“Assholes!”
No matter how I tried to resist, ginger ale or not, the ritual purging was still performed on the concrete of the parking facility. Once concluded, I headed back to my home in total disgust. I do not remember falling asleep that night but I awoke the next morning to a phone call from Scheduling advising me that I would be working a two-day trip with a long layover in Portland, Oregon. I must have gone through the motions of getting ready, packing my suitcase. I have no memory of performing the task or the drive down Pacific Coast Hwy. to the airport.
“I would have had the company write me a check for a million dollars,” The words of the suave Maurice haunted my inner soul and clouded my ability to focus. LAS was the first leg of that two day voyage and I spoke few words while in the air to anyone, whether passengers or my flight mates.
“Are you okay, Eddy?” The concerned senior F/A asked.
“Alright? Do I look f###ing alright?” The blood suckers are not satisfied with pillaging the remains of my aeroplane, my friends. No! Now they want to tear my heart out and display it as a war prize. I was lost in a dream. I remained silent.
“Eddy, I asked if you are okay.” I snapped to attention.
“What? Oh, yeah I'm fine, tired from a heavy workout that's all.” I quickly walked to the back of the jetliner to find seclusion.
That night in Portland the four off-duty cabin crew-members decided to have dinner together. We were joined by Gretchen, another F/A who lived in PDX but was an SFO commuter. She was a senior gal who was well known and liked in the company. As was par for the course when I went out with the crew on any given layover, the atmosphere seemed very tense to me, like walking on eggshells.
Gretchen was a free spirit with a broad smile. She had a relaxed professional manner that was highlighted by her rousing laughter that made her curly hair shake in delight. She would constantly having to adjust her bifocals because of her laughter.
We enjoyed a fine meal and had a few glasses of red wine. Then, sweet-faced flight mate Tory mused,
“I don't know how you still get on the plane after what you went through.”
“I have to, I'm broke. The company has not been paying me for the time I've missed since our 10 crashed and burned.” Of course Edmundo would never make such a statement in an effort to please his crew-mates. Instead, I offered this bull shit; “When you fall off a horse you just have to get back on.”
“If I were you, I would be down on my knees every night thanking God.” The words came from the wise and respected Gretchen as she stared deep into my eyes, smiling. I thought I was going to erupt. Sure, it was clear to me that she only wished the best for me, making a statement that was shared by those at the table and so many more in the company. But Gretchen, like Maurice before her, was making an assumption about a situation she could not fathom even in her worst nightmare. To my well-meaning associate it was a simple matter of life and death. By her speculations, her God, had intervened in a grand manner to extract the wretched soul that now sat at the table breaking bread with them. She was completely void of the plague that was the cost of that recovered life. They were blind to the continuing torment, the one thing I was sure they did not want to hear about, heaven forbid such a thing be allowed to be integrated into their memory.
“Why don't you girls asked me if it is true that the massive “G” forces caused passengers to be decapitated?” Edmundo would not allow such discussion at the table. Also, none of these dear friends sitting comfortably at the hotel restaurant in PDX that night wanted to be told that several of their fellow flight attendant's families would not be compensated financially because the deceased had been in their probationary period.
“I think about God a lot,” I responded. What I did not add was that I wondered where the hell this God was on the morning of October 31. Disdain for Gretchen's words caused me to wish that she be burdened with Javier's gruesome screams, if only for one night. I thought about the crippling convulsions I suffered on my bedroom floor most nights. I slowly picked up the glass of wine in my right hand and stared into the deep rich color. I gazed back at the four faces that waited for me to finish my statement. “Believe me Gretchen, I spend a lot of time at night on my knees.” I finished the last of the wine. The ladies were pleased with the words I offered.
I exited the aircraft at LAX completing my pantomime with smiles and well wishes. I quickly headed for the flight lounge with a scowl on my face and the thought of just getting on the next flight for HNL. Robert, a young, good looking F/A who had graduated from training just a few classes behind mine, joined me on a sofa where I was trying to find a moment of tranquility.
