From: pcurtis@willamette.edu (Paul E. Curtis)
Subject: A story--revised
Organization: Willamette University, Salem OR
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 16:56:42 GMT

Well folks, I've just revised the short story that I posted a week ago (the
reason why should be pretty obvious).  So, without futher ado, here is:

			...transit  (rev. 1.1)
			----------

/British Airways wishes to announce the imminent departure of flight 84 to
London Heathrow.  Will all passengers boarding this flight please proceed
immediately to gate D-7.  Thank you./

Unshaven and jet-lagged, he slumped forward in the plastic airport seat,
resting his face on his hands.  He checked his watch for the second time in
five minutes, and after mentally adjusting for the time zone he was now in,
realized that his flight wouldn't be boarding for three hours, yet.  Three
hours, and nothing but a four day old copy of the International Herald Tribune
to keep him occupied.  He sighed, and unfolded the paper to reread the same
articles one more time.

He would've continued studying the article about the recent turmoil in Zaire,
if not for the astonishingly pretty woman who, at that moment, sat down next
to him.

He would've returned to the paper, studying the articles even more intently,
if she hadn't met his furtive glance with the sweetest smile he'd seen in a
long time.

He would've blushed, but he didn't have time, as she immediately engaged him in
conversation.

"So--where are _you_ going?"

* * * * *

/The Airport Authority wishes to announce that baggage is not to be left
unattended in the terminal.  A left luggage service is available on the
second floor of the main concourse.  Please report any unattended baggage you
may see to a security officer immediately.  Thank you./

Airport cafes are not known for the quality of their coffee.  In fact, even
after adding two packets of non-dairy creamer and two packets of Sweet-N-Low
to his cup, the stuff still tasted vile.  This once, however, he didn't mind,
as the company was...enchanting.  At first, he was very self-conscious, aware
that in his tired, dazed state, he was perhaps not projecting the best
possible image of himself, but she didn't seem to mind.  In fact, she appeared
as charmed by him as he was by her--and they had so much in common!  Strange,
considering that they not only came from different backgrounds, but even from
different parts of the world.  Still, there was much to talk about--music,
politics, philosophy, Love...and a long, serene gaze into each other's eyes
was broken only when a waitress snatched away their cups, delivering them a
stern look which seemed to imply, "An hour is time enough for you to drink
your coffee, thankyouverymuch!"

* * * * *

/The White Zone is for loading and unloading only.  If you gotta load or
unload, go to the White Zone.  You'll love it.  It's a way of life./

Airports are busy places.  At most times of the day, it is difficult to escape
the bustle of humanity which they are built to accomodate.  Still, there are
some corridors where there is little to disturb the intruder, apart from the
antiseptic, perfumed atmosphere, the flourescent lighting, and a security
camera or two mounted on the ceiling.  It was into one of these corridors that
the two travellers walked.  As the airport P.A. system played a Muzak version
of the Arthur Brown song, "Fire," they sat down against the wall, put their
arms around each other, closed their eyes, and drifted away, serene in each
other's company.

* * * * *

/Hello, this is your captain speaking.  The pre-flight checks are nearly
complete, and we will be taking off shortly.  Once again, we hope you have a
pleasant flight, and think you for flying United./

They had parted, as they had always known that they must.  Oh, they'd
exchanged addresses, and promised to write frequently, but it was little
consolation.  He sat in his economy-class seat, still unshaven, still
jet-lagged, and nearly as despondent as he'd ever been.  Why is it that we
meet the most intriguing people at the most inopportune times?  Why doesn't
romance ever cooperate with the business of life?

And why, oh why, couldn't he have been born 5,000 miles away, to share his
life with the most special person he had ever known?

He sighed heavily, and with his copy of the International Herald Tribune
tucked well away in the overhead luggage bin, instead opened his duty-free
bag, to examine the liter of Sherry he'd bought prior to take-off.

Inside the bag, alongside his bottle of wine, he found a single red rose.

So, he thought, there is some justice in the world, after all--and instead of
cursing whoever had invented Love, he praised the person whose idea it was to
put a florist's shop in the airport.  Some things are worth the pain.

He even managed a smile, as the airplane flew over the hills and far away.

pec/11-16
revised to include a reference to fire: 11-23

* * * * *

Take it away, Julie...

						--Paul Curtis

Newsgroups: alt.romance.chat