Thank You For Choosing Continental

The connection’s dreadful – the sound is so fucked it’s like talking to a dalek, and it takes twenty minutes to adjust so I can actually understand what he’s saying. We haven’t spoken for a long time – not since October, and we haven’t emailed since early spring. I have been trying not to care.

He asked to do this chat thing – emailed and said he wanted to tell me to my face about being fired, and of course, in writing, he puts a spin on it – bravado - what he wanted all along, for the payout, so he can claim, that kind of thing. When I see him, all grainy, greenish grey, he looks thinner, older, sick. His eyes look so sad. There is no bravado on his face.

In the tiny flickery picture in the corner of my screen, he stretches his arms out and touches the fridge, the door, the bed – he can reach all of it from his chair. He’s wearing a sleeveless t-shirt – wifebeaters I think they call them over there, and he’s eating ice-cream from a carton. It’s hot – even at night it stays in the nineties in Tucson at this time of year. The only light comes from the screen. Except it’s not really a light – more of an unpleasant glare.

We chat for a bit, as if it’s entirely normal – passing the time of day – this and that – superficial stuff. He says he’s going to look for a job, a new apartment, but it’s quite hard, there isn’t much going in Tucson – the economy being what it is

I say why don’t you come over, have a break, and he says he wants to find an apartment first, then perhaps do some traveling. He wants to get all his stuff out of storage.

I tell him he could save on rent if he came now – leave everything in storage – have a holiday - find an apartment when he gets back. Why not.

He thinks for a moment, then says he hadn’t though of that … it would make sense wouldn’t it – but wait, there is one thing …the habit, although … he could kick it – coming back would give him something to look forward to. He wants to kick it

“Why don’t you kick it once you’re here – you could stay at mine – you’re going to feel shit anyway – jetlag – why don’t you just get it all over and done with at once… ….but I know you’re going to say you want to do it on your own, without help”

there you are – there’s your get out

But he doesn’t take it – instead, he looks me straight in the eye for the first time

“Actually this time I could do with some help –“

I stop for a minute. I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to fuck this up – if I do that might be it – he’ll disappear, like Zachary said, into the dark side of America and we’ll never see him again. I also think its quite likely I’m the only person he would ask. All our friends who’ve disappeared, gone, died…..

“Of course I’ll help you”

Don’t say well done, don’t punch the air. I want to fling my arms around him, squeeze him so tight, tell him he is fantastic and wonderful and I’m so proud

I take a breath

“So … come over – for a break. There’s a spare room you can have, and enough air miles for a one way ticket – you can save your money for the return trip ….”

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For a few days, I try not to expect anything. I won’t believe he’s coming until I see the ticket.

We exchange emails – each one I expect to contain the excuse, the reason why he can’t come after all, but that doesn’t happen, instead, he even talks about not going back at all – about staying here for good. I still don’t believe it’s going to happen.

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“Well what’s wrong with the flight via New York?”

Another pause – twenty minutes this time. I look at the clock on my laptop – it’s a quarter past three and we have been doing this since eight thirty

Jesus fucking Christ just pick a fucking flight and we can get on I’ve got stuff to do. I am so close to walking off

He wants to come via Toronto, but I can’t find it on my screen – I try six times. I call them, and they say its gone, sold out. I can feel his frustration. We’re not talking now, just typing, and the connection in his cheap long stay hotel drops constantly, each time for longer. Sometimes I think he isn’t coming back, perhaps he’s nodded out, given up, wandered off

Finally – I think I must have smoked about a million cigarettes, we fix on a flight – we can both see it on our screens. I click the button that says “select this option”

I close my eyes for a minute, take a deep breath. He will come now. He won’t chicken out, not now the flight’s booked.

The confirmation arrives. Thank you for choosing Continental

Thank you Continental

I call Marnie to tell her he’ll be here on Thursday, and she bursts into tears. I send Zach a text.

Then I go downstairs to tell my sons we’re going to have a guest