I tried to explain what it’s like to a friend.
Airports, I say. It makes me think of how falling in love at an airport might be, because that seems like exactly the type of thing I do. It’s so harmless. Imagine: there I am sitting in gate A6 of O’Hare with my book and overpriced deli sandwich when I see you. You’re alone and have ear buds in and choose your seat in a meticulous manner so that your proximity to me is not too far. Or maybe you just want to watch CNN. At any rate, you have selfishly stolen every bit of my attention away from John Irving without the slightest recognition. It takes me seven seconds to decide that you are someone worth knowing. Our eyes meet and then we board, together.
Our flight is an international red-eye; seven or eight hours long. Our time together is one of dehydration, cramped spaces, recycled air and uncomfortable clothes. It’s wonderful.
We arrive. Touchdown is smooth and the flight was good. Brussels, Istanbul, Timbuktu; it doesn’t really matter where we are. The seat-belt sign is off and it is now appropriate for me to use my phone, so I do. I gather my things and go.
For a while you manifest yourself as that foreseeable, bothersome jetlag I can’t seem get rid of; you leave me tired and disoriented. You reach inside of me and turn the hands of my built-in clock with your very own fingers; my circadian rhythms are disturbed and my goddamn hypothalamus is not functioning as it used to, as if taking orders from something other than myself. I am in a never-ending, confused elevator. Doors open and doors close. At night is when you pester me the most. At night you crawl into my brain and latch onto my thoughts without so much as an invitation. You are a parasite.
And then, just like that, you’re gone. A new day in a new city means a new perspective; the time we shared becomes little more than a crinkled boarding pass and the faint recollection of that one mediocre in-flight film that was entertaining only at the break of dawn. They say that it takes one day for every one-hour time zone crossed to get back to your normal rhythm. A five-hour time difference, five hours with you, means that it will take five days for me to get back to normal.
But in the end, I explain, even flying becomes routine.
Comments
Stan | May 9, 2012 - 18:23
Yeah, this is good writing. I'm not so happy, for some reason, about the 'parasite' thing, though. It can cut both ways. They can feed off/devour each other. Takes 2 to tango, and all that!
I thought you were setting out to draw a parallel between a brief love affair and a long flight. Isn't that the idea that 'I tried to explain what it's like to a friend' is meant to introduce? Instead, you've made them the same thing. It works alright... but I'd like it if they were kept as two separate issues - not the affair actually taking place on the flight. The parallels are well-observed, anyway. A nice note of world-weary/love-weary cynicism there. And I like the touches like 'is she sitting that close to be near me, or does she just want to watch TV?'
and
'Our flight is an international red-eye; seven or eight hours long. Our time together is one of dehydration, cramped spaces, recycled air and uncomfortable clothes. It’s wonderful.' That's great! Yes, that's how it feels 'in-flight' 'in-love'!
It puts me in mind of the George Clooney film 'Up In The Air'. Have you seen that? Well worth it.
kusowkar | May 9, 2012 - 19:26
Many thanks for the feedback! Helps put a lot of things in perspective; it's hard to look at your own work objectively.
Drawing a parallel between a brief love affair and a long flight is EXACTLY what I was trying to do. I was worried that people might think I was literally trying to depict a "love affair ON a plane", which is not the case. I am trying to say that flying/a day at the airport is LIKE a brief love affair.
I want them to be two separate issues like you said. Any particular places that suggested otherwise?
At any rate, thanks!!! You gave me some great fodder to think about as I edit this.
Stan | May 9, 2012 - 19:42
'It makes me think of how falling in love at an airport might be, because that seems like exactly the type of thing I do' seems to suggest that what follows is exactly that: meeting someone at an airport and falling in love with them - not 'falling in love is like taking a flight'. That's my take on it, anyway.
ItsSteveDave | May 10, 2012 - 11:30
I really like some of the images you portray here; I would pick out the same parts as Stan to be honest.
I think it could do with a very fleeting bit of dialogue between the characters, something poignant, as at the moment there is no visible connection between them - I think at the moment it reads as a missed opportunity, an 'almost meeting'.
Might benefit from some more sexual lexical choices, or maybe play on how a one night stand and a flight are not something one does every day (or maybe you do!?).
Maybe cut away from the story midway through and readdress your friend, that would allow you to steer the story in a more focussed way.
I definitely think what you wish to do is achievable, and as it stands, the writing style is very good, very natural. I hope I have helped not hindered!
Steve.
lavadis | May 10, 2012 - 16:02
For a while you manifest yourself as that foreseeable, bothersome jetlag I can’t seem get rid of; you leave me tired and disoriented.
This paragraph felt like it was written by a different person or at a different time. It is far more lyrical - I felt there was far more of you in it and this was therefore perhaps more effortless.
Whilst this is the most well written part of the work it does not fit with the others and seems to relate to a more developed relationship. Let yourself go - don't feel constrained by convention and try to write it all on the same day or at least in the same way. BUT you write really well.