Suspended Particles Of Matter On A Boeing 737

Suspended Particles Of Matter On A Boeing 737

Picture a public setting, say a Starbucks coffee shop, in Anytown, USA. In this coffee shop are a random assemblage of strangers, say seven or eight, milling around the service counter. Like an assortment of quite similar, yet different, links in a human chain grouped together in a small area by chance and common purpose. They appear self-consciously aware of their difference. As if the difference belied the similarity that supposedly defined them as a chain. There's a strange furtiveness in their milling behavior. A wariness of proximity. Accidental glances pretending casual innocence; a slight smile in defense of guilt. Coffee in hand they visually sweep the shop with practiced indifference in hopes of avoiding further proximity. Once settled, they seal themselves inside their deflector shields they call cell phones and laptops. But of course none of these strangers could be links in a human chain, their links would have been connected. Goddess knows what planets these strangers could be from. Could be a planet from the Black Eye Galaxy. It's a galaxy way out there; probably accustomed to being isolated and alone.

It was 1984. The year, not the book. I was on a Boeing 737, aisle seat, mid-coach, on an evening flight out of San Francisco heading back home to Eugene. It was the first weekend in June and the still bright blue sky at 32,000 feet argued with my darkening mood. We reached cruising altitude and the fasten seat belt light blinked off. It had been the fourth in a row three day weekend with my parents in Aptos, a small community south of Santa Cruz named by the Native Americans who lived there for thousands of years thousands of years before my parents arrived there. My father, my personal favorite hero and steadfast friend, had chosen to die from prostate cancer at home. It was a choice my mother supported, but it was more than she could deal with. I was completely empty, tapped out, of good will toward the universe. About a dozen rows ahead, a long-haired guy in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt stands up and yells loudly, “Hi everybody! I'm Rob! I'd like to come by if you don't mind and say hello!” Guy next to me leans over to see Rob and says, “Jeezus. It never fails, I'm on this flight twice a month … every flight seems it's a crying baby or a four hundred pounder in the aisle seat or something … never seen this though.” “Who had?” I thought. I half nod at my seatmate and resume watching Rob who is now shaking hands with passengers and getting them to meet each other as he moves in our direction. I note that everybody in the front half of the cabin is watching all this and like me probably trying to figure out where the candid camera was hiding. “Don't you dig meeting new people,” he says to a lady two rows up while introducing her to her seat mate. She appeared to be a college student and her seatmate was an Asian man. I'm thinking, "What could they possibly have in common?" Turned out they found something. Guy next to me shrinks in his seat and rolls his eyes as Rob get closer; he mutters, “he's either crazy or from another planet; we're not alone you know." Two flight attendants start their beverage cart routine and quit. Too many folks in the aisle talking to each other. “Heeere's Robbie” smiles and extends his hand. I grin as I think, “my seatmate is about to make contact with an alien or a crazy person, this is too perfect.” But he surprises me, sits up taller than he is, reaches across me, shakes Crazy Rob's hand with both his hands and doesn't let go. Picture that. I've got three hands and three arms in front of my face, two strangers, albeit one stranger than the other, looking at each other and saying the standard stuff. “How ya doing, man? Going home?” “Yeah. I gotta do this twice a month for my job … no big deal ... you been surfing? You look like a surfer to me Rob, bet you were down at Santa Cruz.” I'm looking back and forth at these guys wondering when they're going to let go of each other. Next moment Rob and I are saying hello. We're shaking hands. I tell him my name. He tilts his head, looks at me intently, continues holding my hand, and says, “Dude, I've seen you someplace before … do any surfing around Rio Del Mar Beach?” I think, “Are you kidding me?” I reply, “No. But my dad and I swim there together a lot, we could have bumped into each other.” And then this. An arrow in my heart from a crazy alien cupid. He says, “Yeaaah, Yeaaah. I remember him too. That's gotta be it! What's the chances! Be sure and say hi to your dad for me! Great seeing you again!” And he moved on to the next row, leaving me in tears. Jack, my seatmate introduces himself and starts up a conversation about something, I forget what, that lasted for the rest of the flight. The Boeing 747 cabin was a chat fest. You needed to be there to believe it. It was like a fifty year class reunion where nobody remembers or cares who had been friends with who. He said he remembered my dad. My father swam about a mile every day off Rio Del Mar beach, fifty yards out, in a thin rubbery garment that was insulation only in his imagination. Now my father was almost bedridden, he couldn't make it to the recliner in the living room on his own, he was shriveling up, his body tormented in spite of the morphine. It's so strange. We compete against death as if we think we are going to win and we compete against life as if we think we are going to lose. And neither is a competition. We're just a bunch of suspended particles of matter moving together on a tiny planet through a tiny window of time. What is there that stops us from meeting each other while there's still time? What is there to lose by simply saying, “hello, how are you” to fellow particles of matter on a Boeing 737? Jack hears laughter from the front of the cabin and stands up. “Jeezus, look at that, the crazy guy has people up there high fivin' each other! The seat belt light comes on. I can't quite remember where Rob was sitting. When we got off the 737 in Eugene, Rob seemed to disappear into the darkness beyond the narrowly lighted tarmac. It's a pretty good distance back into Eugene's terminal and Jack and I weren't the only ones looking around for him. The twenty or so of us at the baggage carousel were in no hurry for our stuff. It was 'what about Rob time' around the carousel. His mysterious disappearance fueled speculation that Rob was either whisked away in some sort of legal custody or, as Jack insisted, he was from another planet and could disappear whenever he wanted. I looked for Rob as I drove away from the airport. Just in case he needed a ride to his spaceship or anywhere else he wanted to go. I hope he's out there somewhere spreading good will because I owe him for renewing mine. And, of course, for remembering my dad.