Dissect the Weather

The inside of the plane is no different from the coffee shop.  They sit around and drink and talk all day, but all I can bring myself to do is breathe.  I’ve now flown to 30 something states packed with markets and fairs and cute little shops, but they all reminded me of the coffee shop.  With only a few hours left of the flight, I set it up in my head.

Them: sitting
Me: standing
I saw more that way.  I saw the cashier girl carelessly give her friends free caramel lattes. The fact that beads of sweat didn't slip down her temples suggested that she had done this before and wasn't afraid of her boss catching her.  Cashier girl was my hero at the moment because in my mind, she's the type who'd mute the television during commercials.  I turned back to our table and stared at the chessboard painted on top of it.  Even after going to that coffee shop three times a week for months, I never saw anyone actually play, but the boards were always there just in case two people felt the sudden urge.  Maybe during chess season if there is such a thing.
Them: drinking peppermint mochas
Me: inhaling air
Outside was dark and a cold wind blew softly.  Everyone draped themselves in scarves and fur coats although a slight chill is as cold as it can get in Southern California. Even the entering and exiting teeny-bopper girls hid their stuffed cleavage with jackets.  
Them: itching at the novelty of the Christmas spirit
Me:  itching to leave
            One of them noticed my lack of enthusiasm and probably felt the need to include me. "I think you should read this book, it's so powerful."
"Let’s see it," I said.
I picked up the book and inside was the author insisting us that everyone is secretly an artist. He tells the reader of how he sometimes went to schools and spoke about art until one day he got the idea to ask the students if they considered themselves to be artists.  He found that all the children in the earlier grades raised their hands, whereas only a few kids raised their hands in high school.  With that data, he implores us to find our artistic inner-child.
My interpretation:  Upon a number of systematical visits, he grew bored of giving dull lectures, so he decided to act like a real asshole and guilt the mathematicians and scientists into thinking they aren't as good as the artists.
I handed the book back and said nothing too thoughtful.  My girlfriend Saison wrapped her arms around my waist and half smiled while raising her eyebrows.  That was the look that she gave me when she wanted to know if I was ok.  We were always able to read each others expressions.  I gave her no expression back and turned my eyes toward the window.

I stop thinking about the coffee shop for a moment and focus on the flight's movie.  It’s Kate Hudson and another actress laying on beach recliners talking about some muscular guy, and I realize that I've seen it before except the main actress was different.  Bored, my eyes wander across the faces of the other passengers and I watch a lady repeatedly turn her head back to glance at a hunky flight attendant as he passes out mini soda cans.  She could be anywhere between 30 to 50, but it’s impossible to determine through the layers of makeup.  Eventually the flight attendant gets to her row and I watch her remove her hat, fluff her hair and pucker her collagen-filled lips in an effort to be a part of the mile high club.  She must not understand that airplane sex is no different from airplane masturbation.
What a joke.
That hat she took off is one of those furry hats that William H. Macy wore in Fargo and it reminds me of overdressing for mild winters. I suppose to most people, slight variances are quite exciting if they come in seasons.
            "This is your captain speaking. We're flying at about 35,000 feet and should arrive in San Diego in less than an hour.  If you need to use the restroom, this will be your last chance until I turn the seatbelt lights on."
            The woman gracefully makes her way to the restroom and I know she's waiting for the flight attendant.  I forget about her and think about how I could probably pivot my entire life on that one day.  

