Keeping Score
Carrying a bottle of Dasani, my ticket, Friday’s USA Today, and my suitcase, I trailed Diane, thinking here we go again – seats at the very back of the plane. Matt always sits on the wing and when we fly without him, we usually back up against the bathroom wall. But not this time. Diane stopped halfway past the wing and excused herself as she slid past Nikki, the young woman in the aisle seat. I hefted both suitcases overhead, lost my water bottle, and squeezed into the middle seat.
Nikki grew up in Excelsior Springs twenty miles north of Kansas City. She lives in Wilmington MA, but was going back home for the funeral of her grandmother who had died from complications of emphysema.
“She was sick, even when I was a little girl,†she said.
“Probably started smoking at thirteen,†I replied, thinking of my own Missouri born mother.
“ I started when I was eleven and stopped at nineteen and I still have dreams where I’m smoking cigarettes.â€
We didn’t start talking until after I realized that my book, My Old Man and the Sea by David and Daniel Hays, lay tucked in my suitcase above our heads. Like many of my books, this was a loaner from Ed. He had mailed it with the book I had sent him , A Year on Whale Island written by the son Daniel. I loved Whale Island and since it was a hardcover gift from Andrea Geyer, I wanted it back. Little did I know that it would reproduce.
If Whale Island were paper back and not also a gift, I would have said pass it on because I’ve run out of room on my bookcase. Ed, however, has more room in his house. On the inside cover of the books he sends he writes, “Stolen from Ed Schmahl.†I had the paper, an airline magazine with Robert Duvall on the cover and a promise of a long nap, but I suddenly craved his book. With apologies, I said, “This is going to be a long flight, I need my book,†and I again squeezed past Nikki.
When I sat back down, Nikki asked if my book were related to Hemingway’s. Airplane rides create these spontaneous conversations and sometimes I’ll keep score. That would have been a minus one for her. But I refrained from making one of my patented snap judgments and I’m glad I did. She was, I think, looking for a conversational opening. I soon learned that she had left high school at the end of her junior year to attend Clarkston University and then returned to attend her high school graduation.
“Grades have always been more important than friends, still are.â€
She then transferred to BU and graduated with a degree in neurobiology.
Nikki had a collection of interesting stories, many of which I accused her of making up.
“When you get back to Wilmington you’ll tell John (her boyfriend) about the gullible guy you met on the flight. How much fun you had with him.â€
“I haven’t lied in five years,†she protested.
Nikki began with her dog retrieved at an animal shelter in Salem. The dog’s physical description sounded like the reverse of Charlie’s Welsh Corgi, long legs and not much body. And less obedient than Spud until she spoke Spanish. Sit, come, lie down – nothing, but sientese, venido, acuestese and presto.
I told Matthew this story and he was unfazed.
“Robby’s dog understands Spanish.â€
Suddenly, I’m the only one who has never met a Spanish speaking dog? But it gets better. Her dog can stand on his hind legs for five minutes at a time, a trick it learned in Puerto Rico when begging for food. And often, when they go for a walk, the dog would stand up, put his paws near her shoulders and Congo-line-like, they’d walk down the street together.
“Maybe after five years, you feel you’re overdue,†I said.
I’m guarded about how I sound to the much younger generation. I know they’re processing information at two or three times the speed I am – just ask Matthew – and when I’m falling behind I’ve learned to nod without my rather well honed blank stare. Nikki’s dog stories were followed by waitressing stories. and then stories about her job as a psych aide at the Edinburg Center. Golda Edinburg was Diane’s mentor at McLean.
The Golda connection gave me a time capsule view of Nikki. She became my wife, Diane, at twenty-three working at McLean with choices yet to be made. I felt I knew her future and that prodded me to formulate a retrospective, self aware, but I’m-too-young-to-know-the answer-so-why- are-you-asking, question. You know, as if Nikki really were young Diane.
You don’t know, do you? And neither did I, but the short metaphysical exploration made me tired and I thought better to take a nap than sound like a burned out old hippie. Nikki watched as I struggled to recline my seat using Diane’s controls. I pressed the button and pushed against the back of my chair. Nothing. I pressed harder, pushed harder, still nothing. As I was propping my feet up on the chair in front of me for better leverage, she politely lowered the arm of my chair using the button between our two seats – my button.
I drifted off hoping that I was the only one keeping score.
Having myself just spent 15 hours yesterday, most of it in airplanes and airports, getting back from our own vacation, this piece’s timing is super. I confess, I read this the first time as much for any evidence of Mike’s recent writing course as for the flow and content, but the latter hooked me anyway. Can’t say yet about the course.
