On
a flight from San Francisco to Houston recently I boarded early and sat curled
up in the window seat reading my book, in peace. Until a loud mouthed woman wearing
a pink peak cap, swinging a huge patchwork teddy bear sat down beside me saying
"and I have the pleasure of sitting next to you, do I?" Which forced
a polite smile out of me. And a forced admiration of the teddy, a gift for her
great-granddaughter whose baptism ceremony was the purpose of this flight.
"You
can carry on reading, don't worry about me" she said, settling into her
seat, putting teddy between us, balanced on the armrest. Oh Lordie, how will I
manage the next three hours? I had been lucky to get an upgrade and was looking
forward to some solitude.
Before
we took off we were offered a drink. I asked for water. She had a glass of red
wine. Soon after takeoff the drinks service began which meant I was drawn out
of my book to make eye contact with the flight attendant and in so doing became
an unwilling listener to my seat companion. She reminded me of an old
acquaintance, Lyona Carne, who I had met in my Jack Russell breeding days. Tall
and imposing, Lyona was the President of the Jack Russell club. She could be
kind and generous but she was outspoken and told folks exactly what she thought
of their dogs. Over the years we grew to like and respect one another, probably
because she was also a bridge player and invited me into her weekly bridge
circle if one of her regular four couldn’t play. What with doggie adventures
and bridge end-plays we had lots to talk about.
Lyona
had died very unexpectedly a few years ago and I didn’t want to replace her. But
here was her alter ego, funny, brash, downing her red wine with great gusto. She
pressed the conversation forward and drew me in. Eighty-two years old, born to
a family of twelve children with only five still alive, she’d had a strong Catholic
upbringing in Missouri and shocked her family when she divorced her husband
after bringing five children into the world. “He was a no- good” she said. “I paid
off all his debts, brought up the children on my own working three jobs. I
never gave up on him though and even went to his funeral. I wanted to show his
family that I respected the father of my children. I worked mainly as a pattern
maker, and yes I did make the teddy bear. I was up until 3am last night. I
sewed the bag too.” She beamed, reaching forward for the large bag she had made
for teddy. It was better than any I’d seen in a store, or had been sent as
a gift for making a donation to a charity or NGO, not to mention the bags my
husband keeps bringing home from his latest conference. This was a work of art
as was the dear teddy. She was growing on me.
Over
another glass of wine she told me her name was Veronica and she lived in Oregon
near one of her children. On Christmas Eve thirty four years earlier, she was
introduced to Alan, owner of a small local store. They clicked immediately and
have been together since, but Alan wouldn’t marry her. So, although they have
lived together all these years, they sleep in separate rooms and have separate
interests. “No sex” she told him. “Not if you won’t marry me.” They own their
home together, and share all the costs. But definitely no sex.
“Alan
sleeps a lot. I’m a bit worried about him. He is up for about six hours a day
and even when he’s up he’s half asleep in front of the TV. I went to the doctor
with him recently but the doctor didn’t think there was anything wrong with
sleeping eighteen hours a day.”
“Do
you think he’s depressed?” I asked. “Well yes, that’s exactly what I thought and
I expected the doctor to confirm that, but he didn’t. We don’t really share
much these days, Alan and I” she said wistfully. An overpowering image of Alan
drowning in her abundant energy swept over me. I began asking the sort of
questions psychologists ask. “What drew you to Alan when you first met?” “What
did you do together that enlivened your relationship?” “Are you good friends?”
With
such personal questions floating in the space between us, I now felt the need for
some propping up myself. Veronica had been raving about the red wine, topping
up her glass at every opportunity, so I asked the flight attendant for a taste.
He brought me a full glass. It was awful. Two sips and I knew I had to give it
back. But Veronica was in the throes of telling me about life with Alan and his
alcoholism. In the early days, before he gave up drinking, they would have fun
together over whiskey and wine but they had no alcohol in the house these days.
He loved gardening and it seemed she left him to his garden and TV and he left
her to her sewing machine.
The
flight attendant was passing so I held out the glass. “Sorry, it was just too
much for me.” “Oh, don’t give it back, give it to me” piped up Veronica. I
obliged, filling her glass yet again.
She
was now in fifth gear, telling me “I shop at Thrift stores. Get all my clothes
for next to nothing. Even these,” she swiftly pulled down her t-shirt to reveal
her bra with a great flourish and giggle, snapping back her shirt so quickly I
wondered “did that actually happen?” She then admired my bracelet and asked if
it worked. It was a copper bracelet I had bought in Zambia a long time ago.
When I told her I didn’t wear it for arthritis she said she needed one so
without really thinking I pulled off my bangle and put it on her wrist. She
burst into tears and leant over to hug me.
She
confessed all the wine on this flight was a real trip for her. I couldn’t
really imagine how someone who could put away so much could do without any at
home and I wondered if she was a secret tippler in her sewing room, but I
didn’t ask. By now I’d had enough secrets. I made sure she wasn’t going to be
stranded in Houston. She was meeting one of her children and hopefully she would
nap on the car trip to her grandson’s home where she would meet her first great-grandchild.
We
landed shortly afterwards. Veronica stood up straight and tall, gathered teddy
and his bag and walked off the plane as if never a sip of wine had passed her
lips. She was not going to be my role model. We didn’t exchange contact
details. But I left that airport with a spring in my step, energized by her
vitality and joie de vivre.
