Trip to the Lake.
Part II

Kelly and I stood under the flight board in disbelief. 20 minutes before our flight had been schedule to arrive on time. Now it, and every flight south of the Mason-Dixon Line was canceled.

Kelly and I looked at each other, mouths agape. “It’s like I willed it to happen,” Kelly told me, “willed it to happen…with my brain…”

At this point, the line to the terminal desk seemed to wrap around the airport. Without speaking, we picked up our bags and went to the end. There was a hundred angry travelers in front of us, and five minutes later another hundred behind us. While I was slightly disappointed (having decided just a few moments before that I was actually looking forward to going), truth be told, I really didn't give a fuck. And Kelly? She was down right giddy. Within seconds, she already had a date for later that evening.

It was hard to not feel somewhat superior to everyone else standing in line. Not caring really gave the two of us an edge. Kelly and I stood silently, eavesdropping on the young woman whining behind us. Over the phone, she sighed and in a mark of passive aggressive genius she stated “I guess God doesn’t want me to come see the band concert. I guess God hates me.” Kelly mouthed no, but I do bitch.

Time dripped by as we waited in line. To entertain ourselves, we practiced different approaches for what we would say when we got to the front. “Let’s pretend like we’re really upset,” I suggested. “You start crying and I’ll pound the desk and demand to see a supervisor.” Kelly suggested reverse psychology. “I didn’t want to fly on your shitty plane anyway!”

Finally we got to the front. Standing behind the desk was a tiny old woman. She looked like the type that if allowed, would wear a t-shirt to work that said “I can only please one person a day. Today isn’t your day, and tomorrow isn’t looking good either.” She’d smirk every day when she stretched it over her saggy frame (not laugh mind you. No, she never laughed), and when people spoke to her, she would simply point to the shirt. If they persisted she would respond by warning “don’t make me point to the shirt again."

I put our tickets on the counter and said “so, there’s probably no way you can get us to Richmond tonight, is there?”
Without looking at her computer, she stared me dead in the eyes and said “nope.”
“And I’m guessing you probably can’t get us to North Carolina either.” I added.
“Nope.”
“And can I go ahead and assume that you’re probably already booked on all the flights to North Carolina tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
Kelly and I looked at each other and shrugged. “Well I guess that does it for us. aThank you.”
Kelly added with all sincerity, “It’s been a pleasure, truly.”

We grabbed our bags and peaced. Being as I lost my phone, Kelly was forced to call our parents to give them the bad news, and for that ten minutes I was genuinely happy I had left it in the cab. At first, Kelly thought she had gotten off easy. Her dad had picked up and the conversation went a little something like this.

“Dad, our flight was canceled…Yeah…okay…love you too bye.”

Moments later Aunt Lynn called back. Kelly sighed before she picked it up. I heard my Aunt through the phone “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT COMING?” For the next ten minutes I heard Kelly muttering “Mom…but they said...no…mom…ALL THE FLIGHTS ARE CANCELED …mom...no…there is no bus to Raleigh…”

She finally snapped her phone shut. She released a long breath and said “she said that they’re going to miss us and that they’re sorry we can’t come. Oh and your mom thinks you’re a dumbass for losing your phone.” And we left it at that.

Considering the drama that had just taken place, we decided to treat ourselves to a cab ride home. “The last thing I need right now,” Kelly told me, “is some crazy subway drama.” Before she could complete the sentence, a large Hispanic dude jumped in front of us.

“You guys looking for a cab? I got one waiting over there…” he said, pointing to some distant parking lot.

I shook my head no, but before I could verbalize the negative, Kelly jumped all over it. “Why yes, cab driver. We will take you up on your offer. Please, lead us to your parked vehicle”
I screamed a little inside.

We followed the large fellow into the parking lot, farther and farther, until we came to a pimped out Explorer. It had fat rims, and even fatter dude sitting behind the wheel.

“Nononononono” I said, turning around. Kelly looked at the guy and said “Um…sorry…this isn’t really what I expected. I think we’re just going to take a regular cab.”

The large fellow jumped in front of me. “Is it Phat Joey? Dude, he’s my cousin. We’re just two honest guys trying to make enough money to feed our family.”

