Source of a River by Gary Morse

Author:Gary Morse
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gary Morse

CHAPTER 21

John jiggled the airline plastic cup, hoping to discover more of the amber-colored whiskey, but the cup was empty, save for ice cubes that seemed to stare back at him. It was probably just as well—he’d already had four 7-and-7s (two was his normal limit). A numbing feeling swelled over his head, and he blamed this on the alcohol, even though he dimly realized the self-deceit, for he’d felt detached and dull all day.

The plane pitched as it descended through dark cumulonimbus, bouncing the heavy-set businessman in the aisle seat against John’s side. John had been wedged tightly the entire flight from California between this man and the severely obese, young man with bad facial acne who was squeezed against the window seat. It was a good reason to drink, John thought—he’d always hated feeling crowded, and now this situation bordered on claustrophobic, and he had tried to drown his occasional, panicky impulses in alcohol. He had the impulse to unbuckle his seatbelt and run amok down the aisle, but he knew there was no place to go and the plane would soon be on the landing strip. His stomach felt queasy as the plane pitched and rolled through bumpy air. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to talk himself past the surging anxiety that pressurized his lungs.

The airplane touched down smoothly, but then lurched to an abrupt stop at the St. Louis gate. The passengers clambered into the aisle and John slipped out of his seat. The man from the aisle seat swung his bag from the overhead compartment, banging John on the shoulder, and then from across the aisle, his thirtysomething business companion with slicked-back, raven hair in an expensive suit and shiny black shoes stepped on John’s little toe as he positioned himself for the march to the exit. But no one was going anywhere immediately. The ground crew was slow in opening the plane door and the long queue of passengers, packed body to body like cattle crowded in the chute, waited with no exit.

John hated feeling swaddled by the swollen line of passengers. He longed for fresh air, and felt his chest tighten again. He wanted out, but there was nothing he could do—a fact that again stirred a crazy desire to scream. Finally, the plane door popped open and passengers spewed into the narrow gangway leading to the gate.

John peered around an obese man, searching for Claire in the small crowd that waited inside the terminal. He saw grandparents, wives, husbands, children and a man in a black suit with a thin black tie holding a sign with “Mr. Frank Sextro” printed across it, but not Claire. For an instant, John mistook a blond woman standing at the edge of the circle of waiting people for Claire. Her hair was golden like Claire’s, but she was younger with a pretty face and a slightly upturned nose, prominent breasts that also turned up, and a shapely body clad in a short dress.

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