by Geoff North
Shortly before six in the morning she started rooting around in the glove box. The headache was getting worse. I should’ve taken his credit card and the Advil. She found a half-pack of cigarettes and lit one up. She hadn’t smoked in over two weeks—another stupid habit she was trying to give up. The nicotine buzz went to work within seconds, dulling the pain in her brain. Dawn peered through the blue smoke at the open glove box and saw something sticking out from under her western Canada roadmap.
She pulled the little plastic bottle of rye out and eyed what was left inside. It hadn’t even been cracked. How did you get in there? Dawn’s heart was hammering. Her head was pounding. The cigarette wasn’t helping that much. I’m cold. The alcohol will keep me warm.
She could’ve thought of another dozen excuses why but didn’t bother.
Dawn removed the lid and started to drink.
Chapter 4
One of the only pleasant things Ray took away from the Riu Bambu—after the swimming— was seeing the condition Charlie Fitz had put himself in on their morning of departure. The Russian girl on his lap had elbowed him in the nose when his hands had traveled too far south. The girl’s brother showed up a few moments later and blackened both of his eyes. Needless to say, Charlie didn’t end up with a better than five-hundred average. Calvin had to help him back to their room and settle him into bed with a bag of crushed ice pressed against his face. Charlie vomited most of the night away, and when Ray saw him again at the buffet, the arrogant doctor could barely keep down his breakfast which consisted of a single glass of lukewarm apple juice. He looked like one of those mimes that perform in parks and circuses—as white as a ghost with purplish-black rings around his eyes that hadn’t been painted on.
Dooley appeared at their table with a plate of scrambled eggs, six strips of undercooked bacon, and a glass of mango juice. He had a shit-eating grin plastered on his round face. Charlie groaned and looked down at the floor between his knees. Calvin told him for about the hundredth time that he had nobody to blame but himself.
“I didn’t hear you come back to the room last night,” Ray said. “What kind of mischief did you get into?”
Dooley slurped a piece of bacon between his lips and continued to smile. He reminded Ray of a chubby Charles Manson when he grinned like that—minus the little swastika on his forehead and the psychopathic disposition. “Well?” Ray asked. “Are you going to tell us what you did?”
“You don’t necessarily need to be a handsome doctor to have a good time.”
Charlie looked back up. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Marta... the waitress. We ended up back at her place.”
Checking out of the resort was quick and hassle-free. Ray had the impression most of the RIU staff would be happy to see them gone, especially the raccoon-eyed Charlie Fitz. The bus ride to the airport took fifteen minutes longer than it had going to the resort seven days earlier due to Charlie’s forced puking stop. He eventually dragged himself back in after the driver threatened to leave.
It took another forty-five minutes of standing in sweltering hot line-ups to weigh luggage, have passports checked, and receive boarding passes. Calvin talked most of the morning away about how much he would miss the heat, the limitless rum, and the freedom of smoking cigars anywhere he wanted. Dooley went on and on about Marta, and how he figured the two of them may have fallen in love. Charlie didn’t speak at all. None of Ray’s friends asked what he’d done with his final night. He didn’t tell them about his mother. Why would he?
Their plane lifted into the air a few minutes shy of one in the afternoon. Ray watched from his window seat as the browns and greens of the tropical island gave way to the deep blue of Caribbean Sea. The distant whitecaps receded, becoming a pattern of a million indistinguishable little waves. It reminded Ray of a carpet—a swatch of ocean the same size as his rectangular window. The swatch changed color again as water turned white and the jet ascended into clouds.
