Til Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1: Irony and Dignity-1

Chapter 1: Irony and DignityDay Zero

“Call me when you land, okay, Henry?”

“It’ll be something like six-forty tomorrow morning, your time,” I replied. The summer class Sam would be teaching started tomorrow, but he still wouldn’t need to get up that early.

“Humor me. Please?”

I’d been infected with the travel bug years ago when I’d taken my first research trip as a graduate student. If there was an antidote, I didn’t want to take it. Now that I was married, I admitted that the weeks-long separation from my husband put a damper on my spirits for work-related travels, but it wasn’t strong enough to make me want to stop. It was just a few weeks, after all.

“I love you, you know.” I stared into his captivating blue jean-colored eyes and smiled, squeezing his arm in a manner I hoped was comforting. “Yes, I’ll call. I know you’ll worry if I don’t.”

Sam blushed and grinned sheepishly. “I know it’s dumb, but I appreciate it. Thank you.”

I looked over my shoulder at the security queue. “The line’s growing. I’d better jump in.” Turning back toward Sam, I added, “Thank you for coming in and helping me with the luggage.”

“It’ll be six weeks before I see you again. Of course I came in.”

“We’ll Skype tomorrow. Compare notes on Fiji’s weather with the rain we’re expecting here in Seattle.”

I got the laugh I was trying for out of Sam. “I know. It won’t be the same, though.” Then he sighed. “Well, I hope you can get some decent sleep on the plane. Thirteen hour flights are no fun.”

I nodded in agreement, then stretched up to kiss my husband goodbye. I knew Sam wasn’t big on overzealous public displays of affection. Hell, neither was I, but I needed one last taste before leaving him for so long. It was an airport goodbye kiss, not a make-out session, so f**k anyone who was still bigoted enough to be “offended” by the sight of me giving my husband a farewell kiss. Much as I looked forward to this research trip, since I was heading back to the South Pacific—as opposed to Greenland, where I’d spent time two summers ago—I was not looking forward to the long separation from Sam any more than he was.

My younger, pre-Sam self would’ve fake-gagged at the sight of the two of us simpering and continuing to make eye contact as I threaded my way through security, but clearly I wasn’t that man anymore, since I didn’t give a damn right now what anybody thought. But eventually, with a final wave, blown kiss, and glimpse of Sam’s beautiful grin, I headed to my departure gate.

I thought of Sam again as I settled into the aisle seat directly behind the exit row over the right wing. He’d insisted that I get a seat as near as possible to one of the emergency exits. I always indulged his phobia even though I felt it was pointless.

I nodded at the businessman across the aisle from me as he settled into his seat and pulled a tablet out of his small carry-on bag. He dipped his head in return and gave me a friendly but rhetorical “How’s it going?” before turning to the screen in his hands.

I wondered what was bringing a man in a suit to Fiji, not that the idea was unheard of. Hell, I was heading there for work, myself, but I just didn’t need to wear a suit. More than likely he was getting off in Los Angeles, anyway. But he didn’t seem interested in real conversation, so I didn’t ask.

I closed my eyes and caught an early nap for the shorter Los Angeles leg of the flight. I dreamed of Sam and how, once we’d exhausted ourselves last night, I’d spent what had seemed like hours caressing his torso, carding my fingers through the flattened sandy blond hairs covering the gorgeous muscles of his chest, and following the trail up and down his taut abs, until finally his larger hand had stilled mine, and we’d fallen asleep.

We were opposites in so many ways, and yet perfectly matched. His quiet, thoughtful personality meshed seamlessly with my outgoing speak-before-you-think persona. My smaller, lean frame fit exquisitely against his larger, bulkier, muscled physique. I loved the way the dark hairs on my arm contrasted with the light sprinkling on his when he wrapped his strong arms around me, and the gentle smile he’d wear while combing his fingers through the springy dark mat on my chest.

In L.A., the businessman did not get off after all. We nodded again to each other when we saw we were each staying on board, but he turned back to his tablet, apparently making the point he wasn’t interested in generating small talk with strangers.

No problem. I stood to let an older couple into my row, then turned my attention to people watching and concocting stories about why they were on this flight to Fiji.

I decided the businessman was a tropical produce importer and was meeting with suppliers on the islands. I imagined that the older couple who’d sat next to me was enjoying an anniversary trip to their original honeymoon spot. I could have asked them, but, like the businessman, I didn’t want to open the door to a conversation that might end up being more than I bargained for.

I pretended the two women in front of me, who were clearly traveling with each other since they had their heads together giggling, were celebrating their respective divorce settlements with the dream vacation their ex-husbands never took with them. Then I admonished myself for creating such a mean-spirited history and changed it to fancying them as a lesbian couple on their own honeymoon.