“Now that's not such a pleasant look for such a handsome man.” Yes, Robert was gay and proud of it, and always a fun person to work with on any given flight. He was easy going and didn't let any caustic aspects of life burden him. He was honest-a character trait I found missing in some people these days.
“I need a break from all this crap,” I blurted out in frustration. The impeccably dressed F/A laughed.
“Stop the world and let me get off,” he declared with an animated gesture. “You got any days off?” I looked at my friend with a suspicious glare “Me and eight others are catching the flight to Acapulco and you're welcome to join us.” The fly boys were looking to invade the Mexican Riviera. I was going into days off and I had my stack of hoarded passes. I had just enough time to drive to my nearby residence to change.
“Sounds good-I'm in!”
I raced through the tunnel underneath the runways at LAX on Sepulveda Blvd., filled with excitement in anticipation of another adventure unlike any I had been on before. I wondered what my dear mother would say of my impulsive decision.
“Hey mom, I will be out of town for a few days. I am going on vacation with nine gay guys.”
I laughed with glee, I figured this escapade or at least the tequila enjoyed would grant me some peace if only for awhile.
Eight of my cohorts were F/A's, five were based with me at LAX, two were from SFO and the ninth was a partner of one of the SFO guys. Arriving at the gate for the flight I was struck by the reaction of the public who sat waiting to board, particularly the women. Each of my travel partners would be considered by most as extremely good looking men. Dressed with style, they had an eye-catching aura about them. I saw ladies, some young, some not so much, whispering to each other. Two girls were overheard, wondering if the boys were models maybe, traveling to some photo shoot on the beaches of Acapulco. Little did they know that my friends would be more interested in meeting their brothers, than them. I enjoyed the irony, playing it cool.
One thing became very clear once in the air, I would not be burdened by the prophetic phrase that the Almighty had great plans for me. I was simply Eddy, a dear friend on holiday. I was allowed to leave Edmundo stranded at the gate.
“I'm a flight attendant also, and I would like to know some of what you know. Someday that information could be very beneficial if I find myself in an emergency situation,” said Gilbert. I welcomed his refreshing sincerity. Maybe they recognized that I was carrying an excess of mental luggage.
“We all know you have been through a lot of crap and we respect you for that,” Jason, another of the F/A's stated. I felt these eight were men of true character and was happy to be in their company.
Once again on the streets of the tropical port, the reaction from both local and tourist women was profound. Nine handsome, well-groomed male figures turned heads as we strolled along the seashore. I took to lagging a few steps behind the pack enjoying the display and reaction from the multitudes. It was even more evident at night when the finely dressed men entered one of the many renowned nightclubs. Our group now walked into the ballroom of El Pajarito Azul, a disco warehouse with flashing and spinning lights of every sort and color. A constant rhythmic beat filled the air. The ladies went wild. Within a few minutes, the clan was surrounded by a horde of women- short, tall, blond, brunette and redhead, all beautifu
l in their own right. I was amazed as I never saw anyone pick up women so fast or so efficiently. I was impressed. The boys all danced exquisitely and they had the girls virtually waiting in line for a turn. I sat alone in silence, stunned but greatly amused.
I noticed Gilbert speaking to an admiring lady, whispering in her ear. Suddenly Gil pointed at me and the beautiful girl gazed at me with a puzzled look.
“Gay?” I saw her mouth the inquiry. She quickly looked back at me, then to Gil once more. I noted the astonishment of each woman as word quickly spread throughout the club. More confusion followed as one of the F/A's informed two of the admirers that I was the only straight guy in the group.
“All your friends gay and you, no?” One sweet girl dressed in a stunning, tight-fitting gold dress reacted in dismay. I smiled and gave her a nod. The result of the truth was that the entire harem was left in my hands to deal with. What a perfect set up.
