LANDING IN THE LEAVES

The thunderstorm should have been the first indication. Or maybe waiting on the runway in Phoenix, without the air conditioning working, for over an hour, as the temp kept climbing past one hundred and ten...The businessman in the bolo tie and cowboy hat who whistled a one-note concerto might have offered another clue...flying home is not an easy thing to do.

As we finally descended in the rain, Manchester NH looming large, I was prepared: I had enough cash to get a motel room for the night and a credit card still able to rent a car the next morning. Beyond these facts, it was a crap shoot. We skidded to a slippery landing and I could sense the approaching autumn even through the steel plane walls.

It was cold. I had on short sleeves and rumpled jeans. My blue sunglasses were smeary. My eyes were red. Whatever spikes I had carefully arranged in my hair had long ago melted. It wasn't a bowl-cut, but it wasn't High Art, either. Man, would there even be a motel nearby at midnight? I cracked my neck. Then my knuckles. Then, I breathed out. At the bottom of the stair-case, ungrinning, grim, stood my brother, the cop, my sister the ER psych nurse and my eldest, red-haired niece.

The difference between coming back to family and coming back to friends is that family is there and insulted that you even thought of a back-up plan. Friends usually suggest you have one "just in case". I re-set my shoulders, forced a smile, and marched down the stairs. Beyond the airport lounge windows, the storm continued to rage.

It was now going on twelve hours since I loaded my duffle bag into the taxi at Detroit Street.
Gus, the super, was there to give me a hug and see me off. My elderly Carribean driver was tight-lipped as I explained we needed to get to Burbank at lunch hour, but we made it. I slipped the baggage guy a twenty and was escorted right through to the boarding gates. All had been relatively well until Phoenix. But Phoenix was hours ago and a whole continent away.

The three walked in relative silence, in front of me, through the parking structure. My feet were numb from cramped sitting and the exit aisle on the plane. I also began to realize: everyone in NE walks at least twice as fast as I do. Old people. Cripples. Babies. Even the dogs seem to be energized. I'd taken off my watch and packed it away so I wasn't sure what time it was on either end of the country. But my body felt like it was the wee hours and my head was just a whining migraine.

Suddenly, just as my brother opens his SUV and I crawl the two feet up into it's back row, we hear voices. Two cars down: a luxury vehicle shining like a new knight is being busted into by an airport maintenance guy and being overseen by a thirtysomething business type in an Armani suit, thousand dollar shoes and designer eyewear. He clutches his cell and is screaming into it. Around us, the parking structure is all but deserted.

"I think he's locked out," Ann, the ER nurse nods to Kev, the cop-brother.
The niece nods, backing up Ann's assessment.
"It's not my problem--I'm off duty--it isn't even my state!" Kev moans, slamming the driver's door. We all know he will help.
Ann walks with Em, the niece with the long legs and red mane, backing up Kevin.
I sit, trying to numb out the pain, the exhaustion, the dehydration and the hunger. I suddenly realize, I haven't eaten nor drunk anything since Phoenix...
Outside the SUV, the business dude's voice is raised and irritated. He's yelling at the maintenance guy. The maintenance guy is clearly relieved at the arrival of my super-hero rescuing familia.
I rub my eyes, wondering who is orchestrating my life...

Fifteen minutes later, both the maintenance guy and my cop bro are using every "break in" tool on the back of the maintenance truck to no avail. Meanwhile, the businessdude remains half screaming into the phone and half screaming at the other men not to scratch his "new car".
Finally, I can't stand it. I grab my Blackberry, my triple A card, and hop out.
I must enter this family any way I can...
"Hey, you can use my auto club card...or my Blackberry...they'll send someone out in like fifteen minutes....we need to get home...I've been on the road traveling since this morning, man. I'm beat..." I wave the blue and white card in the air.
"Who are you?" the businessdude demands, scowling.
"My sister," Ann says.
"My sister," Kev sighs.
"I'm the Big Sister. Why don't you call triple A and get this over...we need to leave!" I plead.
"My Auntie," Em smiles.
The businessdude neither thanks me nor acknowledges the simple plan.
He goes back to screaming into his cell.
My brother and the maintenance guy go back to fooling with the gerry-rigged coathanger and break in tool.
I try again. This time, nobody is even looking at me.
Finally, Ann turns to face me. " He called the road service and they sent the airport maintenance dude...he works at both places."
Even Ann can see the absurdity.
"I called the road service!" Suddenly businessdude is angrily reiterating this fact.
"Is it triple A?" I try to remain civil.
He doesn't reply, turning his back.
"He's a nice man, really, Auntie K.K." Emily shrugs.
Yeah.
Maintenance guy looks up and explains that the businessdude did not call triple A. He called his prepaid Audi dealership and that's how airport maintenance was called in. No one else around this late...
"Triple A is always around..." I point out. No one is listening.
Twenty more minutes of curses. Emily is texting friends all over the state. Ann is smoking her second pack of Marlboros. Kev and the maintenance dude keep promising us that it is "just another inch!" and swapping stories of better tools in better scenarios.
I can't stand it.
It's just too much. We are passing one o'clock in the morning and on top of everything else, I have to pee...
"In L.A., you know what a cop would do about now?" I say loudly enough everyone looks over.
"In about a second, his nightstick would come out and your back window would come down in pieces. Reach in, grab keys, and you'd be out of everyone's hair....you do have insurance, right?" I am not proud but I am truthful.
Businessdude splutters, fumes, faces the other two men for support. They have had enough,f inally, of his attitude.
"She's right, " maintenance guy goes to his truck, looking for a crowbar.
"She's right, man," my little sixfootfour brother says," you got insurance, right?"
Even Ann is done. She rolls her eyes. Stubs out her cigarette. Puts her arm around Emily's shoulders and walks to the still-waiting SUV.
"Good-luck," Kev waves to the airport man," Sorry I wasn't more help."
"No worries," airport maintenance sighs, then turns back to the ever fuming business dude and suggest calling...like...maybe triple A????

Inside the SUV, Ann checks her watch. "Too late to get dinner at a restaurant on the way back," she shakes her head.
"Mickey D's ?" Kev grins, gunning the engine.
"If there's one open this late..." Ann lights another cigarette, blowing smoke out her window.

We drive past the two men. Emily gives a wee wave.
"He was a nice man, really, Auntie K.K.," she texts someone in the dark.
"I bet he was," I close my eyes, suddenly realizing, it isn't raining anymore.

I have landed.