can you picture what will be, so limitless and free

by mg at 12:44 AM on July 16, 2002

I will start with the end of the story, because though it will spoil the narrative qualities of this tale, the end is what is freshest in my mind. I spent nine days in a car with my ex-girlfriend, traversing across states, centuries, and countless emotions. But all that matters now is that I stepped off a plane at LaGuardia Airport last night, I went to work today, and my life is now firmly entrenched back into its routine.

We made it to Albuquerque International Airport (Isn't every airport international these days? You have one flight to Mexico and suddenly your international. I was on the evening news once that makes me a TV star, right?) Sunday morning, a good two hours before my flight was to take off. I've only flown once since September 11th and I'd shown up an hour and a half early then, but still nearly missed my flight because I was "randomly" searched three different times. Must be the beard.

I was nervous, but not so much about safety as just making sure I made it to the gate on time. God knows why I was so concerned about punctuality since I really wanted to miss my flight. Nothing could have pleased me more than the necessity of sticking around New Mexico for even a couple hours longer.

Unfortunately, though security was tight, we were able to breeze into the airport with no trouble at all. It was Christine, with whom I'd spent the last 216 hours with no more than 10 minutes apart during the entire time, our friend Tracy, who we stayed with in Santa Fe and me, looking no more menacing than a gaggle of Mormons. We reached the point where the security guards wont let anyone through unless they've got a ticket in hand, but since neither Christine nor Tracy have the cash to purchase a ticket, nor the inclination to hop on a plane, so we bid each other a nearly tearful adieu.

I appreciate all the security measures are taking these days, really I do. There haven't been any more hijackings, so something must be going right. But, there was a clear sign that read "No knives, of any kind, beyond this point." Being ever the rebel, I anxiously awaited my bags turn through the X-Ray machine to see what they'd do to me when they saw my Swiss Army knife. The watchful attendant scanned my bag, stopped for a moment, and let it through.

He let it through?

Where is all this heightened security? Is it all just a show to placate the teeming masses?

Probably.

At any rate, my bag went through without a hitch, and I didn't even have to turn on my cell phone. I probably could have smuggled a kilo of coke, a giant cartoon bomb with a lit fuse, and three small Nepalese children onto the plane with me without anyone batting an eye.

I made my flight, and the rest of the story isn't terribly interesting. The flight from Albuquerque to Denver was the most turbulent I'd ever had. I'd have tossed my lunch. Lucky for my neighbors in seats 16D and 16F, I hadn't eaten lunch. The ride was so bumpy, I almost felt like I was on I64 in West Virginia again. If only I'd heard the faint strains of the Deliverance Theme the resemblance would have been uncanny.

I finally made it to Denver, shaken, not stirred. I transferred to my New York bound flight, which was entirely uneventful. I hit good ole NYC, an hour later than expected - some miscommunication about the difference between Mountain and Eastern Time. Standards, my ass. I walked out into the warm and muggy New York night, home again. As previously mentioned, I experienced so much on the road, and all it took to get back to my life was sitting in a cramped seat for a couple hours.

To truly reinforce the fact I was home again, and back to my old life, I walked out of the airport and stood at the bus stand for about ten minutes. Now, you might think I'm cheap for taking a bus, but I live only a five-minute drive from the airport. Taxi drivers wait as long as an hour to get into the airport, and I don't want to cheat them out of a rich 30-40 dollar Manhattan fare for my measly couple dollar ride. I'm not being cheap, I'm being nice.

Well, I'm waiting at the bus stop, and two busses come and go, neither the one I need. I start thinking something feels wrong, so I look around. I immediately spot a sign that should have been readily apparent earlier. "The Bus Drivers are on strike. The Q47 is not running. Blah blah blah." Taxi time it is.

Made it home all right. Got sucked into the Internet, catching up on emails. Get to sleep too late. Woke up, headed to work, and now, again awake too late, having spent all night AIMing, New Mexico seems really far away. It's not just the physical miles that make it so. My memory is already fading, like the remnants of dream remembered only before the morning's first cup of coffee. And like with a dream I fear that, try as I might, even if I manage to fall asleep again I wont be able to get back there again.