My buddy Mark told me about the Holidates app, and after a very basic perusal, I picked Jessica and a few others. They all fit my limited profile criteria—not unsightly, age appropriate, and somewhat intelligent. No one would believe me if I showed up with a brainless nitwit. I couldn’t tolerate ignorance in friends, so there was no way I would romantically partner with an imbecile. After a few text exchanges, Jessica stood out. She was personable and quick-witted. My mother would love her.
But I wasn’t prepared for her lack of sophistication.
First, she showed up in an outfit that appeared to be her pajamas and her suitcase belonged in the dump. Second, she irritatingly had an answer for everything and even more annoyingly, she was a photographer for Christ’s sake. Photographers were the worst. I don’t care what anyone says; pressing a button does not a work of art make!
The only upside to her nonsense was it had distracted me from my near constant rumination on mental images of planes blowing up and shattering into a million metallic shards. Well, mostly, right up until takeoff. Takeoff was always the worst part. My mind went nuts with possible scenarios: a flock of birds, an engine fire, a malfunctioning screw that shook loose and tore hole in the fuselage. That last one probably wasn’t possible but I still regularly imagined it. And that was exactly what I was picturing during takeoff when Jess laid her warm hand on top of my frightfully cold one and said, “Did you ever read Douglas Coupland?”
I was still too busy focusing my eyes on her fingers clasped over mine to answer. But that didn’t stop her from talking.
“Coupland is this Canadian author who got really famous writing books about Generation X. Before my mom died, he was one of her favorites. Anyway, he wrote this book calledMiss Wyoming.”My eyes drifted up from our fingers to her lips. They were pink and supple, almost swollen even, like the soft fleshy vesicles of a grapefruit. “It wasn’t one of his best sellers, but I loved it. In fact, when I was a teenager, I think I stole it from the library more than once.”
The plane rattled as it careened to altitude. I knew what she was doing, intentionally distracting me. “Anyway, one of the main characters inMiss Wyomingsurvives a plane crash.”
It felt like sacrilege to say the word crash while sitting on a plane hurtling through the sky, so I found myself snickering as I incredulously asked, “Do you really think talking about this survivor is the best form of consolation?”
“Yes.” She smiled gently.
“Why?” I was genuinely curious. “Won’t it only make me focus more on that possibility?”
“No, not at all because that outcome is always a possibility. Nothing can stop you from knowing that reality could exist. What I’m doing is giving you a tip.” I found that I liked this element of Jess’s personality. She was quite logical and upfront about things. “A pointer if you will on how to survive a plane crash using her strategy.”
`“Which is?”
“Be in the bathroom.”
I peered at her. That idea was completely illogical. “There are no seat belts in there. You could get crushed or trapped or covered in feces. Being in the bathroom will not save you in a plane crash.”
“Well, it saved Susan Colgate. She was the only survivor.”
“A fictional character.”
She nodded at me.
“Shewas the only survivor.”
Jess nodded yes a second time.
Flabbergasted, I snapped a little, “You do comprehend that she isn’t real, right?”
Just then, there was a ding overhead, the indication that the plane had reached flying altitude and the captain had turned off the fasten seat belt sign. I glanced up in time to see the indicator light go off. My breathing slowed. I always felt relief when we achieved cruising altitude. Landing and takeoff were statistically the most dangerous parts of being on a commercial airliner. Turning back to Jess to continue to try to explain the irrationality of her perspective, I was greeted with a knowing grin, and I once again realized that the conversation she had with me was all for show, a ruse to distract me and in some way put me at ease.
I cleared my throat and then reluctantly said, “Thank you.”
When we landed my mother was waiting inside the MVY terminal. She usually just circled the airport, but apparently, Jessica got special treatment. Actually, it was even more intense than VIP; my mother literally walked right past me, drawing Jessica into her arms for one of her gargantuan hugs. If a stranger hugged me like that I would be appalled, but Jessica just laughed and crooned, “Oh my God, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Hoffman.”
Sliding her arm into the crook of Jessica’s elbow, my mom said, “Please, call me Marla.”
“Nice to see you too, Mom,” I snarked.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes at me, like my presence was no big deal before she teased, “You? Who are you? Oh right, the son who only sees fit to visit once a year and didn’t even mention to me that he had a girlfriend. Who needs a son like that, huh?”
“You.” I smirked.
Releasing Jessica and tearing across the space toward me, my mother squealed, “Of course me!” She flapped her hands at me, ushering me into her arms as she said, “Come here, you big ol’ stick in the mud. Your mama missed you.”
Just over my mother’s shoulder Jessica grinned, as if our joyful reunion actually pleased her. I hated to admit it, but despite the mishap with her pajamas, it seemed like she was pretty good at her job. She was also very right that my mother spent at least half the drive home lamenting the state of Jessica’s suitcase.
“You should really file a complaint,” my mother bemoaned.