We all had a glorious night on the Mexican Riviera. Not a soul knew I had been a survivor of the airline disaster. No one looked at me differently, nor asked imposing questions. There were no references to the hand of the Almighty nor was I judged for actions that were beyond my control. I felt alive and was grateful to be in the company of such true friends.
I returned home reinvigorated, in a positive state of mind and dedicated to settling down into a healthy routine. My time in the weight room kept a leash on the anxiety. On one particular morning after a refreshing swim by the Manhattan Beach pier, I returned home where I was surprised to find a lovely young lady knocking at my door: about twenty-four, beautiful eyes and long flowing light brown hair. She was dressed in business attire. I found her stretching to peek in the window.
“Are you a peeping Tom?” I asked trying to be witty. Surprised, the lady turned and smiled, seeming a bit embarrassed, getting caught in the act.
“Do you know where the person who lives here is?” She slowly moved closer to me.
“Yeah, I do,” I stated in a sassy manner. With only my swimwear on I thought this could get very interesting. She pouted her lips.
“Well, where is he then?” She came right up to me as I looked into her eyes and said,
“Right here.” She giggled, tossed her hair back and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a very official looking envelope.
“Consider yourself served, ah, Mr. Valencia.” She plopped the envelope onto my open hand and was off and away. She turned one last time to heighten my beat-down and flashed a little wink. My manhood may have taken a beating but what was revealed in the content of the subpoena nearly destroyed me.
The document informed me that I was named in a lawsuit against the airline by legal representatives of a certain passenger who just happened to survive. His survival was partially thanks to me, as I remembered this guy very well. Nevertheless, his attorney went on to accuse me of being derelict in my duties as a flight attendant the morning of October 31, 1979. The most grievous act I was accused of was my deliberate decision to bypass injured passengers who could have been saved because I was only interested in trying to save my fellow crew-members.
“I wish I had died with my crew!”
Chapter XV
I sat on my bed and gazed at the statue of the ever-concerned Holy Virgin. I removed the knife I had received from Lonnie and relished the feel of the steadfast mass of brass knuckles in my right hand. I sat for the longest time in an empty void, holding the weapon, continually pounding the butt into the palm of my left palm.
The following morning I called Scheduling to report myself sick and hurried to the airport where I once again boarded a flight to HNL. Upon landing I caught a Princeville Airways flight to Kauai seeking the sanctuary of the Na Pali. Sure, to anyone seeing me at the terminal building at LAX preparing to run away, I looked physically fine. Inside, deep in the pit of my soul, the hatred and anger ate at me like a vile cancer.
On this particular trip I added the stern, metal blade to my sparse belongings. The weapon became the object of my total focus, once I was back on the island. I carried it through the lush valley of the Kalalau. My recollection of persuading that particular businessman to change seats on the flight and his arrogance and rudeness toyed with my psyche. Resentment joined shame in a unified effort to destroy any sense of hope I may have mustered in the previous days. The end result was a gut full of bile for the money seekers.
“It's all your fault anyway.” The whispers joyously joined me on this particular venture and laid the guilt at my feet. I wept bitterly. My tears were primarily for my crew-mates who I believed had crossed over into greater knowledge and peace. They were in a place I had been banned from entering. The consolation prize was that I had been granted a new life. That is how everyone else saw it, or maybe as the good nuns used to teach, perhaps I was now cast into the vexation of Purgatory. Yet, as I looked around at the magnificence of my island retreat, I could not help but wonder if there just might be an exit from this despicable imprisonment. Thankfully, the tranquility and soothing nature of Kauai slowly began to chip away at my scorn. This enabled me to gather some of the pieces of my shattered emotions. All too soon my time in the sanctuary came to an end. Like it or not I had to go home and face the consequences of my most recent disappearance.
