Hallelujah

I love traveling. Every bit of it. The skill of packing the perfect suitcase, fitting everything as it should be, in place. No space wasted. The passthru of security checkpoints. Plan it right and it's effortless. The feeling of floating when you get that grove on the moving walkways and having the perfect tempo to not break stride when it ends. Waiting at an empty gate across from the one I'm soon to board. 

I have my ear buds in. I never take them out even when the flight attendant does the final cabin checks. My long black hair masks the wires. I have my Shuffle clipped underneath my ponytail. It doesn't get picked up by the TSA scanners. I love that.

I've amassed some frequent flier miles that have survived the many mergers. Getting upgraded to the forward cabin is still an adrenaline rush - not so much because it's elitist but because it allows me to focus less on bumping elbows with the person next to me and more on the forced meditation-like state we all enter. 

Botti's Hallelujah is playing; a smooth and haunting music massage. I've got the volume loud but it's not harsh. You can hear a breath before the muted trumpet begins. It's so intimate, like a whisper in my ear, the way jazz was meant to be heard, meant to feel. 

It's a 3 hour flight from Vegas to Minneapolis. I've taken it hundreds of times but this time is different. I'm different. There’s a subtle but significant change visible only to my mind's eye. There's a sense of urgency I've never had before. There's so much to say but how do you begin. I love you and I'm grateful for you seems so unremarkable. He's deserving of better words, words I am not capable of producing out loud. We have that in common. 

As we take off, I close my eyes. Maybe if I keep them shut time will stand still and the plane will never land. I'd gladly circle the earth, suspended, if it bought him more time. Of the 3 of us, he's the strongest. No one notices that. 

I feel closest to him when I'm traveling. He taught me when I was very young how very small the world really is. He has a fearless curiosity that affords him the luxury of experiences. I'm envious that curiosity comes so naturally to him. 

A million memories pop up randomly like flipping through a magazine - nothing specific, just quick glances. Once in a while my mind will land on one and then it’s gone. I don't keep track of the details; I remember the feeling of that day, that Thanksgiving, that Christmas. The events aren't the memories, the feelings are. The feelings keep me full.

I drift off but eventually the wheels screeching on the runway jerks me back to here, inside the plane. A startling reminder that sometimes hope is not enough. That everything has a beginning, a middle and an end. There's beauty in that I'm told.

My exit from the plane is swift, controlled, patient. And as if right on cue Botti's Hallelujah is playing again only this time it's the live version so I can't hear his breath anymore but I can feel the weight of the audience listening with anticipation, wondering what's next. Me too.

Un día, una mariposita estaba volando en el jardín. PERO, de repente sus alas se rompieron y cayó, hacia la muerte. For David Charles.