The seat next to Ray was empty. Dooley sat by the aisle, giving both men room to stretch out. Ray pulled his carry-on out from under the seat ahead and found a sweater within. He bunched it up into a ball and rested the side of his head against the window frame. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the engines continuing to power up. Flying didn’t scare Ray, but it didn’t excite him all that much either. Once the push of takeoff had passed, he found it not unlike riding in a bus. The seats were uncomfortable, almost everything around him was constructed of plastic, and the mild turbulence wasn’t all that dissimilar to the small potholes and bumps of a highway. Ray was exhausted with worry over his mother and daughter. The depression that had almost driven him to suicide twenty hours earlier wasn’t helping. He would sleep the five-hour flight away, suspending the troubles of his existence for a short while.
“I’m giving my notice at the hospital when we get back,” Dooley said.
Ray didn’t open his eyes. He held his breath and remained perfectly still. Sleep was what he wanted, not a heart-to-heart with his best friend.
Dooley didn’t take the hint. “I was kind of half-ass joking with Marta, but she didn’t try talking me out of it. She wants me to come back. She thinks I could get work at one of the resorts... you know—maintenance stuff like we do back home. Things are constantly breaking down in the hot climate... air conditioners, compressors. What do you think, Ray? Am I being stupid? Would you call it impetuous behavior?”
Ray placed the balled-up sweater on his lap. “Probably. That’s what most people would say to you. But then again, what do most people know? They work eight to five, sometimes longer. They go home and eat crappy food, watch crappy television, and go to sleep. Then they get wake up and go back to their crappy jobs and do it all over again.”
Dooley paused, remembering the talk the two had started the evening before. “Hey, man, sorry I brought it up. I guess none of us really want things to keep on going like they are. Maybe a change is what we both need. It’s not like either one of us are heading home from that crappy job to a loving wife or kids anymore.”
Ray leaned over and whispered. “If you were smart, you would’ve stayed in the Dominican. Things may or may not have worked with Marta, but at least you’d be doing something different. You’re absolutely right—we don’t have to worry about wives and kids anymore. They’ve left us. You have nobody but yourself to worry about. You know what I’d do if I was you? I wouldn’t even leave the airport once we get back. Buy a ticket and come right back. Marry that waitress and enjoy the rest of your life.”
“Jesus, you’re serious.”
“You knew what I was up to when you came out into the water to get me. How much more serious can a guy get?”
Dooley had forgotten about Marta and starting a new life. He was about to resume the uncomfortable talk with Ray when a female flight attendant interrupted. “Would you gentleman care for anything to drink? I have coffee, tea, apple or orange juice.”
There was a sudden jolt before either could respond. Ray felt the seatbelt grab at his waist as his stomach lurched up into his chest. The flight attendant grabbed onto the headrest ahead of Dooley with one hand and steadied the drink cart with the other. A monotone ding chimed, and the fasten seatbelt sign lit up above Ray’s head. Someone a few seats behind cried out. It was hard telling if it was a man or a woman. There was a second bump of turbulence, and the pilot’s reassuring voice sounded over the speakers for everyone to remain calm.
The flight attendant disappeared up the aisle with her cart, and drew the curtain shut behind her near the front of the cabin.
That can’t be good, Ray thought. She’s probably fastening up into that little bench by the front door with the other flight attendants. They don’t want us to see.
There was a second big lurch and a second scream. Ray heard a moan follow it and realized Charlie Fitz had been responsible for both. A third jolt—harder than the first two—had more people yelling and crying out. Dooley was tapping on Ray
’s leg like a child needing to go to the washroom desperately. “To hell with starting over. To hell with the Dominican, and to hell with Marta. I just want this goddamn plane to land in one piece.”
The ride smoothed out, but the warning lights remained on. Ray took a deep breath and looked out the window. The plane was floating along above an endless bank of clouds. We’ve risen above the turbulence. Things should be okay now.
A female voice spoke next to him. “What a terrible day to fly for the first time in my life.”
Ray felt the hair on his left arm stand. A cold rush washed over that side of his face, like walking past an open door in the dead of winter. The voice spoke again, familiar and old—a chilling blast from his childhood. “In all my years, I never saw the need to travel. Where do all these people go? What are they trying to get away from?”
