Back from Texas

I wrote this while waiting at a terminal in the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. With my liberation from Texas only two hours away, I started to watch people come and go. A cluster of television sets hung above the seating area, tuned into one of the better known news stations. Disinterested in the television, I decided to write down my observations as they happened.

A young girl in dark sweatpants, white athletic top, and green sandals walks up to her sleeping friend and wakes her up. The young girl wants one of the seats the friend is sleeping on, and the friend slaps her arm. The girl sits down, they talk for a moment, and the friend curls up next to her and goes back to sleep. The girl is a symbiosis of human and technology. An IPod sings into her ears, and her thoughts and intentions are transmitted through her hands, each of which hold a cell phone. Her light brown hair is pulled back except for one lock that hangs loose. An older man, sophisticated in the ways of Gentleman’s Quarterly, sets his case in a seat that is away from everyone. He walks off leaving it unattended. The TV above us says Mississippi is the most obese state in the union. I notice the pretty young lady who went through airport security ahead of me still has her lip balm. Airport security seems to be satisfied that her balm isn’t a hazard, but if that were me, I would have frisked her many times, maybe even turned her upside down and jiggled her a bit. It’s my fear of lip balm, you see. A lady with long dark curly hair walks by. Her jeans are just hugging her booty. I would hug it too. The TV questions if our ports are safe. I see a woman in her late thirties in a long white sweater over a black top, with black pants. She has a red necklace and her hair is very dark. She slowly paces about and seems anxious to get her traveling over with. The sophisticated gentleman has returned with a Starbucks coffee. He’s annoyed that a little old lady has seated herself next to his unattended case, and I begin to think that something prissy and vain lurks under his respectable veneer. The TV tells us to stay tuned for secrets to bug proof our homes. A woman in her twenties sits nearby reading a fashion magazine. Her hair is pulled back into a knot, and she is wearing business attire –a tan skirt and navy blue blouse. Her jacket is neatly folded and placed in the seat next to her. I find the light colors of her suit disarming, as business clothing’s usual dark grays have undertones of invasion and conquest. I admire her shoes and think if I were a woman I would probably have a lot of shoes, especially a pair of Manolo Blahnics. The TV is asking if our playgrounds are safe. As I look away from the TV, I am arrested by the sight of a young girl, a little over five feet tall, with short sassy blond hair, pouting lips, bright almond eyes, and a black dress. The dress has a deep v cut that shows the inside curves of her breasts. A large medallion, either silver or silver blue depending on how the light strikes it, hangs by black band down into her valley. The skin on her face, neck, and chest is very smooth and clear. Her boyfriend also has blond hair but his goatee is sandy brown. Her small hand is on the inside of his arm, and as I look at her hand, I can almost feel how gentile her touch is. The TV is showing a succession of children chanting “Tick tick tick tick.” The message at the end reproves us to stop global warming while there is still time. The plane has arrived, and they are starting the boarding call.

I arrived in Portland three and one half hours later. Tonight it is cool and not too dry. I notice all of the trees, tall and green. The moon is full, and my cat is sitting on the railing watching bugs fly in the dark. One of the few good things I can say about being in Texas is it gives me a better appreciation of living in Portland.