Fall
Throughout the flight I calm my thoughts, so as not to tempt the fates, 'I enjoy the turbulence, it reminds me of the roller coaster outside New York, New York,' although I won't know this for several years, the date stamps streaked and faded in the memories. I do this so frequently trying to recall details, I doubt she even existed, but I seem to remember her name was Denali. And I could see her through the tiny window, through the faint, greasy outline of the gentleman's forehead who flew south in this very seat, slumped over and sleeping against the plexiglas. The plane feels flush with the peak, a little attitude makes all the difference.
We land in Fairbanks, and make eye contact once more. She asks me how I'm getting to my hotel and I tell her I'm going to catch a bear, and she laughs and offers me a ride, company car and whatnot, and I say no, not even 'no, thanks,' or 'please stop tormenting me,' or even, 'Look! Over there!,' because in all cases, I'm too tired to run the other way in this wide open terminal, a giant, taxidermed grizzly the only place to hide.
But somehow, I have this memory confused as well, because I do recall sitting next to her, and it is definitely an automobile, most assuredly a rental, the nauseatingly artificial new car scent emanating from some unseen odorizer hidden underneath the dash. Funny to a fault under duress, I hereby lock the rest of the ride away, how enjoyable her smile. I do my best to throw myself from the vehicle, but no matter how often I succeed in mentally moving my hand to door handle, unbuckling seatbelt and convincing myself I know the taste of tar and gravel, I still make it to my destination.
It's when you're about to cry and bite your lip and know that if you try to speak your voice and eyes will crack, your face contort into a thousand folds, that they always ask the question demanding a response. I have a very determined callous at the point on my lower left lip where the incisors meet.
It's easy with her, because from Fairbanks, I can fast forward to Anchorage, because separate flights keep her from asking the question, me from answering. From Anchorage I can focus on a cheap set of Russian dolls that are my only company for hours at a time. From here, Juneau, and running into her unexpectedly on the tour. The smile is gone.
At the Mendenhall Glacier Visitor Center, I walk alone to my car and a bear crosses the road, no more than 20 feet from me. I reach for my camera and look up, too late, it's gone, lost to that memory, along with the color of the dress, the name of the restaurant, why it ended on those terms. Bald eagles guard the Sitka Spruce canopy like crows.
She admonishes me because the bug stories stopped being charming halfway through the flight back home. I saw her the other day at a conference and remembered these parting words. I had my reply, some 6 years late, at the ready. I headed towards her, but then stopped and turned right around, ashamed at not being able to remember her name.
Why people won't enjoy the turbulence will never cease to amaze me.