Sometimes I think of something that I want to write about and I make a note in a journal.
I imagine it's kind of like
m.lady's post its and notes that she has stuffed in pockets.
Some are phrases that came to me or just a word to remind me of something or possible titles to stories.
Here's some notes I've written recently:
Life on an Ant FarmTouchThe night I was rejectedJourney songs at Happy HourHe waves like he is gesturing "Come here"Breaking up and ex-friendsMidgets on the train.And my most recent jotted down phrase….
Little black curly hair.I laughed when I read that. I was on the el and looked like a lunatic. But of course it reminded me of what I was going to write about.
Last Thursday night I spent five hours sitting on the runway at LaGuardia. That does not include taxing time or flight time, that's the time that the plane pulled over and waited…and waited…and waited. There were storms in Ohio and Pennsylvania so all traffic headed west was blocked.
When I first sat in my tightly compact window seat, I noticed, lovingly resting just under the window, a little black curly hair. I recoiled in horror. But there is no room to recoil in a couch-budget-airline sit with a larger than average business man sitting next you.
I'm a fidgeter. In my defense, it's not because I can't just sit still. It's because I have arthritic joints (I've always had them - since I was a toddler). So when I am sitting in an airplane seat, I cross my right leg over my left, then ten minutes later, my left over my right, I try sitting crosslegged, I try sitting with my legs not crossed, I shift and move every five to ten minutes.
I read a great book and for a short time was engrossed in it and almost oblivious to the sitting still in an airless can for hours. Then, being attention span challenged, I lost interest in the great book. And my hips had locked into an arthritically painful position. I closed my book and tried to strectch out my legs straight and raise myself off the seat. Then dropped quickly once I remembered the little black curly hair. The larger than average sized business man next me turned his head slightly, trying discreetly to look at me as he wondered what the hell kind of spasm I was having.
I was relieved, and repulsed to see that the little black curly hair was still in tact, waiting patiently in it's spot just below the window.
I flipped through a magazine.
I called my stepmom, whispering in to my cell phone, trying as hard as possible to have the semblance of a private conversation. While on the phone, I curled towards the window, watching other planes roll down the runway, while we continued to stand still.
When I got off the phone, I checked again, it was still there, the little black curly hair.
The two men in my row stood up and went to the bathroom. I decided it was probably best that I go then as well. Plus my stomach was crying out since I hadn't eaten since lunch time. The bathrooms exhibited the strain of being used frequently over the several hours we sat on the runway. I asked the flight attendant if there was ANY food to eat. Between bites of her peanuts she said
No. I eyed her, and then the bag of peanuts and said, T
here's NOTHING to eat? With her mouthful she said
Nothing.I crawled back into my window seat. There it was, the little black curly hair, hanging on for dear life just below the window.
Finally, finally the plane took off.
I was able to get back into my book. I distractedly read for the rest of the flight. Until right before we landed. I turned off the readers light, plugged into my Ipod and listened to
Wilco while we landed. The lights came up, the people sprang off their feet only to stand still, cramped into place until finally we could deplane. As I pulled my bag out from under the seat, I looked again, and there it still was. The little black curly hair. It silently bid me farewell.
I was finally home.
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