I interacted only briefly with barely two or three stranger-people (outside of officialdom), and none of them on the airplane, where my personal space can become well-nigh impenetrable. Maybe flying to the midwest is different, but mostly, I’m not like Mike.
Very good story. But I now wonder how deep into negative numbers I might have been with him now and again……..
Comment by tired voyager — August 18, 2003 @ 8:24 pm
I too started at McLean under Golda’s tutelage at 23. How delightful to have this in common with Diane, albeit we were in very different roles. I also would have asked if there was a Hemingway connection to your book. As for your traveling companion her line “I haven’t lied in five years” is great. Made me wonder if I could say the same thing. Something to ponder. For the record, my dog understands Greek…”mifonasis” (loosely translated this means “stop barking” though I’m sure that’s not what my mother meant when she said it to me) and Italian…Como si bella (which I know I’ve not spelled correctly) which means isn’t she pretty, or something close to that. Wags her tail everytime and comes over for pats. Comparisons stop there. My arthritic dog could not possibly participate in any congo style walk, but what an hysterical vision that is. She can, however, shake with nerves anytime she’s put in a car with tail between legs drooling profusely. She also does this when I yell “mifonasis”.
Comment by chris — August 18, 2003 @ 11:50 pm
Like Adam, I rarely open my personal space to the passenger seated next to me, *especially* if either one of us is in the middle seat.
But we all know Michael’s mission is to seed relationships wherever he travels. I am sure he will soon be designing Nikki’s website, or meeting John for coffee in the Square.
Like Adam, I scanned the story for evidence of writing-course-isms — but alas found nary a trace.
Hard-to-connect thoughts are still in evidence. Commas still occupy the spots where a stronger pause is indicated. Paragraphs and their proper spacing still need work.
But perhaps I should simply accept that the priority of Michael’s writing is creating relatedness, and not perfecting writing style…and I should bury my editorial bent.
Comment by The Editor — August 19, 2003 @ 7:05 am
Great story about Nikki. The only person I can
recall talking to on a flight is the guy I sat
next to when I was bumped up to first class (first time for me, but not for my seatmate, who was a regular). I recall trying to explain why you can’t go faster than light. He didn’t believe in relativity. If he didn’t believe Einstein, why should he believe me? Later I sent him a Hubble picture of the Deep Field.
“Ed has lots of space for books” No way, says Beth!
–Ed (who steals Mike’s books)
Comment by Ed — August 19, 2003 @ 10:43 am
Years ago I added a section to underlyingreality.com called Narratives. Not mine, but Chris and Ed’s, and not labored over stories, but day to day stuff sent in email.
My intention was to share their humor and fluid writing styles and to remind myself of the importance of “closing the loop” (Susan’s description).
The link is still there, though it’s laced with cobwebs. Believe me, if you could wiggle your way into their address books, you’d be sorting your email by their names.
Comment by Michael — August 19, 2003 @ 12:13 pm
Perhaps the editor is on to something regarding paragraphs. You might try the following:
First paragraph – single syllable words
Second paragraph – two syllable words
Third paragraph – three syllable words
etc.
Comment by The Writer — August 20, 2003 @ 10:40 am
Or maybe even, first paragraph: one sentence containing only one-syllable words beginning with a; second paragraph: two sentences with two-syllable words beginning with b; and so on.
Comment by Polisher — August 20, 2003 @ 4:22 pm
Well…..If Mike can design web pages, maybe I’ll send a picture of the congo-dog. She mostly does that in the kitchen now (thinking she’ll get some of tasty morsel of my inept cooking), and her Spanish has faded…probably due to the fact that Jon doesn’t speak it (and quite frankly I feel kind of self-conscious talking to a dog in a foreign language, even if she IS the only one around). She does, however, perk up when I sing along with Man·.
My co-workers unearthed this narrative in a Google Search for “Edinburg Center” or something similar. Little did I know I would be the subject of such conversation!
I have to say, Mike, you have a remarkable memory. I have a much less declarative type, especially when it’s not numbers that I’m trying to remember, so I recall things only as they are recounted to me. So as I read the above, I remembered each thing as you told it. At each paragraph an “Oh!” escaped my mouth, the loudest occurring at the mention of the Center. “Oh yeah! That’s where the connection was!”
Reading the comments I am surprised at the number of people that do not have conversations on airplanes. I agree with Mike that the aero-environment is very conducive to such spontaneous banter.
Anyway, I’m glad someone else would have made the Hemingway connection. You must remember I’m a math and science person; most of my contact with real literature (and I mean non-Stephen-King-or-Arthur-C-Clarke-type literature) was in the class in which we read Hemingway. The outcome of that course was bittersweet: no final exam because the teacher had lost the exam (along with his 40-page graduate seminar) on a tiny, mis-formatted 3.5″ floppy disk. He later recovered our exam, but not his seminar. Poor guy.