I looked back at Kelly and then the dude, and then continued heading back to the airport. The guy turned to Kelly. “Man, we do this a hundred times a day. You don’t want to go back there and wait in line for a cab. It will take 40 minutes, and they’ll charge you twice as much.”

Kelly stood there, and I saw her hesitation. I put my bag down, and being the man in the situation, I thought it was high time that I stepped up and started acting like one. “Um...it's up to her I guess,” I told him.

The guy turned to Kelly. Like a giant douche, I had put her on the spot and she looked at me with panic in her eyes. “Come on sweetie,” he pleaded. “If something happens, you have your boyfriend here to defend you.” Somehow, neither one of us found any comfort in this statement.

“I mean…,” she said, her eyes darting back between me and Phat Joey, “fuck it.” She threw her bag into the back seat and climbed in. “But if I die I’m going to be very upset with you two.” The large guy hopped into the passenger seat, and I screamed a lot inside.

Looking around the car, nothing added up. First of all, why were they both here? How could this be a profitable business if they charged less then a cab and then split the money two ways? Second, how could two men, who claimed to be struggling to feed their families, afford a small plasma screen TV playing live satellite under the rear view mirror? How could they afford the seven suits, hanging fresh from the dry cleaners in the back? It would be offensive logic to think that this would result in anything other than a shiv in the neck.

As we drove through the airport parking lot, I plotted ways to get out. I would tell them that I forgot my bag at baggage claim. I would tell them I had to go get it. They would have to let us out, and we could make a break for it. It would be the best decision I ever made. It would save our lives.

So I sat there silently and we pulled out onto the highway. We were on the road to our certainly violent and eminent deaths, but I didn’t want to be rude…

Kelly and I sat in complete and utter silence; the only noise was coming from Keyshia Cole and Missy Elliott playing on their on-road entertainment center. I nervously fidgeted with a piece of paper, all the while picturing how it would go down. Instead of taking us home, they would drive us to some sketchy neighborhood. One of them would then remove his gun from his pocket and instantly shoot me in the head. Luckily, I wouldn’t be around to watch them make Kelly their play thing. When the cops found our bodies floating in the East River, they would comment on how tragic it was, two beautiful lives taken down for what must have been just a few bucks ($7.24 and a sugar packet to be exact).

I started to relax a little when Phat Joey took the exit ramp towards Queens. However, Phat Joey and his amigo started arguing. “You said 44^th Ave. right? Not 44^th St? Because there is no 44^th St in Queens”

My heart immediately started pounding out of my chest. This is how it was going to happen. They were going to play stupid and get lost and take us down a back alley and then cut us into pieces. I could actually see my heart pounding.

“Yes there is!” Kelly spoke up. “I know this because I live on it.”

The two guys looked at each other. “My mistake” one of them said. I thought I was going to pass out, or pee myself, or most likely both. I started praying like a mad man, asking God for forgiveness for eating meat on Friday during Lent and having sex with all those strangers. Maybe if I just gave them my wallet, they would let us live. They could just take my wallet, drop us off in the middle of no where, and call it day.

I reached for my wallet, and then suddenly we came to a stop. Phat Joey had pulled the car over, and I quickly tried to make peace with God. Kelly grabbed me. I screamed a lot…but this time not inside.

“Are you going to get out or what?” She asked me. Phat Joey was staring at me like I was crazy. We were parked in front of my apartment.

I almost kissed the curb when I got out of the car. The young man grabbed my bag and handed it to me. “See, you made it out alive didn’t you”

“Yessir” I shrugged. He got me!

We paid the ridiculously cheap fare and i gave him a big tip for not killing me. The trip-that-didn’t-happen from hell was over, and we had made it home alive,.although cell phone and topical cremeless.

As a post script, I would like to add that shortly after we returned home, I noticed that I had quite a few new IM's waiting for me. I opened the first one from my friend Diane. She wrote:

“So, I spoke to your cab driver a few minutes ago. Apparently you left your phone in his back seat. He said to call him and he would bring it to you.” I had about seven other messages that said the same thing. Apparently he was answering all my calls.

My mother called Kelly’s phone a few minutes later. “Chris! Rahul has your phone!”
“How do you know his name?”
“Oh I know a lot about Rahul. He’s a real delightful man. But anyway, he said he would drop your phone off if was in the neighborhood.”

