Kelly the roofer was wiry. He wove down the airplane aisle and pointed at the seat next to me, laughing. "I don't know what's up with them at Chili's," he said. "I was there at 6:30" in the morning "and the waitress asked me if I wanted a drink. I had three vodkas. Guy next to me gave me gum to chew so they'd let me on board. Canadians, ay? Love to drink." He smiled. "Don't worry about me, though. I'll be out in ten."
He liked take-offs. "Like the speed, ay?" The rest didn't interest him. He was en route from a drunken birthday party to a promised-to-be-drunken wedding where the bride-to-be avoided him as much as possible.
We talked about Clint Eastwood. Kelly had a favorite quote from The Unforgiven. This was the second quote from that movie I'd heard in two days, both from guys. One recalled the character William Munny saying, "It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have." Kelly recited, giggling, "You better bury Ned right! Better not cuttem', otherwise harm no whores! Or I'll come back and kill everyone of you sons of bitches...." as Munny reared out of town in a downpour. The heavens wept. Oh, Clint: the classic pathetic fallacy. Although it always works on me: give me a heavy rain, in real life or in film; and you own me, emotionally.
I spent the four hours Kelly slept watching movies and listening to music. Air Canada. They've become a flying entertainment center. The back-of-the-seat touch screen offered a dozen recent films I could stop and start as I pleased, TV shows, news, an iTunes-like music selection, games, and satellite radio. When we landed, Kelly awoke as we braked at the gate. I offered him aspirin. He counter-offered to buy me a beer. But I had to run. I got through US customs and security and arrived at my gate with 10 minutes to spare. In Kelly's honor, I purchased the sacred beer, the time-to-let-your-hair-down glass that marks the end of a journey across North America and back in three days: Molson on tap, $10 Canadian with tip. And boarded the Beech 1900D through the rain. I was seated next to the right-side turboprop. It was like sitting on a vibrator for two hours, with a cold wind sailing between my shins.
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