Come on, do the locomotion!

Day number:  Lots o days.

Yeah I think I can probably get a Masters.  I watched Tiny Furniture yesterday and apart from all of the awful acting it was pretty good.

 

           And he thought he had stolen her from the original Carlo, the other Carlo.  He thought of himself as the Popeye character in the cartoons, with the other Carlo being Bluto.  Except, he didn’t have spinach.  He could get a gun, he had thought at one point, but he wasn’t adult enough to go through all the proper avenues and certifications.  He still felt like a sham, like he was only filling prior Carlo’s spot.  It didn’t help that Other Carlo was covered in tattoos (girls loved tattoos) and was nearly seven feet tall.

            He heard the cat meowing noise that signified when she got a text message, and she grabbed at her back to try to silence it. 

            She is committed to moving but not committed to him.  He’s committed to her but not to moving.

            “Aren’t you wondering who that’s from?”  He asked, suddenly feeling like the passive aggressive person that he had never meant to be.  He walked audaciously in front of an older woman who was in front of them, her disgusting stockinged legs somehow still moving on her mummified frame.  The wheels on his luggage stopped turning and the thing flipped over on its side, and he fought to turn it back right side up like a train was going to hit him.  Belinda didn’t stop walking, and now she was screwing with her phone again.

            Carlo was getting the silent treatment from most of his friends.  This is what usually happened when someone abandoned the city they lived in for a girl they hadn’t known very long (or so he thought).  And, facing the truth, he honestly didn’t meet very many girls.  For awhile he could make himself happy simply by reminding himself that he was dating an attractive woman (not girl), someone whom other guys would check out when they went out together.  He had reached a saturation point, and even an infinite amount of sex wouldn’t mitigate it.

            He wanted to cry, the old woman he had almost passed was in between them again, but now blocked the way more consciously, like a racecar driver avoiding a would-be passer.  Now the tire of his stupid luggage was wedged into the end of the conveyor belt, and half of it was running away.  It made an obnoxious screeching noise as he yanked  at it, and a vibrating noise when he’d let go.  An older man with a white moustache pulled it loose for him effortlessly, and put it back down on its wheels.  It reminded him of when he was ten and the mailman had recovered all of his papers that flew out of his backpack, rubberbanding it back together.

            “Thanks.”  He said, with real gratitude, and took off down the terminal.  A man with no neck and a plaid shirt protected his coffee like it was an egg containing his child.   

She was nowhere to be seen.  Carlo slouched and slowed his pace.  Another announcement sounded overhead, “The plane for Normal, Ohio will be departing shortly.  This is the final call for boarding.”  He started to panic, looking at the overhead signs in the long alcove and trying to decipher them with increasing incredulity. 

“There’s section A-1, and then it’s section C-7, so that must mean B-3 is this way.”  He assured himself that with proper focus he would make the plane, because he had been meant to make it. 

He ran as quickly as he could without the bag doing a wheelie.  He hummed to himself when he got nervous, and this time he was short on breath as well.  It was an awful rendition of Jailhouse Rock.  He passed a station where there was shuttles on each side, and he thought picking the right one would be akin to winning the lottery.

“Boy, you look lost.”  A man who looked like he worked on an airline said.  Carlo scoffed caustically, but since he had nowhere to go to softened.

“Do you know where this is?”  He asked, cutting the smalltalk.  He produced the ticket from his pocket and the man eyeballed it, taking his glasses off, putting them back on, and then finally resting them on the end of his nose. 

“Boarding…must…be…”  He started.  Carlo leaned in to listen more closely.  “Boarding is… almost over.  You need to get to that plane… right away.” 

The man scratched his nose between his thumb and index finger.  He looked like he was channeling information and waiting for it to be uploaded to the talking part of his faculties.  A few younger slacker type of workers laughed from behind a window.

“Are you putting on a fucking show right now?”  Carlo asked.

The man raised his arm slowly and then pivoted mechanically, pointing down the corridor in the exact direction Carlo had been going.

“Thanks a fucking ton.”  Carlo sneered, snatching the ticket from the mans hand and continuing past the shuttle system.  A child had heard him say “fuck”, and it’s mom shook her head disapprovingly.  “I’m not going to fucking apologize for that.”  He said to himself under his breath as he entered the enormous terminal, the hands on its giant clock ticking loudly.  The flight attendants were stowing the podium they took tickets at, laughing to each other almost certainly about Carlo.  He weakly presented his ticket wordlessly, and they reproached him. 

The one with the name tag that said “Tonya” picked up a phone, looking over at him like she was talking about a dog that didn’t speak english.

“Yes…”  It dragged on.

“You know, if you’d just hurry up and get off the phone, I can go find my seat.”

“Sir, that goes against proper protocol.  Now, if you’d just be patient.”

Too much time had passed, and now she would really play dumb about the text. While he prided himself on his ability to be honest about faults, he knew honesty wasn’t one of those problems.  She was a brick wall, like usual.  She’d talk about boring mundane things like cooking until he was thoroughly placated.  But, without her in the real world he was as good as a fish out of water.