A True Story

CANADA As far as I knew, the flight to Canada did not occur. My so-called sanity had made a deal with rational thought, trading it a vice with a negotiated lifetime warranty for free rein of my brain. If it was possible that one day I’d be ordering Hermes purses in different colors online while the maid dusted my four car garage and only days later I’d be privately applying for free lunches and sweating the checkout line hoping I’d have enough, it had to be possible during the same blip of time technology had advanced to the point where entire bodies of land and sea could be shifted in an instant. One minute I’m arguing with Matisse about whether or not “just because” is a reason for spontaneous holiday and trying to convince Lizzy that the airplane bathroom is not a secret clubhouse and the next a woman in a uniform at least two sizes too small and make up application clearly intended to lock out infectious diseases and steel bullets is shaking my shoulder telling me how to mother and where the door is. “Mom, you snored the whole way. You sounded like a broken train. That lady in the ugly dress got mad.” Lizzy laughed. Everything was funny to her. Even the reality of me old and snoring and unconscious. The dress was ugly. Thank god. The woman gave me a confirming angry look as she squeezed through the aisle and out the door. I imagined her tripping. “C’mon Mom!” Wilder was over the plane flight he hadn’t snored through. “Let’s go.” “Okay kids. Check your seats. Lizzy, your Barbie’s head is on the floor. Do you want it? Get it.” I couldn’t figure out if it was funny or not that the popped off head staring in shock at her surroundings looked like me. “So, that’s why my Barbie couldn’t think!” Lizzy whispered in frustration as though she’d solved some problem continents struggled to understand. Lizzy scooped up the head and was about to pop it back into Barbie’s playboy body stopping and turning to Ken instead, plucking off his head as well. I could see the wheels turning as I struggled to collect our set of carry-ons stuffed into the compartment above. I thought of Stone. He would never have allowed me to carry my own luggage. I missed him, or some primordial function he performed in a life I wasn’t certain I’d really been a part of. I watched Lizzy exchange the heads of her two dolls and tuck them into her tiny purse, each plastic face stunned but unconcerned. She looked at me. “Maybe now they will get along better.” Matisse rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s probably what it will take for two idiots to understand one another. Head transplant. Mom, maybe Lizzy’s not crazy. Maybe she’s on to something.” Nothing could surprise me anymore. Not my practically being a member of the witness protection program or my children making fun of adults as though they actually understood their convoluted plight. I shuffled my brood down the steps of the plane like a mother duck. They were all so uniquely crazy like classic poetry that people understood or don’t but love anyway. Wilder noticed Lizzy struggling with her bag and grabbed it from her without missing a step. Lizzy twirled in relief and began skipping as though she’d been unpinned from a bulletin display. “Mom, does our hotel have a pool? Can we swim when we get there?” Wilder was the perfect mix of boney kid and brilliant warrior. I loved these kinds of questions. The answer was clear and my delivery of it made me a hero. “Yes. A huge one. With a slide.” When Mina had given me my hibernation choices, the pool quotient had been a major determining factor. “Sweet!” Wilder looked towards the sky. The little things. These were the big things. T was learning that. Lizzy flopped lightly towards the gate. She was mumbling happily. “Barbie could swim well but Ken couldn’t. I think I might have to get Barbie some floaties.” With Wilder’s help I shuffled our pack through the door after the fat-assed woman in red intentionally allowed the door to shut in our faces. She hadn’t learned to manipulate tragedy. I hadn’t figured how we would get from the airport to the hotel. These days I dealt with immediate moments. Plus, I’d never been in charge of travel arrangements before. I scanned the terminal for some transportation hub as the busy airport swallowed me whole while moaning a haunting taunt, “You don’t know what you had till it’s gone.” Shuffling travelers moved with conviction. They had plans that extended beyond getting off the plane with all heads intact. “Mom! Look! Reece Bellevue! That man has a sign with your name on it.” Wilder let go of Lizzy’s hand and ran towards the man.