I again began to drift. “I mean, yes I survived a crash but am I still legally on duty?” Hugo spoke up.
“Mi amigo, after what you have experienced I believe legalities can be suspended.”
The first gift I received in my new life was the aid and guidance of this man. I started feeling giddy and spoke in a the way a child does when he believes he has gotten away with some act of mischief.
“Yeah, Bohemia.” The selection of my first beer was the right choice as I glanced over at Hugo seeking his approval. Diego rose and stood at attention, gave a salute and was out the door. Time passed as I sat and reflected. As a counterpoint to the vultures, the federal police and reporters who were still outside ready to pounce, neither Hugo nor Diego ever asked me a single question about the incident. “What went on Eddy?” “What Happened?” “Did you see them burning?” “Whose fault was it?” I sat and nourished the deepest respect for the quality of their character.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Hugo cautiously opened it a crack. He unfastened the latch and became excited.
“Mi amigo, we will have to postpone the bath, the beer has arrived.”
My eyes widened in surprise. I fixated on a large refrigerator that was quickly being wheeled into my room. I struggled to view the two hotel workers who hastened their task with relish. The thought pleased me that reporters and officials were desperately looking for me, yet the maids and cooks knew exactly who occupied that room, my hiding place. With the refrigerator placed and running, the two workers reached out to touch me. At first it seemed odd. Was I some lucky charm to rub for good fortune? Taking a second to look deep into their eyes, the lamps of their souls, they sought nothing for themselves. Mexico's common citizens were expressing their happiness at my great windfall: I'd survived Death's grasp. I realized that the people who were considered the least in society were the ones who were the most understanding. This accident was giving my confused mind the opportunity to recognize so much, yet there would be a great price for such life-altering knowledge.
Senor Diego Suarez de la Vega reentered the room and immediately sensed the sadness creeping back into me. He walked over to the side of the bed and bent down to whisper in my ear.
“Mexican hospitality has not been very good so far, eh mi amigo? Let me see if I can make it up to you!” With the grace of a ballet dancer, Diego gently flung open the door of the recently installed refrigerator. The light inside caused me to blink repeatedly, but once I was able to focus I spotted shelf after shelf of Bohemia Mexican Quality Beer. I sat on the bed paralyzed, seduced by the cold, wet brown bottles dressed with the noble warrior label. Another knock on the door announced the arrival of the cuisine as Hugo did the honors declaring “Una fiesta!”
“For you, happy birthday.” Diego handed me a cold bottle of suds and said,
“We all get one life, you get two.” We raised our vessels high. “Salud.” I gently kissed the mouth of the bottle and the coolness rushed down my parched throat. Somehow the small act of drinking a cold one seemed new, as if I was tasting the golden nectar for the first time.
“A new life indeed,” I began to laugh, to live once more. The first bottle went empty in a few seconds as Hugo wheeled over the dinner plates. “Taquitos!” The combination was too good to be true as my thoughts fell back to my family home: my father's special salsa on the table; my friend Tommy always arriving with the rations of beer needed for such a delightful meal. These were good thoughts.
“Compadres!” After the fourth beer the magic liquid formula transformed me into being joyful and foolish. I pictured my family rejoicing when given word of my survival. “My mother!” I exclaimed. “I have to call my mother!”
“Said like a true Latino,” Don Diego exclaimed. Grabbing the phone, I fell into a panic forgetting the dialing process. Diego took charge assuring me that he would secure the long distance call. I was relieved that my family was spared the cruel assault that plagues anyone consumed by the sorrow of such a loss, one thing I sincerely thanked God for that day. The pain, anger and hatred in my soul restricted any desire to seek further divine intervention. “Why should I? God was obviously absent for Reina or Javier.” New-found voices in my head made their point.
“Eduardo, I have the connection to your family.” Diego stated with excitement.
