|Posted on November 27, 2015 at 9:25 AM|
Chapter 2 – Children, Go Where I Send Thee
There are times in life when, as a woman, you just know you have to take control of the situation. This was one of those times. If Dash saw the name of the place we were going, I would never hear the end of it. There was no way around it; I simply had to hold the reins and ignore whatever he said. It would be a challenge.
“You have the tickets?”
“Yes, Dash.” Of course I had the tickets. You never give anything important to Dash, unless you want it lost or wrecked.
“How long do we have to wait for our plane?”
I wanted to correct him – planes – but there would be time for that later. “We board in half an hour. Sit down and be quiet.”
I had a good feeling about this trip. We had gotten out of Cuba and into Canada with virtually no issues. We had to endure no questioning, no cavity searches, no nothing. It was sort of strange, and considering the hunky customs guy, a bit disappointing, not that I didn’t try to get his attention.
“We’re flying across the continent the day before Thanksgiving? Are you insane?”
It was at least the hundredth time he had bitched about the date, as if I could have done something to change it.
“Yes, we are flying the day before Thanksgiving. Deal with it. They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in Cuba or Canada, so quit your bitching.” I didn’t have the heart to point out that we would be flying on Thanksgiving Day as well. Dash needed to be spoon-fed shit like this, especially if we were in public.
Dash stopped in his tracks. “They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada? What the hell is wrong with them?”
I put on my patient face. “They do celebrate it, but about six weeks earlier. Now, shut up and sit down.”
He dropped to the seat, stared out the window, then glared at me once more. “This place is insane!”
“It’s Toronto airport. What did you think? They would roll out the red carpet for you? Maybe they should have held back everyone else, like you were some sort of god damned royalty?”
“We’re flying to Alaska from here?”
Damn. There it was; the first question that I really didn’t want to answer. “You need some coffee? You should probably use the washroom. I don’t want to have you bouncing up and down on the plane.”
“If you don’t want me to have to pee on the plane, why do you want me to have coffee?”
He was starting to piss me off. I forced a kind, understanding smile. “I thought perhaps you were thirsty.”
He sat quietly, content for a moment with the answer.
“Hey!” He spun around on the seat to face me. “You want me to go to the bathroom now because there aren’t any bathrooms on the plane, right?”
“Of course there are bathrooms on the plane.” This plane anyway. I wasn’t sure if that would be the case for the rest of the trip. “Just shut up and sit there.”
I opened a magazine, hoping he would get the message that I was done talking. He fiddled his fingers, shifted in his seat, shuffled his feet on the carpet. I knew he wouldn’t be quiet for long.
“So we’re going to Alaska from here.”
Eventually, but I couldn’t tell him that. “We’ll be there before you know it.”
“Air Canada flight one-twenty-one to Winnipeg is preparing to board.”
Dash looked up to the ceiling. He probably thought the woman was sitting in the rafters making the announcement.
I stood. “That’s us.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it absolutely is.”
He shook his head. “No, it can’t be, because we’re going to Alaska, not Winter... Winter...”
“Winnipeg. Winnipeg is on the way to Alaska. Let’s go.”
Winnipeg? Who the hell came up with these Canadian names? Why the hell were we going there? I grabbed my bag and followed Bambi, but this was not going to be the end of the discussion.
Thankfully we were through customs. Of course, Bambi had to bat her eyelashes and shake her barely-contained boobs at the customs agent. I was a bit worried; I’d seen on TV what border cops do to people – and they enjoy every minute of being able to inflict pain on people. I couldn’t blame them for that, but there was something distasteful about being on the receiving end of that. She was putting the moves on him, and I was sure they would pull us over and check through everything. Then again, if I had Bambi shaking her booty at me, I would absolutely run in the opposite direction. Too bad I hadn’t thought of that before.
I hate airplanes. They are small, crowded, and always there is some grubby-faced kid teething right beside you, where you can’t escape the noise... or you have the kid beside you who pukes every time the plane moves. Planes are crawling with germs and weirdoes. Who the hell needs that!
“I get the window!”
The bitch almost body-checked me right onto the god damned wing as she shoved past me. I tried to find my seat belt, but had to push several layers of her blubber out of the way.
“We’ll be lucky if no one throws a god damned harpoon into you while we’re in Alaska.”
She glared at me. “They don’t whale hunt anymore. It’s illegal.”
“Sure it is... until they have the perfect excuse – the whale was attacking them at the salad bar!”
Her elbow slammed into my ribs. I should have known to keep my mouth shut.
She turned to face the window, watching the baggage getting thrown into the cargo hold. I took the opportunity to mime what a whale walking through the restaurant to the salad bar might look like, puffing out my cheeks, and using my arms to emphasize my whale-ish size. The kid in the seat across from us giggled. Bambi didn’t. Her elbow slammed into me again.
She was starting to settle, sorting through her bags, shoving one under the seat in front of her, one under the seat in front of me, almost smothering me as she leaned over. I was pretty sure her nipples were polishing the toes of my shoes as she reached to the floor. My god, she was a lot of woman... and not in the good way country music singers croon about.
“Fasten your seatbelts. We’re getting ready to taxi.”
I couldn’t see the woman speaking. She sounded hot.
“The weather in Winnipeg is a chilly minus nineteen, with a wind chill of minus twenty-seven.”
I leaned closer to Bambi. “What the hell is a wind chill?”
“We’ll be stopped there for thirty minutes then will be heading on to Calgary. Those passengers continuing on are asked to stay in your seats while we reload the plane.”
I turned to Bambi. “Calgary?”
She smiled that patient saint-like smile that made me want to shove my fist down her throat. “Well, yes... we don’t need to worry. We can just stay in our seats.”
“Winnipeg to Calgary?”
She smiled again.
“Then Calgary to...? Alaska?”
She nodded. She looked a bit too happy with that.
“Where in Alaska?”
She fidgeted, chewing on her bottom lip. “Well, you see, we need to go from Calgary to Anchorage...”
“And your uncle Flockington lived in Anchorage?” I knew the answer before I asked, but I needed to hear it from her.
“Well, no, not exactly. Once we get to Anchorage tomorrow morning...”
“Tomorrow morning?” I didn’t yell. I spat the question between very clenched teeth.
“Yeah, well, by the time we get to Winnipeg, then to Calgary, have a little stop-over, change planes, and get to Anchorage, it will be tomorrow morning...” She was babbling now. She knew how pissed off I was. “But it will be early tomorrow morning.”
“Umm, well, very early.” She batted her eyelashes again. That never has worked on me. I let my eyes repeat the question. “Three in the morning.”
I waited. I knew there was more.
“Then, we wait at the airport for a bit, and get our flight to Uncle Flockington’s home.”
She sighed. “Okay, about eleven hours later, we get on our final flight.”
She smiled. I shuddered.