“Flight Of The Midnight Sun”
Somewhere around St. John Island past Labrador and before Greenland, I realize I had absolutely no idea what I am doing.
My seat-mate thinks I am a professional snowboarder for Burton due to my 2007 U.S Snowboarding Open backpack, a spectator’s souvenir which cost me $50.
“So, you’re travelling when you’re not in the Olympics?” he asks me.
I realize I could be whoever I want to be, if just for this eight-hour flight next to this total and totally inquisitive stranger. I could be an Olympic snowboarder. I could be run-away Russian royalty. I could be…
I notice his heavy platinum wedding band. I suddenly want to ask about his wife. He’s young—where did they meet? How long have they been married? Does she mind being away from him when he does his traveling? Does he mind being away from her? And most importantly, how did he know she was the one when he met her? How do you know? This is the question I want to ask everyone.
A glint catches my eye as I write this from the fourth finger on my left hand. I wonder how many people want to ask me the same question, not realizing that I am a farce; a sham; a lost pretender, no closer than they are to the answer.
I can be anyone I want to be for this trip. For this flight, I am married and have all the answers, along with an illustrious snowboarding career.
XOXO
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