“Eddy, are you okay mijo?” The perfect comforter, a mother's expression of concern. It was good to hear her voice and to personally assure the family that I was fine and that I would be returning to Los Angeles very soon. The latter I was unsure of, but it was the right thing to say. The rest of the conversation was primarily reinforcing their belief that I was physically fine after staring at the awful pictures being displayed on the news. I thought to lighten the language.
“I'm sitting here at the hotel eating taquitos and everything is being taken care of.”
“Aye Eddy, you will never change.” My mother now laughed comfortably, filled with faith, believing that her previous night’s prayers had been answered. She could never comprehend just how much the wounds of this catastrophe were changing me. An airline representative had already called my parents and expressed to my mother that she could fly down to Mexico City to be with me if she so desired. My brother Mike, the detective with LAPD, also received the same invitation. The thought of Comandante Chavez still lingering somewhere in the shadows sent a chill up my spine. The last thing I wanted was my family to be subjected to his shenanigans. I was still on shaky ground, leery of the buzzards that circled and I wanted my loved ones far away from this crazy circus. Mike got on the phone and insisted he fly down, displaying an older sibling’s protection of his little brother.
“Are you sure you don’t need us?” I laughed and tried to assure them that all was being taken care of and I'd return home soon. Once again I would be proved wrong.
The call ended. I was filled with gratitude realizing how fortunate I was to have such a loving family. For the first time I reflected on the ordeals of the families of my deceased comrades, the devastation that was eating at their very souls. I felt shame for surviving, for blind fortune that allowed me to find a passage out of the fiery pit. I didn't know how to face this life I had been granted. There was too much pain, too much sorrow associated with living with this fortuity. There was a price to be paid, a permanent scar I would retain: my feelings concerning my crew mates families' burdens.
“You need to bathe, get the grime off you.” It was Hugo seeing to what needed to be done. I struggled to cast off my ragged uniform. With Hugo's help, we carefully tried not to open the sores where fabric melted into my blistered skin, mostly on my upper back and shoulders. My desire was to cleanse myself of everything- the soot, jet fuel, the sweat; but the filth in my soul took precedence. I wanted to relieve the anguish in the soothing waters but despair had taken control once again and I began to sob. As I grieved Hugo took to task, hanging up the burnt rags I had shed, and taking note of the sizes. My dear Mexican friend realized that I was going to need new clothes and he would be the one to see to that necessity.
Finally, Hugo gently assisted me into bed as I had developed a fever. I tried to shake it off, but the chills mounted as I wrapped myself tightly inside the blankets. My body began shaking and sweat overwhelmed me. All at once, the feeling I had felt at the moment of impact returned.
“It's going to be okay.” Exhaustion took over and I fell into a deep sleep.
I dreamed a lovely lady covered in a finely colored Spanish wrap hurried towards me, joyful that I had being given a second chance at life.
“Whatever you did in your past life does not matter.” she explained. “Only what is in front of you is important.” Many children passed by playing and laughing. Suddenly noticing me, they began to wave in earnest, directing the smaller kids to my presence. They seemed to be indicating that I was the one, the privileged soul who had crawled out of the fire. As I focused on them, I believed I was like a child, fresh and new upon the road of thi
s precious gift, this new life. My good feelings were soon overshadowed. I turned to find a tall, menacing figure standing behind me, hunched with a ragged long coat and a brown fedora shielding his face. The sinister being slowly raised his head to reveal the glistening shine of his ashen skull face.
“Dead is good,….life is bad.” The pathetic fiend began to giggle. Fear gripped tightly as I started to back away. Death's laughter grew raspy revealing abuse, desperation and hopelessness: the very things that sustain him. I realized I was once again clothed in the tattered remains of my flight attendant uniform. I wanted to run away but my injured legs would not respond to my commands. Still, I struggled to get away. “Esperate! Wait! Stay!” He commanded me “We belong dead.” His words echoed as I awoke in desperation. I shook with fear as this introduction to my new life had been vividly presented, a life I quickly decided I wanted no part of.