Exiting the trail at Ke'e Beach I showered and readied myself for the short hop back to HNL. Later, I once again strolled along the open walkways at the Honolulu airport, looking smart and feeling refreshed. I was on stand-by, hoping for a first class seat back to LAX. I quietly sat on a blue vinyl seat in the gate area, close to the podium where the company agents scrambled to assure an orderly boarding procedure. I listened to the chatter of those around me as they waited for their assigned section to be called for boarding. A blond woman in aloha wear struggled to keep her little ones' in check as they ran about, hyped up by the activity generated in the holding area. An elderly couple wore matching red Hawaiian print shirts that screamed “tourist”. I assumed it was their first trip to the islands. I smiled as the man leaned over and gave the aged woman a kiss on her lips. Perhaps they were on a long-postponed honeymoon. Then it happened. I saw the dead of Benito Juarez where a moment before sat the elderly couple.
“Death will ride with you today.” The message was loud and clear in my head. I struggled to remain calm in the midst of so many people. I turned to view the nose of the jumbo jet through the massive windows. Its great lines showed grace and style. I strained to view the movement in the cockpit of those who would control the mighty bird this day. There I saw a faint, skeletal image attired in Captain's cap and four stripes clearly visible on the shoulders. The master of deceit turned to look in my direction and raised his ridge-like hand in recognition. The voice of little Javier entered my mind and began to plead Death's case.
“Why didn't you help me, Eddy?” I arose in an emotional panic trying hard not to bring attention to myself. Looking up and down the concourse, my paranoia grew. In a panic I rushed to find a space of solace. I spotted a lavatory. Carrying my belongings I quickly ditched into the last stall and locked myself in, sitting upon the stool and raising my legs in the fetal position.
“Will we ever be good enough?” The lost child required an answer.
“I don't know. I don't think I will ever know.” The psychosis struck deep as the terminal intercom announced that my flight was boarding. I opened my suitcase and reached deep into a pouch. At the bottom I felt the nasty blade. I searched from side to side with my hand until my fingers felt an herbal roach. Certainly indulgence in a bit of pakalolo would calm my nerves allowing me to board the craft minus this ghastly anxiety.
Exiting the stall much more composed, I returned to face the agents at my gate who smiled and handed me my boarding pass. I entered the great bird in a state of euphoria being diligent not to make eye contact with any one person. Once in the cabin of the fuselage I glanced up and down the aisles and recognized the faces of the HNL cabin crew. I sedately walked to my front cabin seat and stored my belongings
in the appropriate manner. Feeling much relieved, I calmly sat and buckled my seatbelt. Even though the transport had not moved an inch from its designated parking place I was already in a mental state of flight anticipating the rush of take-off.
I sat unaware that the slight pungent aroma of paka lolo began to fill a portion of the first class cabin.
“Do you smell anything?” I picked up on the conversation of the F/A at 2R as he confronted another associate who was walking aft from first class. I gritted my teeth.
“No, what are you smelling?” I sensed a split second of relief as the passengers were now boarding en mass. The cockpit door was still open, the aviators performing their pre-flight duties. I remained somber when a gate agent rushed up the aisle to the first class lav accompanied by a flight attendant. He opened the commode. The captain now appeared at the entrance of the cockpit and engaged in conversation with the F/A and gate agent. All at once they turned in unison and looked straight at me. I tried to ignore the obvious but the gate agent walked over and stood sternly, facing me.
“Will you please exit the craft with me?” There was no denying what was about to occur. I was going to be tossed off the flight and I was sure my airline career was “fin.” Then, a female F/A interceded and whispered something to the gate agent. The stern man hesitated for a second. His demeanor changed in an instant. I glanced up to see the intruding stares of passengers.
“Who is this man being confronted? Is he a madman? Is the flight in danger? Do I want to be on the same plane with him?” The agent studied the passenger manifest list then he leaned forward and spoke in a gentle tone.
“Ed, you want to come join me out on the jetway?” I was sure I was busted as I stood and started to gather my personal belongings. “That won't be necessary.” He moved aft motioning me to follow him. The eyes in the filled aircraft were locked upon my pitiful self but yet I noticed that the cabin crew ignored my movement and continued to see to their duties. “So what's going on?” asked the agent who's compassion was instantly recognizable. I spoke the truth.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 40