Airplane, Airport, Airline, Air in the Bottom of the Ninth Inning

Airplane, Airport, Airline, Air in the Bottom of the Ninth Inning


1.

Over Albuquerque, we look down to see all
of those complicated streets
which will forever cause pizza deliverymen
of the future to lose their way,
but which are empty now, where no houses have
been built yet, but where those houses will
soon be developed.

(Whole neighborhoods will rise in-
organically from the desert floor.)

Then, here and there, original in its frame,
a solitary house once loosely connected
to the city
now surrounded by those streets and ghosts
and ghosts of houses and streets-to-be.
There must be an old man waiting all alone
in one of those solitary houses.

(Is he white, Indian, Mexican
or does it matter? It matters, doesn't it?)

knowing that, soon, very soon, somebody else's idea
of the West will come knocking loudly at his
front door.

2.

We both saw Yanni, the New Age musician and hero
of late night television commercials, in the Denver
Airport at the same time, although Diane said
his name aloud before I could actually remember his
name and it was exciting for a moment, our brush
with celebrity, but then I remembered Yanni is

not all that famous, this is just America, and Diane
and I kept our distance, once more intent on making
our next connection, but I wonder how we would have
reacted if Chuck Berry had come strolling into our
lives, oh, turn down the goddamn flutes and harps,
pound those keyboards until Beethoven rolls over,
rolls over, give Chuck his guitar and we'd be dancing,
dancing up and down the escalators, we'd be that much
more in love.

3.

Southwest Airlines is coming to Spokane, they've arrived
in Spokane with their discount flights
to almost anywhere. Well, that's not true. They only fly
to those cities where the planes can land, unload and
depart in thirty minutes or so. Oh, cheap flights,
cheap flights. I can get on a plane here
in the Spokane Airport and end up in Oakland, Los Angeles
on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation
in South Dakota, but let's not get carried away. I can
barely breathe. I want to find somebody to love
who will fly in the seat beside me and hold my hand,
maybe take up half of the two-for-one fare.
But wait, I'm already in love and I'm rich, rich, rich,
so who cares about cheap flights. I'm an Indian
with money, and that makes me dangerous. The flight
attendants are nervous because they know that I don't
belong on a Southwest flight. They wanted to leave me
waiting forever in the airport, but they couldn't do it
because I walked perfectly through the metal detector,
because I bought my ticket with cash,
because this is a democracy. Oh, I love those flight
attendants. They are white Americans in company polo
shirts and matching shorts. They have skinny tanned
legs and I watch their calf muscles when they walk
up and down the aisles. I am not in love with them.

I lied, but I am in love with Indians.
and I want to buy tickets for every Indian on my
reservation, and we can all choose between orange
juice and water, between the 6 a.m. flight
and the noon flight, because the time of departure
makes all the difference, because I want to be the
very first passenger to read the airline magazine.

4.

Mitch Williams, fastball pitcher for the Philadelphia
Phillies, gave up the 1993 World Series winning home run
in the bottom of the ninth inning to Joe Carter,
ourfielder for the Toronto Blue Jays.

This is not a metaphor.

Mitch Williams threw the one pitch by which his whole
life will be forever measured, and Joe Carter could strike
out in every plate appearance he makes during the rest of
his life and everybody would still remember his
World Series home run.

This is not a metaphor.

I think of those baseball players tonight as I crawl into bed
with my wife. The sheets are cold and it's snowing outside,
which means that the sheets are cold and it's snowing outside.
I know there is somebody playing baseball in this city
now, despite the cold and snow, and I want to thank them
for their passion.

Baseball is not a metaphor.

Let's say I pull my wife closer to me under the covers. No.
Let's say she pulls me closer under the covers. I might
be thinking of Mitch Williams and Joe Carter. She might
be thinking of Mitch Williams and Joe Carter, too.
Who can explain what we think about when we are making
love? I can be suddenly distracted by the news of the
world. The radio is turned off because she cannot
concentrate if the radio plays a song she knows.

She listens too closely to the lyrics.

Afterwards in the dark, I try not to fall asleep
because she once read that a man only feels sleepy
immediately following orgasm. If he can stay awake
for a few minutes, then he can stay awake forever.
I am awake., I look through the dark, try to find
her features, touch her face, her back, her arm.
Although I cannot see for sure, I know her eyes
are open. She touches my face. I fall asleep.
I dream about Mitch Williams and Joe Carter.


Sherman Alexie..........from The Summer of Black Widows