I took a moment to settle myself. I wanted only to remember pleasantries, which were few since the demise of 2605. I recalled Cary Diller's vibrancy.
“What are you doing up here, Mexican?” Her brash sarcasm brought a smile to my face. Then there was the baby of the flight, Karen Smitt, begging to switch workstations with me before we departed; a station, jumpseat and fate that should have been mine. Shame crept back into my conscience.
I really did not have much time to digest the nightmare. It was early morning and my body determined that it was going to be the primary tormentor of my day. It hurt to breathe. I turned on the TV. Ridding myself of the soot, the visible damage was not that bad considering the images I now saw on the television. The crash site was a cruel mess. Within a short time there was a soft knock on the door.
My initial reaction was to panic, believing it might be the sinister federal officer. But then I realized that Primitivo Chavez would have been more inclined to break down the door. I was still reluctant to respond and wished Hugo would return. Finally I climbed out of bed and crept to the door. Peeking through a crack, I viewed a blonde American lady in business attire. She looked familiar. It was Daisy Ackley, Senior Manager of Inflight Services.
“Eduardo?” I lost confidence.
“Yeah?”
“Oh Eduardo.” Stepping forward she swung the door open as I stood there dressed in a white bath towel.
“Oh dear.” A firm embrace followed. “You okay? Is there anything you need?” I was one of her children, one of her flight attendants of our airline. “It's terrible. Are you sure you are feeling okay?” My muscles began to spasm and Daisy saw me grimace. I tried to change the focus.
“I'm glad you're here, now can you get me back home?”
“There's a lot to do but I will work hard to get you home as soon as possible.” She did care, her eyes said it. I did not envy her role in this madness. There were devastated families and she would be called upon to face them in the airline's name. I had not considered how the associates of the company were dealing with the incident as it unfolded. To airline workers throughout the world, a major crash is the most feared situation. It would also prove to be the ultimate magnet for unification.
I don't know why but it surprised me to see the impact of the accident on Daisy's face. She was extremely emotional, it cut straight to her soul. I found myself wondering how many of the dead, her other “children,” had she personally known. There was a pause then her attitude changed. Her back stiffened and she assumed a more business like posture. Then came a few quick words for me but the words were only to pro forma fulfill a burden placed on her; she was preparing the naive wounded flight attendant for the deluge, the company men coming to the rescue. The door to my room flew wide open and the circus arrived, all three rings: the management types, the lawyer species, and the corporate entities.
Deep in shock I found myself nearly naked and in the middle of my own emotions. I quickly hobbled back into bed and pulled the covers over me like a frightened child, hoping they would all just go away. I was firmly loyal to the company, but in these people with their very official looking suits and all, I saw the same thing. The final judgment must come out and it began then and there in my hotel room. Preparations must be made for that day when the multimillion dollar lawsuits would crop up, for the advertising image, for all the corporate realities by which they would ultimately be assessed. I felt as if the incident was being dehumanized. I could see a time when there would no longer exist a single human issue. It was government versus airline versus government versus petty official versus pilot versus government, and forever until the next circus grabbed our attention. They repelled me, first by their attitude, second by their fake concern towards him.
I was holding audience, but in control of no one. I was being controlled, I reflected on the reporters; this was no different. I was still a pawn but this pawn had a choice, not white or black, but a selection of grays. It was time for me to pick the best chance for survival as “right or wrong” lost its applicability: only I mattered.
The lawyers, supervisors, management people and investigative pilots were quickly introduced. Panicking, I found myself frustrated so I countered by dealing with them head on, looking straight into their eyes. Just then, to my great delight, Hugo arrived carrying what I perceived to be my new wardrobe. He was taken aback at the proceedings. He placed the cloths into the closet then bulldozed his way through to me. He could see the hurricane that had overtaken his young friend so he grabbed a cold Bohemia from the stocked fridge and offered it to me. Certainly there would be no objection to the “hero” as the Mexican newspapers were now referring to me, quenching his thirst. Thanks to Don Diego I had a never-ending supply.