The young man next to the window sitting by the “lesbian couple” seemed to be traveling alone, although he glanced around the plane a few times like he was searching for certain people, so I concluded he was traveling with others who’d bought their tickets separately. His story, I originally decided, was that he was a rich kid traveling on a whim with his trust-fund buddies. He just didn’t give off that vibe, though, so I changed it to being a college kid on an athletic scholarship, still traveling with his buddies, but using money he’d saved over the years from part-time jobs, and maybe some birthday and graduation gift cash.

That was as far as I got before the flight attendants called our attention to the standard safety procedures, and the plane taxied to the runway. I thought of Sam again as the plane took off. Take-off and landing were the worst parts of flying for him. He’d sit rigidly in his seat, clutching the arm rests with his eyes closed. He’d done that on our way to the Solomon Islands on our first trip together back when we were merely colleagues. By the return flight, he’d gripped my hand instead.

I recognized that take-off and landing really were the most dangerous parts of the flying experience. I didn’t have Sam’s phobia, though, so I was relaxed as the plane took off, as well as for the next couple hours as I flipped through the in-flight magazines stashed in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. I didn’t even have any trouble eventually falling asleep.

I liked to think of myself as a realistic optimist, or perhaps, more accurately, an optimistic realist. I recognized we were bound by the rules of nature, that facts and statistics were what they were whether I liked them or not, and life wasn’t necessarily fair. At times it could be exceedingly unfair, sometimes in my favor and sometimes against. I knew this from personal experience. So the realist in me said that flying was safer than driving. I’d certainly heard that statement enough times. I was pretty sure I’d even been guilty of using it on Sam.

I jerked awake when loud booms and clanking noises reverberated from somewhere behind me, and were echoed by a couple more bursts from the front. My ears popped painfully as the plane decompressed and the air rushed out. I froze in terror as it occurred to me that at least in a car you had some control over your own destiny, whereas in a plane you were likely totally f****d when something catastrophic happened.

That feeling was confirmed as the plane careened into a very steep, rattling, angled dive toward the ocean, far below. The oxygen masks dropped, and I instinctively reached up and fumblingly put mine on.

A brief strangled sob-like noise escaped me before I was able to choke it back. My fists clenched, and I fought to suppress the nausea churning in my gut.

I did my best to remain calm, and by that I meant retain some semblance of dignity in my final moments of life by not totally freaking out. That was no easy feat when surrounded by hundreds of screaming people as we all accelerated toward certain death.

The “life flashing before your eyes” thing we’ve all heard about was real. At least it was for me, although “flashing before my tightly closed eyelids” was probably a more accurate description. Moments from throughout my life raced through my mind, but I forced my thoughts to focus on Sam. I wanted to be thinking of him as I died.

I thought of the first time I’d told him I loved him. I sent a renewal of that love out to him and wished him happiness. I thought of a promise we’d once made to each other and hoped Sam would remember it, too, then my mind zipped back to the pathetic marriage proposal I’d made and apologized to him in my mind, because he deserved so much better.

I was hoping the end would be quick and painless, when awareness that the plane was levelling out broke through the trance. My first thought was “damn,” because I figured we were doomed regardless, but the quick and painless prospect was looking less likely if we hit at a shallower angle. I briefly regretted my reflexive grab for the oxygen mask, figuring that passed out might be a better way to go into the crash than fully conscious, but that regret was short-lived because having the opportunity to say my mental goodbyes to Sam was worth whatever I would face.

Hope surged through me as the pilot somehow managed to bring the plane back to a fully horizontal position. The plane rattled and shook alarmingly, so unless we were near land we were still probably screwed, but the realist in me was overpowered by the optimist for now.

The screams lessoned, then stopped, although several babies still howled. I held my hands together against my belly to stop their shaking. Whiny moans of various pitches and volumes still arose from all directions, punctuated occasionally by hysterical shouts to shut up. As grating as all of these reactions were—making an already stressful situation even more so—I wasn’t going to judge anyone’s natural response in such extraordinary circumstances.

No instructions came over the speaker system, but the flight attendants yelled from their seats, basically telling us to remain in our seats with our seatbelts fastened, and to put on—but not inflate yet—the inflatable life vests that were under the seats in front of us.

I did that, then noticed the older couple next to me doing the same. They’d managed to get their oxygen masks on. How pathetic was I, not even thinking of them after securing my own mask? Too late now. They were no longer necessary and were being removed so the vests could go on.

I reached out to touch the old lady’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

They appeared calm and accepting of whatever their fate was going to be. They nodded, and the old woman said, “Yes, we’re fine.”

Then the old man stretched his arm across to pat me on the leg. “We’re okay, sonny. Don’t you worry about us. We’ve had a good and long run, and if this is it, then at least we’ll get our wish to go together.”

I glanced at my wedding ring. As much as I wanted a mental connection with Sam right now, I was glad he wasn’t actually with me. If I survived another fifty years I’d likely be in agreement with that sentiment.

“You, on the other hand,” continued the old man, “have got most of your life ahead of you.” He nodded toward the exit in the row ahead of us. “Don’t you dare throw away your chance, if you get one, by delaying to try to help us. I don’t want that on my dying conscience.”