Ray forced his head to turn. Sitting in the seat between him and Dooley was his grandmother. She was wearing one of those dresses Ray remembered. It was black with white dots all over, the kind of dress the old woman used to wear out to social functions and church. She used to call it her out-and-about dress. Flying in a jet a few thousand miles from home was out-and-about, Ray figured. That part of it seemed believable enough.
“Gramma?”
The old woman continued to stare straight ahead, mumbling her thoughts aloud and ignoring those around her as she always did. “It’s a horrible, unnatural thing... flying. We have no right to be up here. Men and women belong on the ground. Too many people die like this... attempting the impossible. The impossible. The ridiculous.”
Ray looked at her legs. Her big knees were poking out from the hem of her dress, propped up against the seat ahead uncomfortably. She really was a tall woman, Ray thought dumbly. He leaned forward and saw her black shoes, the ones with the gold buckles that made her look like a Quaker. And those heels only make it worse. I guess I can thank Gramma’s side of the family for being so tall.
“Rude boy,” she snapped. “You shouldn’t stare.” She pinched the skin on the back of his hand. “Your mother did an awful job raising you.”
“Don’t talk bad about Mom. She’s dying.”
“We’re all dying,” the old woman hissed. Ray could smell the rot on her breath. “We’re all dying or were already dead. Most are just too stupid to realize it.”
“Go away, Gramma... Go away and leave me alone.”
“Rude little boy,” she repeated. “I’ll leave now if that’s what you want.”
Ray nodded his head and stared back out the window, trying to will the sound of her voice away. “You’re dead. You’re gone.”
“Thank heaven for that. Did I mention this was my first time flying? Horrible... a dreadful thing. Hang on to the armrests, Raymond... It’s going to be a rough ride.”
The cold dissipated. Ray looked over and saw his sweater and carry-on bag in the seat next to him. Dooley was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you alright?”
Ray didn’t get the chance to answer. It felt as if a mountain had smashed into the top of the plane. The seatbelt pulled at his waist again and dug in harder. Ray cried out with Charlie and a hundred other passengers as the tough fabric sliced into his pelvic bone. A dozen cups of coffee and tea slammed into the cabin ceiling and poured back over the heads and shoulders of passengers below.
There was an intense pain in Ray’s head, and he went momentarily deaf. A double pop blew his ears open and he could feel the blood rushing up into his brain as the massive airliner began to plunge down. Everything was screaming—passengers, engines. Ray became aware of an intense pain coming from his left hand. Dooley’s finger nails were clawing into the skin where his grandmother had pinched him.
That’ll leave a mark.
He stared at his friend’s sweaty face. Something was covering his nose and mouth. It trailed up above him, making Dooley appear like an enraged elephant blowing its snout. An oxygen mask, Ray thought dimly. He saw his lying in his lap and cuffed it away dismissively.
I don’t need that. I don’t want it.
Ray found his sweater again and rested it between his head and the edge of the window. The clouds vanished, and the sea rose up to meet them.
I should’ve done it yesterday when I had the chance. I should’ve breathed in.
Crashing into the water with close to two-hundred other poor souls wasn’t how Ray wanted things to end. He had wanted to die alone. At least he’d spoken to his daughter one last time. She said that she loved him. Ray had told her the same. Yeah, now’s as good a time as any. Go ahead, ocean. Do your stuff.
There was another lurch and Ray felt his body pressing into the seat. The strain of his safety belt digging into his lower abdomen lessened. They were going back up. There were a few more minor bumps and thumps as the plane climbed back up. The pilot’s voice came over the speakers again, still calm and self-assured, apologizing for the rough ride.
Ray could hear people crying all around him. Some were thanking God, claiming it a miracle. A few were taking the experience less spiritually, threatening legal action as soon as they landed. Calvin Riese was grinning across the aisle from Ray and Dooley. “We’re gonna be on the news tonight, fellas. Mark my words. They love these kind of survival stories.”