"Oh my god I love peppermint mochas, do you want a sip?" said mutual friend number one.
"Naw it's ok," I declined.
"Hey guys, I think we should all go see John Mayer this Saturday." said mutual friend number two.
"Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it for sure!" said mutual friend number one.
"Yeah, that sounds like it could be fun," responded Saison
"Not to me"
            They stared at me with gaping mouths and I figured since I was already a horrible person I'd shock them and say, "I'd rather stick my head in an oven."
In what I hoped was disgust, they got up from the chessboard-painted table and headed out the door, my girlfriend included.  I followed like I was just old news and figured we'd call it an evening.
In my car, Saison laid in.  Apparently I was a douche bag, and to my misfortune, we didn't call it a night.  I found out that douche bags are allowed inside outlet malls.
  She wasn’t always into doing every little stupid thing.  That was when we first met outside of a sushi bar downtown. We were both surrounded by a group of acquaintances and when I looked over at her, she widened her eyes and let out a full-body sigh, and then she smiled.  I knew that expression because I’ve given it so many times myself.  I approached her and she whispered to me, “So many annoying as hell people around here huh?” as if she had always known me.
“Yeah, I agree.”
  For an hour we made fun of all the scenesters walking by with their fur jackets and tight pants.  We criticized the sushi place for taking so long to seat anyone and wondered why people eat raw fish in the first place.  Her group of friends was called in first, but before she left I blurted out, “Would you like to get some coffee sometime?” She showed me another smile.
“No, we can do anything but that.  Coffee shops are such a trend, but here’s my number.”
            I thought about that night as we drove to the outlet mall and wondered where it had gone.
“So Saison, those scenster fags really clogged up that Grand Ole Party show last night didn’t they?”
She sighed. “If only you’d learn to enjoy yourself . . .” And that’s where she trailed off into some tangent about noticing the details instead of criticizing the details and I just grunted until she got off the subject.
“I just think your new friends have changed you.”  I’d been waiting to say that for weeks.
“No, I changed myself.  The truth is, I don’t care about John Mayer all that much, but it might be fun to go just for the experience.”  She looked over at me, but I kept my eyes on the road.  Then in a condescending tone she said, “I’m just sick of going through life like I’m some old hag yelling at the TV.”
            Instead of saying anything back I ignored her ( cut?: and thought about that book.  What if none of the younger children raised their hands, but all the high school kids did?  The author would then probably campaign math and science instead of art, and I'd find it just as unexciting.  It didn't shock me realizing that it may be like that one day; some people even believe in global warming.)
I pulled into the outlet stores and found a parking spot.  Our mutual friends parked next to us and mutual friend number one dinged my shiny white car with her red door. Without even getting an apology, we all walked toward the stores.  
Them: talking more novelty
Me: digging into my pocket for a cigarette
          Even though I told Saison that I was going to quit, I lit up.  She immediately scolded me so I blew smoke into her face.  Her eyes narrowed and her jaw pushed forward as she launched acrid words toward my direction.  That is what it had come to. I’d try my hardest to annoy her and she’d act just like those go-with-the-flow jerks that we used to both make fun of.
I considered putting out my cigarette to hold her hand because to be honest, I didn’t want her mad at me; I just wanted to aggravate her a little.  I was hoping to find the old Saison. I reached over to put the cigarette out in an ashtray, but at the last minute I pulled my arm up for another drag. And then another and another until I disregarded the idea.
We passed Barneys and Sketchers and the Sunglass Hut, and I shuffled by without glancing at anything.  They stopped and noticed everything, every little detail.  Eventually they found the Gap and just had to go in, but I stayed outside with my visible breath.  I focused my eyes on the parking lot and felt abandoned by the weather but did nothing about it.  Saison used to be so different.           
Someone began rubbing my shoulders and it’s her.
"Honey come look at this scarf, it's magical!"
"Mmph"
 I crawled onto me feet and followed her, but moved very slowly.
“It’s just a scarf with snowmen all over it, why do you get so excited about something so pointless?” I said.
“Because . . .” Saison looked up at the metallic ceiling as if she was collecting her thoughts. “What isn’t pointless?  I’ve learned that things like scarves and mochas are worth acknowledging even if they last only a short while because constant 78 degrees of perfect weather can get old real fast.”
“That’s such crap,” was the smartest comeback I had.
Saison swallowed.  “It scares me knowing that you have never tried anything new.”
“Me! Nothing’s wrong with me! You’re the one who’s changed.”
“Are you even listening? That’s my point. Sometimes going with the wind makes sense.”
This time I had no comeback.  I ran outside to the parking lot and wanted to do something drastic so I got into my car and went straight to the airport.  I thought that maybe by flying from state to state, I’d find something constant.

"Please stay seated while we pull into the next available jet way.  As always, thanks for flying Delta Airways and enjoy your stay in San Diego."
            My bank account is dry and every state that I went to, I found trendy little coffee shops and John Mayer fans that would be gone by tomorrow.  I push up the blind from the plane window. I hoped to see a sunny sky, but only saw clouds pouring rain and soaking everything.  Watching the big mass of rain, I focus on one single drop as it falls with the other raindrops.  I pick out another one and it does the same thing.  They flow with each other.  It chose that instead of staying in a cloud.  The rain makes me think about her and all the details that she always talked about.  I wonder if she still has the same phone number.
            As I walk off the plane, I spot a Starbucks inside the airport and wonder what a peppermint mocha actually tastes like.  I get in the line of about twenty people and when I finally reach the counter I ask, “Could I get a tall peppermint mocha please?”
“Oh I’m sorry, we only serve those during the winter, so in a few more weeks. Would you like a regular mocha instead?”
I think about complaining, but realize that I’ve never tried one of those either.
“Ok sure, I’ll take one of those.”
With my coffee in hand, I step outside the airport and let the million little rain drops drench me.