“We need to leave Eduardo to rest.” Daisy picked up on my uneasiness. The group left. “My room is right next to you. If there is anything you need I'll be there.” I was unsure about my senior manager but I needed all the friends I could get.
“Thanks Daisy. I appreciate your support.” Hugo closed the door and I embraced security in my Mexican friend.
“There is much more of this to come.” Hugo wanted me to be ready.
“That may be so but for now grab me another beer.” The company agent smiled. With two beers down there was another knock on the door. Since I was in the control of and therefore, in the protection of the company, I had expected this to be a harmless intrusion. It turned out to be my AFA union representatives.
“Eduardo, we are here to take care of you. You do not have to talk to anyone, especially from management. We are here to guard you.” A curly haired young lady stepped forward to take charge. I was incredulous. Just where in the hell had all these people been yesterday when I was getting my senses pounded by the vile comandante? Now they had the audacity to “take over” which confused me. I pulled the covers up once again.
“You don't have to tell them one thing. You have rights.”
I was trapped once more, this time between the union and management. Before this day Flight Attendant Eddy Valenciana had minimal familiarity with either of them. Now, I had to choose. I quickly downed another Bohemia. I tried to focus logically.
Reva Grayson, as she was introduced, seemed able to do her job: protecting me, a union member, from the clutches of management. Despite the concern these contesting sides were trying to show me, their real concern was apparent; they were emphasizing the importance of “the proper channels” as if the channels are the things to be preserved, not the people they are intended to serve.
“Time out,” I shouted, making the “T” sign with my blistered hands. The room fell silent.
“I don’t want to play this game.”
What I didn't see was that playing the game was precisely what I was destined to do: the governments' game, the company’s game, the union’s game, the press and so on.
My battered, lacerated, blistered, hairless body arose from the bed with the assistance of Hugo. Clad only in a bath towel, I was diplomatic in assuring Reva that all was well and I led her to the door. Senor Garcia happily latched the door for good measure. Once
peace was restored, I locked eyes with Hugo. We began to laugh at the absurdity of the whole affair.
My mind was in a whirl. The door had been shut firmly by the one man who saw clearly through the “bull.” Hugo could see the disappointment in my face. This simple man of royal ancestry was pulling for the stubborn, cunning boy from East L.A. We sat in silence enjoying our efforts at intoxication. Without a word about union options and despite the fact that he was a company man, he knew that I had no need for one more ounce of pressure or advice.
The phone rang. It was Skip's parents. It turned out that he was enduring his own ordeal at the British American Hospital in the city. The damage to his leg was significant but he was in one piece. His parents had arrived in Mexico City and were joyous at their son’s survival.
“We want to thank you for saving him.” The words threw me for a loop.
“What?”
“We know what you did.” A female voice spoke from the background. “Yes, thank you.” My God, people were believing all that crap in the newspapers.
“Skip saved himself, I was just lucky to find him.” I wanted to set the record straight. They owed me nothing. My attitude is and always will be that praise should come from conscious acts, not instinctive reactions. They were under the mistaken impression that I had sustained a broken leg. They continued to show gratitude before hanging up to return to their son’s side.
Hugo was now gone. The lifeline that had been so important to me was no longer there and the company was in full charge. I would learn that the management's hotel rooms surrounded mine. The wagons seemed to be circling for the charge of the invading media that was sure to discover us.
I was in Daisy's charge, The Senior Manager of Inflight Services had been a flight attendant herself before throwing her hat into the ring of male-dominated management. My superior was a strong supporter of Mario Reddick and as his star rose, so did Daisy's. A blond, blue eye stern woman, she personally accepted the role of “mother hen” for her flock of flight attendants at LAX. She took the deaths of the junior crew of 2605 extremely hard and had hurried to Mexico City to do what needed to be done. Later it would be revealed that Daisy Ackley made the majority of initial identifications of the dead crew.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 22