I called my from from Kelly’s and Rahul answered (naturally). “RAHUL!” I shouted. “You have my phone!”
“Oh yes, you left it in my seat.” He responded. “I bring it back if I go to Queens.”

And sure enough, 4 hours later brought it by. I was so relieved I would have kissed him on the mouth, you know, had he not been so unattractive. He wouldn’t even take the cash I offered him as a reward. He just waved me off and when on his way. Amazing. And that’s why I will name my first born Rahul.

Or my next fish. Either way.

THE END

Trip to the Lake.

Part I

About six weeks before we were suppose to leave, the phone calls began.

My cousin Kelly had just moved to New York and was temporarily staying with me while she looked for an apartment. Sitting together on her cot in my living room, first her phone would ring. She would look down and roll her eyes and place her phone on silent. “It’s her again” she’d warn me, shaking her head. Next, my phone would ring.

“Hi Auntie Lynn…” I would say, watching my cousin wave her arms and mouth I’m not here.

“Hi Chrissyfer” Aunt Lynn would say, “Is my daughter there? I’m trying to get a hold of her but she’s not answering her phone.”

“No Auntie Lynn” I would tell her, flicking off Kelly with my free hand. “I’ll tell her you called when she gets back from the gym though…”

“Well will you ask her…” and that’s when my Aunt Lynn would start rattling off information into my ear a mile a minute. Even if I was listening…even if I had intended on giving my cousin the message, it was doubtful I would be able to retain any of this. Instead I would write “fuck you slut” on a piece of paper for Kelly and doodle a picture of her getting eaten by a dinosaur, and she would love it forever.

With summer upon us, there was only one thing on my Aunt’s mind; the annual family vacation. Every year for the last 7 or 8 years, my parents and Kelly’s parents would burn their two weeks of annual leave at a lake house in North Carolina, noodling and talking about corn (noodling; a verb my parents made up to describe the action of placing a Styrofoam flotation noodle between one's legs, and floating in water for hours). My brothers and cousins and I would usually join them for few days, but for the last two years I had declined my invitation. The constant and incessant nagging by my mother and Aunt Lynn, in combination with the drunken antics of my father and Uncle Ed was all too much for me to handle, and when my father shattered his hip in a freak knee boarding accident three years ago, I found the perfect reason never to return.

This year was different however. My invitation was not so much an invitation, but a demand…crippled father or no crippled father. My mother and her sister decided to hold a celebration for my grandfather’s 85^th birthday at the lake house, and my attendance was “highly suggested.” By my mother’s tone, I could tell that Christmas presents hung in the balance, so I reluctantly agreed. Kelly was like-wised cornered.

To sweeten the deal, our parents told us they would fly us down together. We would only have to stay through the weekend, and with the promise of a free trip I told myself it couldn’t be that bad right?

Oh fuck me was I wrong. As soon as we agreed to take them up on their flight, Aunt Lynn and my mother would call us every night with a litany of questions. And as the date approached, the calls only became more frequent and more frantic.

Urgently, our mothers would ask:

“What airline would you prefer to fly? Jet Blue or American? Well neither one is available, so what’s your feeling on Delta? Would you prefer to sit window or aisle? If Kelly wants to sit window too, how should we work it? Maybe rotate? Maybe she can sit window on the way there and you can sit window on the way back? Oh well I think she wants to sit in the aisle anyway. Now you might be sitting in the emergency row. Is that going to be a problem? Do you want me to change it? How do you plan on getting to the airport? Do you think you and Kelly should ride together? Can you get to Kelly’s work and then go to the airport from there? Do you think you’re leaving yourself enough time to get there?”

The answers were always the same. “Whatever, I don’t care. Leave me alone.” Then about two weeks before the big birthday bash, our mothers convened and decided that instead of flying us to South Carolina, they would fly us to Richmond, where my cousin John would pick us up and drive us the rest of the way. So the litany of questions began again. See above.

The night before we were to fly out, Kelly and I reluctantly packed our bags like two convicts preparing for prison. As I shoved my clothes into my 17 year old duffle bag, I debated as to what the worst part of the trip would be. Would it be the nagging? The unfriendly demand to shuck corn? The “can you get my reading glasses? Can you get my sunglasses? Can you get my reading glasses with the sunglasses attached to them?” The way Aunt Lynn stills refers to our seating arrangement as “the Kids Table” (even though the youngest one of us is 22)? The way my brother and his wife make cat noises when they’re angry with one another? The way my father pronounces filet mignon phonetically every times he says it, repeating himself until someone politely laughs. The way my uncle “gooses” me when he’s had one too many? The way my twin’s head smells when he’s worn his hat all day? My cousin John’s ridiculously long nipple hair?

