I’m gonna land on you like it’s a clear day at Heathrow.
My trip to Paris to rendezvous with the brown tiger is now in the hands of god. DC weather expected to be awful. But if the plane takes off, I’ll be on it. “Papa, Luton Airport, that’s so far away, what time is my flight to Paris?”, he whispers, it’s well past midnight in London. He’s all curled up beneath his blanket, calling, the glow of his mobile phone illuminating his face. “Pup, I called, they’re planning on moving the airport, but it’s gonna take’em a few days, you’ll just have to take the train up”.
“Papa, can you change my U.S. return flight date”, he meekly asks. TC, I find, doesn’t like to deal with any of the organizational elements of life. Schedules, rules, guidelines and codes all are quite foreign to him. He’d just assume not see any of these things. That’s apparently my job.
I’m left wondering just WTF he’s up to. He’s left our mutual comfort, because he needs to “find his way”, yet he can’t find his way without me. I counted, we’ve spoken THIRTEEN TIMES today. He’s in another f*cking country, 3000 miles away. I thought the Mexicans were bad, this is worse!!!!!
I want to plow you like a Calgary driveway at Christmas.
Frankly, I don’t know whose’s more dependent or more scared of being apart than the two of us right now. Ooops … I do remember. How time passes. My wife and I were like this, desperately trying to hold things together, realizing, perhaps at the last moment, we had something good. It felt good, only something was missing.
I wonder if something is missing now between TC and I. We can’t say good-bye, but we can’t seem to find a way to say hello. Either way, like so many stories, I likely won’t know, until it’s all over, how it turns out.