Weather to Fly. Christopher LeGras

year. Biggest passenger jet in the world, she seems to recall reading it can carry 700 people. The jet seems aware of its size, something in its angle of attack suggesting to Daisy that it knows of the absurdity of something as big as itself carrying so many people through the sky at nearly the speed of sound. It’s almost apologetic, she thinks, and why not? It is absurd, but not because it seems to defy logic and maybe even physics but because of its very necessity. In one hundred years humanity has gone from the last horses and buggies and first coughing Model T’s to whisking itself around by the hundreds at 35,000 feet and 600 miles per hour. That’s the absurdity the plane wears as visibly as its Air Emirates livery, she’s certain of it.

      Then she thinks, You’re certain of that sort of idea because it’s your own. You’ll never tell anyone about it and so it will never be challenged or worse, laughed at. Though there was a time not so long ago you’d have told Tia, and a time not long before that when she’d have kissed you and said, Write that down, baby, before you forget it. It’s beautiful. Oh yes, you’d have told that haunted face. You’d have told her everything. And you did, didn’t you?

      Like the fact that you’d fucked Manny. It seemed like a good idea to come clean. You thought you owed her at least that, in spite of everything. And you felt so righteous. Deep down you also thought she’d forgive you. No, you expected her to forgive you. She’d inflicted so much pain on you and you’d forgiven her so many times, and finally you gave as good as you got. Well, you’ve seen how that worked out, Daisy girl. An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind, as they say.

      Do you remember lying in her arms, both of you knowing it was the last time and this time probably forever, if not then certainly for a good long time? Of course you do. You remember how you just wanted to make those final few moments last, stretch them out and taste them like carnival taffy. So why did you do it? Was it because you thought if she forgave you, you guys would somehow be even? No, it was because you wanted to finish the thing. You wanted to be certain, this time. After four years of uncertainty and two years of hell, you were exhausted. Besides, you figured Manny’s queer too so it didn’t really count.

      Daze, you old rationalizer, you.

      Actually, Daisy thinks as the plane begins its gentle bank toward LAX, maybe the only things any of us is ever certain about are the things we don’t tell anyone. Like how I’ll never share my belief that a 750,000 pound jumbo jet has a soul. Or like how I didn’t tell Tia why I slept with Manny. If I’d told her she would have protested, I can hear her, Oh, Daze, can’t you see why you did it? And I would have seen and then there would have been no certainty about anything.