As per my mother’s recommendation, Kelly and I decided to meet up after work and split a cab to LaGuardia. I met her at her office, and then the two of us spent 20 minutes trying to find a cab. It took forever, but we finally convinced an off duty cabbie to stop and take us. Things from there seem to go without a hitch. There was no traffic…no long lines to check our bags. We printed our boarding passes without any problems.

Our good luck was ruined though when we got in line to go through security. Kelly looked at me. “Oh shit!” She said. “I brought liquids.”

“Why God why would you do such a thing?” I asked her. Clearly she had not read her mother’s three page email breaking down new airport security procedures. Clearly.

“It’s fine” she told me. “As long as you can fit it all into a plastic bag you’re fine.” I had already given her up for dead. I was picturing how I would explain to our parents as we sunbathed on the dock the story of how Kelly was snipered down right there in the security line when she pulled out her bottle of Scope. Kelly turned around to find where she could pick up a plastic bag to stow away her liquids. She had difficultly located one however, and so she grabbed an airport employee she thought would be able to help.

He was a small Indian man. He looked at Kelly like she was a crazy woman when she asked for a plastic bag. “FOR MY LIQUIDS!” she shouted repeatedly. I ducked to dodge the sniper bullets. With a smile on his face, he finally nodded as if he understood. He walked over behind a counter and pulled out a plastic bag…a large plastic garment bag that could have easily fit the three of us in it. Kelly shook her head in frustration. “Look, I need a small regulation plastic bag to put my liquids in. I don’t mind throwing away my makeup, my shampoo, my mouthwash. I just need this one cylinder of medication.” The Indian dude finally understood. “Oh! Liquids!” he shouted triumphantly. “What kind of medication is it?”

Kelly squirmed a little and I could tell she was embarrassed. I recognized the bottle. It was her topical acne medication, the one I had drunkenly confused with my toothpaste and brushed my teeth with a few nights before. “It’s for my face…” she told the guy. He smiled and grabbed the bottle from her “Oh! I see. Follow me!” Kelly then hurried to follow him as he dashed across the airport, waving her acne cream in front of every attendant in the terminal.

I put my bag down so that I could more readily enjoy the spectacle. I stuck my hands in my pockets, and then realized that something was missing. My phone was gone.

I threw my bag on a chair and started rummaging through it like a mad man. I told myself that I had probably mindlessly thrown it in there when I had gotten my itinerary out, but deep down I knew exactly where it was. I had left it on the seat of the cab, and it was probably gone forever. I had come to terms with its loss about the time Kelly returned.

“So apparently they don’t have a single fucking plastic bag in this airport. That Indian dude told me he would take care of it though.” She noticed my look of concern and I told her I had lost my phone.

“It begins…” she responded.

We went through security, and once on the other side, Kelly began looking for her Indian friend. He was gone though. He had taken her acne medication and ran. She came to the same terms of loss that I had come to about my phone, and downtrodden, the two of us made it to our gate.

“Fuck it” Kelly said. “Lets get fucked up.” I laughed and she responded “I’m serious. We have an hour to kill. We’re going to need this. I need this. I need this now. Let’s drink.” So she and I made a detour to Chili’s and started throwing down.

“This trip is going to fucking suck.” Kelly said over her giant novelty margarita. “It already sucks. Let’s just fucking go home. Let’s tell them our flight was cancelled. It could happen right?”

And for the first time, I started to think that maybe this trip wasn’t going to be that bad after all. I mean, I was ready for a break of the city. I was tired of cramming myself onto the subway, getting bumped into on the street, squeezing into overcrowded bars. I could use a break. And I was with Kelly. As we pounded our overpriced airport drinks, we laughed together at the elderly woman in the wheel chair being padded down by the security guard. I mean, yeah, we had already had a few setbacks, but things were looking up. She and I were having a good time and I was actually looking forward to getting down to North Carolina.

And it would be at about this point that we heard our flight was canceled.

To Be Continued...