On the redeye back to the City I wept profusely in the first class bathroom. The stewardess was knocking on the door, begging me to return to my seat. People were complaining.
When I staggered back to coach, I found something tucked into my briefcase under the seat.
It came in a brown paper bag, twisted at the top and tied with a blue ribbon, like it was meant for a special someone. A small envelope stuck out of the bag with my name written on it. I opened the envelope. The card inside read, You forgot this. I opened the bag and found a black DVD case with a blank disk inside. I looked up and down the dark aisle. Nobody was awake. Maybe the gift was meant for somebody else.
I asked the stewardess if she had seen anyone stop by my seat. She didn’t know. Nobody was supposed to be walking around while the fasten seatbelt sign was illuminated. The captain came on the PA system and said we would be going around the storm. There would be a slight delay.
I looked at the disk in my hand. I thought about making an announcement on the PA system. I could wave the disk around like a throwing star to get people’s attention. I might break it in half, wield the sharp edge as a weapon and threaten to take everyone in first class hostage.
A week ago, Laurie had rented a cabin on the lake. We spent the whole week without any trouble. It was the first time we were alone together since leaving the City. But after a week, I thought I would be better off without her, and she would be better without me. She cried for a while. When she couldn’t cry anymore, she let me go. I drove straight to the airport and got on the redeye back to the City.
Here I was with this gift. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe Laurie wanted to get back at me. Maybe it was a tape of her having revenge sex with Roy. I wouldn’t have put it past her. I would never put a mysterious blank disk into my own laptop, but I was willing to risk losing my life’s work to find out what it was. I’d insert the disk and press play. Laurie’s face would fill the screen. Laurie would explain how it was she who had planted the gift in my bag. She would explain how she had gotten on the next flight to the City without my knowing. She had put the gift in my briefcase to make sure I didn’t find it before I took off. She had followed me home to save our relationship. She understood me and wanted to be with me. She would wait at my doorstep. She would wait and wait and wait. She would talk me into falling back in love with her. She would beg for forgiveness. She would promise to never see Roy again. She would ask to move in with me. Then she would beckon to me through the screen and stretch her big lips into a smile and say, come hither. It would be so sweet. Then I would eject the disk and laugh and wipe my eyes. In the airport, I would forget about my checked bags, hail a cab and tell the driver, take me home and step on it. I would hang my head out the window like a dog, sniff at the fresh City air and think, It’s finally happening!
I pulled out my laptop. Before I could insert the disk, the stewardess told me to stow my computer. We would be landing soon. When I got off the plane, I found a seat at the arrival gate, hoping to find out what flight she would be on, to stay one step ahead of her, ready for anything. I inserted the disk into my laptop. The disk was scratched.
Jeremy Scheuer 
Morning After
The service is pretty laissez-faire here.
I wouldn’t comment on the servant class.
I’m not trying to make a comment on class.
My book is a class commentary.
I read your book.
Did you like it?
It’s super short, which I like.
I worked on it for five years.
The middle part has a specific ambiguity too it, which I like.
I specified the specifics in the latter chapters.
Your specifics were pretty unspecific.
You can argue specifics without specifying, seriously.
Yeah. These waffles are seriously going on myspace.
Don’t you have an Instagraham?
Just myspace and AIM.
Tell me more about your book.
I started writing it when I went to Canada to do community service building playgrounds. It’s really a commentary on the socio-economic borders of wealth and the super-rich.
It’s definitely about the super rich.
I should have added some significance toward the end.
Yeah it gets a little insignificant toward the back of the book.
I love writing children’s books.
Yeah, I don’t like that as much.
I love how formulaic the writing process is.
The characters have shallow aspirations.
What do you mean?
It’s not realistic. I read a lot of non-fiction.
But what are aspirations?
The characters aren’t real to me.
No, what does aspirations mean?
I don’t really know.
Do you even like children?
I almost expected you to ask that.
You talk about how much you love children in your book.
That’s not what it’s about.
You should write something else, maybe.
I want to write something really significant.
Your book was pretty good.
It wasn’t significant though.
No, it wasn’t significant.
3 Comments
Filed under Stories
Tagged as after, ambiguity, book, class, commentary, Date, laissez-faire, morning, short, specific, writer