Ray wasn’t so sure about that. Big planes hit major turbulence every day. The only thing news worthy about it may have been the mess left behind in the cabin. The flight attendants reappeared, picking up scattered carry-on bags and empty drink containers. The stale air reeked of vomit and cold coffee. A few people started cheering and clapping.
What the hell is there to celebrate? I was ready to die. Again.
Ray unwrapped Dooley’s fingers from his hand and stared back down at the ocean. They were still too high up to see the waves. He had come a lot closer to death the day before, but there was something more final about this surprise attempt. A loved one—if his grandmother could be considered that—had visited him seconds earlier. What had that been all about? Perhaps dying wasn’t as easy as he thought. Maybe death was a long, drawn out struggle like life. It was something you had to work your ass off for.
Dooley finally spoke. “I’m still quitting my job, Ray.” His voice was an octave or two higher than normal. The oxygen mask was resting on top of his gut, stuck to his sweat-stained shirt. “Maybe I’ll travel back to the Dominican, and maybe I won’t, but Marta’s going to have to wait a while longer. Next time I’m driving down to the tip of Florida and taking a fricking boat the rest of the way.”
Their plane landed in Winnipeg four hours later without further incident. There were no news crews waiting past Customs, but Ray saw a lot of warmer-than-usual reunions at the luggage carousel. There had been a flurry of text-messaging and phone calls while the plane pulled in across the tarmac. Maybe their close call would make it to the second or third page of the newspapers the following morning. Ray didn’t care one way or the other. He looked around the mull of people, searching for Dawn.
The four men shook hands and promised to do it again the following year. Ray agreed but was certain he wouldn’t be returning to the Caribbean. His traveling days were almost over. He only had one more trip to make.
Calvin and Charlie retrieved their luggage first. Fitzy was looking almost human again. The in-flight incident had scared him completely sober, and the color had finally returned to his face. The two set off to the parking lot leaving Ray and Dooley behind with a hundred other weary travelers waiting for their bags.
“I’m not driving back to Rokerton with you, Dooley.”
Delbert Doole chuckled. “Is it about me holding your hand on the plane? Give me a break, I thought I was going to die.”
“No, seriously. I got word last night my Mom had some kind of attack. She’s not expected to make it out of the hospital.”
“Oh, Ray... I’m so sorry. And here I was being such a dick talking about me and Marta. You should’ve told me sooner.”
“No point. It is what it is.” His ba
g appeared on the carousel. He hoisted it off and clapped his friend on the back. “I’m staying in the city until I can get a flight out to Kelowna. I’ll see you back at work in a week or two.” He started away, feeling guilty for that final lie.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Dooley caught up to him and spun him around. “You can’t keep bottling stuff like this up. I’m your friend, for Christ’s sake. Let me help. At least let me spend the night with you... see you off on your next flight.”
“I’m good. Dawn’s meeting me here. I’ll probably stay at her place.” Ray looked around, wondering for the third or fourth time where his daughter was. “You should stay in the city, too. Buy that ticket and go back to the Dominican as soon as you can.”
Dooley looked at the floor and gave his head a wag to one side. “That was foolish talk. A fat old guy dreaming.”
Ray did something completely unexpected. He leaned in and kissed Dooley’s forehead. “It isn’t foolish finding happiness again. Do it. Buy the ticket and fly back.”
Dooley stared up at him. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe... maybe I’ll do that. What about you? Can I leave and know you’re going to be okay—that you’re not going to try anything stupid?”
“I’m going to say goodbye to my Mom. There’s nothing stupid about that.” He turned and left. Dooley didn’t try to stop him again. The doors slid open and Ray stepped out into the late autumn afternoon. There was a line of vehicles parked along the curb, mostly taxis, shuttle vans, and limousines, but no sign of his daughter’s car. Ray was starting to get worried. He walked the length of the airport entrance and came to the outdoor smoking area.