aboard, turned around several times, and curled into a nose-to-tail circle. “I love you, my girl,” Mom said. Tears of joy flooded from my eyes. I could hardly make out Mom’s face through the water, but I could see that she was smiling.
As I wriggled around to get comfortable, the sheets started to feel scratchy. The sprawling bed was now a tight hospital cot and my spine scraped against the metal bedrail. Mom’s skin felt cold against my hand, so I smoothed back her hair. It came out in a clump. I couldn’t shake it off my hand. Her skin felt waxy. I pressed her shoulder to wake her up, but she wouldn’t rouse. I sobbed. Pip stood up, pinning my leg with his front paws, and barked. “Yip! Yip! Yip!”
“Miss…Miss. Miss!”
I opened my eyes to see my seatmate holding out a package of tissues and a concerned flight attendant holding out a steaming paper cup.
“There, there, love. Wipe your eyes.” The heater had been aimed in my direction and I was covered in an Aer Lingus blanket. “You were shivering, so I took the liberty of covering you up. Hope you don’t mind. The air hostess here has a cup of strong tea for you, with lots of sugar. Sure, it helps the shock. Drink up.” The flight attendant was looking at me with such warm concern, I immediately felt better. .
I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. I sipped the hot, sweet tea. The fragrance and the taste seeped into me, the warmth soothed the back of my throat, and lit a path down through my chest to my gut. It was so good. I finished the cup in greedy gulps. It was like that cup of tea was what I’d been waiting for all my life.
“Better now?” asked the pretty girl in the crisp, white blouse and green scarf.
I nodded.
“You wouldn’t have an aul snack for the girl in the back there, wouldja?” my seatmate asked. “It’s only that dinner’s not on, and she’s under the weather.”
“Gotcha. Back in two shakes,” she said.
On what planet are people this nice? I wondered. Certainly not planet New York City. Back in the office, I’d dragged myself in with the flu for a mandatory staff meeting on the coldest day of the winter. Not only did Matty refuse to get me a cup of tea citing “very real SARS concerns,” Lizbeth tagged me to run down to Pick-A-Bagel to check on the breakfast order. And I’d grown up with Hank. From an early age I’d learned to rely on myself or do without. Apart from Maggie, I hadn’t experienced people falling all over themselves to help me out of sheer kindness in forever. Since Mom. Since Grandma.
“Brian Lynch,” the man said, holding his huge hand out for me to shake. I blushed, thinking of the mean things I’d said in my head about him. I had a wild moment thinking he could read my mind, but judging from his genuine smile, I could see that he expected the best from me.
“Shayla Sheridan,” I replied.
“Good to know you, Sheila. I have a daughter near your age, and two married ones, a bit older. Pretty girls, all, just like you. Now, don’t let me trouble you. Go and get your rest.”
“No,” I said. “I just had a rough morning. And,” I paused. He was looking at me with really kind eyes. I dropped my defenses and sighed a cleansing sigh, “I had a bad dream. I’m good now.” I rolled my head around on my shoulders. The tightness had subsided. I took a moment to check in with myself. Was I OK? I really was.
“Then