Another story most people wouldn’t have believed coming from anyone else.
I have a good friend that tells even more extravagant stories, most of them verifiable. But part of me has to wonder if he’s just full of it and I believe it because I love him.
He would be among the first to tell you, however, that “I haven’t lied in five years” (a notable accomplishment even though he’s 10 years older than I), and I’ll believe almost anything you tell me without asking for a verification, just because that’s the kind of person I am.
I have since met a woman that tells the smallest of lies in every sentence she speaks. I wonder how that could possibly benefit somebody in life, and I am eternally glad that I haven’t lied in five years.
So…I threw together some random thoughts for this, and though I haven’t taken a writing course lately (or ever), I hope this will bring me up to an even Zero. 🙂
Comment by Nikki — January 17, 2004 @ 10:18 pm
Nikki, IÃm thrilled by your magical arrival (proof once again, that all knowing Google has become God), and greatly relieved, that in my effort to sew this story together, I didnÃt use some other device, like, ìShe had the eyes of a serial killer.î
When I wrote that essay – no, when I was talking to you – I did see you as Diane, and me, and my friends, at your age. Call it a function of being my age (56). But I might not have gotten there without the important Golda connection. She/Mclean Hospital were seminal influences on our young lives. And that did send me into a metaphysical tunnel (not well explained in the story) about how youÃd live your life, and what, if anything I could say to you that would make it easier. Again, I was using you as a movie screen, perhaps the kind of monster ones from my yoot, not the chopped up, teeny multiplex screens of today.
But mostly I just enjoyed our plane ride together.
P.S. Of course you dropping by, especially the way you got here, through friends, makes me reflect on how unprivate this medium is, and how many boundaries I have already inadvertently crossed.
Comment by Mike — January 18, 2004 @ 10:31 am
Michael, Incredible discovery by Nikki, and her response, and then again yours…
Even gave me pause to reflect that perhaps I should try having a conversation with the next person I sit next to on a plane…as I used to, in my own much more gregarious yoot.
Comment by Incredulous — January 18, 2004 @ 11:40 am
Sure enough, type “Golda Edinburg Center”, google returns Mike’s blog entry as # 3! Amazing.
Leave off Golda and you end up in South Texas, next town over from McAllen…where my family lives.
Google is God if you find the right invocation…
Comment by Incredulous2 — January 18, 2004 @ 11:58 am
Perhaps my over-keen respect for the privacy of other people has me giving off vibes that head off simple, friendly encounters such as these. One of the many things I love about Michael is how he comes back with these well-written stories of interesting people he just meets — being open to it is probably most of the dynamic. And better yet that Nikki indirectly stumbles upon the blog months later and chimes in so volubly. We’re trying to reform, but if we were keeping score, I’d say Nikki jumped way ahead. At least I’m glad she didn’t take her cameo amiss. Glad the congo-dog’s still frisky, too!!!
Comment by pondering reform — January 18, 2004 @ 12:09 pm
Nikki, great response. “I have to say, Mike, you have a remarkable memory”. Has anybody ever said that, ever? I’m sure this made Michael’s day.
Comment by chris — January 18, 2004 @ 2:48 pm
Hey Mike…you wouldn’t still have the original content of this would you? I was trying to explain the thing to my friends but we didn’t get very far with just the comments 🙁 Funny how such a thing can keep creeping back years later. I saw that one of my friend’s favorite books is Ishmael and fought off the urge to ask if it was related to Moby Dick…and then the memories come back… Hope things are well and let me know if you find that essay 🙂
Comment by Nikki — February 27, 2005 @ 1:16 am
Hi Nikki/Nicci,
It looks like you bookmarked the comments section only. Here is the link with comments: https://mainecourse.com/mt/archives/000071.html.
IÃm glad you popped in. It prompted me to revisit our visit, and besides I was thinking about you the other day as I was flying to Indiana with my family to visit my parents. The guy next to me was only half as interesting as you – but then he didnÃt have a Spanish speaking, conga-line dancing dog.
Comment by michael — February 27, 2005 @ 8:40 am
Thanks, I read the essay to my roommates this morning. It’s amazing, thinking back on the stuff that’s happened in the past 2 years. We just got back from an 8-hour plane trip to Roatan, the Caribbean paradase in the Bay Islands of Honduras. I’m living in San Francisco now, or just south of there, teaching kindergarten and granted only partial visitation of the conga-dog, still residing in Wilmington. Sure do miss her antics though, as I haven’t seen her since August. Good to know you’re still around 🙂
Comment by Nicci — February 27, 2005 @ 1:22 pm