In March I took a plane from Taipei to New York City, via Tokyo. And here’s what I wrote.
i’m sitting on a plane and thinking evil thoughts.
I am presented with the world’s tiniest kit kat and world’s saddest ham sandwich. but the grainy mustard makes me think of al’s deli, which makes me think of noyes street, which makes me think of graduation from college. for two days in a row i wore my orange shirt and black skirt with the flower print, what i wore to the ceremony, because i thought if i never changed clothes i would never change days. it was too much to think about an entire life switch because the calendar had flipped to a certain day in june. and my friends were leaving. and the boy i liked so much was moving back home. i packed some more, then went for a walk. i forget why but i went to get on the el and on the bench was a black plastic cassette tape. i hadn’t seen a cassette tape since i was a kid and my dad had them collecting dust in the basement.. so that was weird. weirder still was the album, bruce springsteen’s greatest hits. if there was one defining characteristic of this boy i liked, it was his springsteen obsession. moreso than his jeans and t-shirt wardrobe, moreso than his new diploma, or the nose on his face, it was the hours of devotion, listening and concert-going. and so to see this tape abandoned on the bench esemed like a little post-it from the universe, a little chuck on the chin that all would be ok. i went home, dusted out the cassette tape slot on the stereo i got in high school, and popped it in. and i listened while i packed.
i need that now, a little love note, a little chuck on the chin. i see chicago on the map but that is not where i am going though i long to parachute in. i keep contemplating my own demise. if this were it. the last word i’d want to read in this trashy stephen king book.
the kit kats are too small. the asshole next to me somehow got hot tea with milk.
for a meal earlier today (is there a today in this timeless state?) the mean stewardess with sausagey arms snapped at me, beef or salmon?
the last bite of salmon pasta, the beauty of the mozzerla cheese stringing off the end of the penne. would i want to look at a forkful of pasta right before i die? in the end times will i be thinking beef or salmon? is that the last big question?
for our second meal six hours later, there is no question, you just a get a sad ham sandwich with the world’s tiniest kit kat. i eat the chocolate so slowly, each nibble dissolves.