"Window Seat"
(David Trinidad)
How much closer are we to the moon?
Tonight it's a mere crescent in
an altogether black sky somewhere
over Kansas, or so the voice of our
captain assures us. I've already
forgotten how many thousands of feet
he said we're flying at. I've also
forgotten how many cocktails the iden-
tical blonde stewardesses have brought
me. I feel, well, like a crossword
puzzle: 5 down, an alcoholic beverage
served on airplanes in tiny bottles,
begins with S-C-O. Back in New York
City, the boys are undoubtedly flirt-
ing with the boys at the Boy Bar.
How I wish I were still there, wide-
eyed anmd excited, in that flurry of
good-looks. Up here, in the section
where smoking's permitted, I'm fin=
gering an empty matchbook and a few leftover
subway tokens. They're as
useless now as the valium I took
on the bus to the airport. Most of my
fellow passengers, however, have nodded
off. Others rented headsets, muf-
fling the purity of the soundless film
on the small screen, a romantic comedy
I observe with little interest until
sudden turbulence signals a familiar
"plink" and FASTEN SEATBELT lights up
overhead. My eyelids are leaden. I'm
too tired to obey. What time is it
on the coast this flight is speeding
toward, enabling me to regain the
three hours I willfully abandoned
last week? But what would I have done
with them then, except sleep and dream?
"Window Seat" by David Trinidad originally appeared in the final issue of Jack Skelley's Barney: The Modern Stone Age Magazine (March 1984).
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