Michael nodded in agreement, “Well, let me finish the walk around so you can fly your butt out of here.” As he was filling out the logbook he saw Emily, one of his favorite flight attendants, who ran up and gave him a hug, “Hey Michael, how is my favorite mechanic?”
He smiled warmly, “Much better, now that I have seen you, my day is complete.”
She swatted his arm playfully, “You suck-up, and you are so full of it! If you weren’t married I’d take you home with me.” Michael smiled at that as she headed down the aisle to go take care of the first class passengers. He finished the logbook and signed off the airworthiness release, then laid the logbook on the glareshield.
As he stepped on the Jetway, he saw the fear, relief, or anger on the faces of the passengers, depending on their particular situations. Dammit, what is holding up Myra’s papers? Did Moore even put them in? He saw some movement under the concourse, at one of the baggage carts, and headed until he got close enough to see a bunch of what they call the ‘barrio bunch’ going through the passengers’ suitcases looking for valuables.
They saw him and one yelled, “Beat it gringo!”
Michael put his hands up and walked backward until he was out of sight of the group. He then turned around and headed to his truck to get the next job order.
As Michael drove home, the lack of traffic confirmed the state was dying, and if they didn’t leave soon, they were going to be in real trouble. He stopped at the corner market to pick up some groceries, and parked near the entrance to lessen any chance of getting ambushed carrying the food to the car.
The selection was even sparser than normal, but he grabbed a basket and walked around to see what he could get. He picked up a couple of spuds, then saw the bruising and black marks on them, and put them back. He found a couple of sad looking carrots, and put them in the basket along with some other vegetables. In the meat department, they had the newest poster from PETA with the slogan “Meat is Murder” plastered everywhere, and he looked around for something that looked edible.
He saw a pack of chicken and grabbed it before somebody else did, then headed for the canned food aisle. He looked at the almost empty shelves, and grabbed he could, without being picky about the brands. For some reason, the aisle reminded him of what he saw when he’d gone into East Berlin while he was attached to Field Station Berlin. Even though it was supposed to be the showcase of communist Eastern Europe, the shops didn’t really have a lot of food stuffs, mostly tourist things like crystal ware or binoculars.
Michael took his basket to the cashier, who rang it up lackadaisically. When he saw the total, he winced. The price was higher, for a worse selection, of poorer quality that last week, but he had not choice, so he paid for his selections and headed to the car.
He noticed a couple of youths looking at him, and he quickly unlocked the car, threw the bag inside, jumped in and locked the door. The youths got there seconds too late, and started banging on the car, trying to open the door. One of them pulled out a gun, and pointed it at Michael, who quickly threw the car in reverse, and ducked down.
He bounced over the curb, threw the car into drive, punched the accelerator, and hoped the car held together. The Focus shuddered under the demands, but careened into the street as he glanced at his rear view mirror.
Since he wasn’t being pursued, Michael slowed the car down to the speed limit to avoid getting pinched for speeding, while he tried to get his breathing under control. There was no point in calling the cops, because it would be catch and release, with the deprived and misunderstood youths coming looking for him.
Michael pulled into his driveway, shut the car off, and took several deep breaths. He didn’t want to worry Myra; she already had enough issues with living in this area now. He got out of the car, walked to the mailbox, and saw a packet. He quickly stuck it in his back pocket, and headed to the garage to get the car inside, before too many of the neighbors got nosey.
He pulled the car in, climbed out, and quickly closed the garage door then unloaded the food and brought it inside. He dropped the groceries on the counter and ripped the packet open. It was the travel papers for Myra and he yelled with joy.
Myra came running into the kitchen, “What is the matter?”
He smiled and said, “Your travel papers are here, pack your bag, nothing valuable, the Brownies in security in the airport will just steal them. I will get you a ticket for tomorrow, and I’ll get the valuables through security.
“You know we can fly for free, and save the money, right?”
Michael hugged her, “Normally yes, but all the flights are full leaving with paying passengers, and I want you on that plane out of here tomorrow, I don’t care what it costs!”
They argued back and forth a bit more but she finally saw his point. He booted up the computer and logged into the company network, finding a ticket that was leaving tomorrow to North Carolina via Dulles. He was smiling for the first time in a long time, as he helped her pack.
In the morning, he opened the door after Myra had put her bag in the trunk and had gotten into the car. He went through the ritual of closing and locking the garage door, and quickly cranked the car, heading for the airport.
Myra looked around, and Michael remembered that she hadn’t left home since the riots almost eight months ago. As the car hit the on-ramp to the airport, he said a prayer that there was no Brownie checkpoint this morning. Myra kept looking around at the light traffic on Interstate 10 and they made small talk as the car headed to the airport.
He was really happy for the first time in a long time, something about the presence of his wife always made him feel good. He drove to the departure section of the airport, got out, and popped the trunk. He gave her a kiss and passed her small carry-on bag to her, saying, “I’ll meet you on the other side of security. Don’t tell them that you are not coming back. If they ask, just tell them that you are visiting your sick sister and can’t wait to come back home because there is no place like Cali.”
Myra nodded and Michael smiled and hugged her again, watching as she turned away and walked through the departure doors. Michael drove around to the employee parking lot, got her other bag, went through the turnstiles, and caught the shuttlebus to the United concourse on LAX.
He immediately clocked in, picked up his toolbox and loaded it and the bag into his truck. He headed to the 767 that he knew that his wife would be on. Climbing the stairs to the Jetway, he swiped his badge, and headed to the cockpit. As he flipped through the logbook to see if there were any write-ups, Dave walked into the cockpit, “Hey Michael, how you doing today?”
Michael saw his wife entering the cabin, and with tears in his eyes he replied, “Getting my wife out of here.”
Dave saw who he was looking at, and Emily heard his tone of voice. She hugged Michael, ”We’ll take good care of her, matter of fact she’s going to be in first class, somebody will get moved.”
Michael walked to his wife, hugged her tightly, and with a catch in his voice smiled “Hey, Sweetie.” She smiled and he handed her a bag with her jewelry, gold coins and other valuables that he brought with him. Walking back to the cockpit, he said, “Take good care of her, she is my world.”
Dave nodded, “Will do.”
Michael was sitting in his truck, doing reports when he saw the Boeing 767 climb off the runway, and the tears flowed freely. If nothing else, Myra was finally free from the prison the State of Cali had become. He watched until the plane disappeared, and whispered a prayer before he went back to completing the reports.