The Seat Beside Me (5 page)

“Since you’ll never have guts enough to ask, I’ll tell you why I hate all doctors: because my father died of cancer.”

“It happens. But why hate the doctors?”

“When Dad first went to them, they flipped him off. Told him it was nothing. When we finally found out, it was too late.”

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. What could he say?

“Cat got your tongue, Doc?”

“That’s too bad.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“You’re not an arrogant—?”

“I’m not an oncologist. I don’t treat cancer. I’m a plastic surgeon.”

“Well, zipadee-do-da. Isn’t that a cushy job? You don’t have to deal with death at all, do you?”

“There is risk in any surgery.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, pa-leaze.”

She was right. It sounded lame.

“Bet you’d have a field day with me, wouldn’t you, Doc?”

“Excuse me?”

“A little liposuction here, a tummy tuck there. Maybe a face-lift and a nose job. And bob my ears while you’re at it.”

He shoved the laminated card in the pocket and removed the
magazine, flipping it open. “I don’t need to listen to—”

“Oh yes you do, Doc Doo-Da. For the next few hours you and I are joined at the hip. Aren’t you thrilled?”

As soon as Tina was seated she opened her book, hoping to quell any possibility that this … this teenager seated beside her would have the nerve to talk to her. Hopefully she was like most teens, totally absorbed in her own little world, not caring who or what existed beyond her immediate boundary of sight, smell, and sound.

Sound
.

Tina could hear the rasp of music playing through the girl’s headphones. She despised secondhand music. It reminded her of her first apartment where the two guys upstairs had insisted on playing their stereos deep into the night, the boom, boom, boom of the bass driving into Tina’s nerves like Chinese water torture. She’d broken her lease two months early because of them, absorbing the monetary penalty for doing so as her toll for leaving hell.

But more than her dislike of secondhand music was her dislike of the current trend for kids to constantly have noise in their lives. Kids mowing lawns, kids shoveling snow, kids walking down the hall at school—from the first thing in the morning to the last thing at night, kids had noise piped directly into their minds, brainwashing them into thinking silence was a thing to be feared instead of cherished. How could they ever hope to have an original thought if they never allowed a moment of silence? Headphones were a modern pacifier, sucking dry the brains of all who used them.

Tina glanced at the girl and the girl glanced back. Then, to Tina’s surprise, she removed the headphones and shut them off.

“Sorry. My mom hates hearing my leftovers. I can see you do too.”

Tina blinked, amazed this girl had been able to read her thoughts so adeptly. “Thanks.”

The girl tucked the headphones into the seat pocket. With an exaggerated sigh she plopped her hands in her lap. “So, what shall we talk about?”

Tina nearly choked. “I …”

“Whatcha reading?”

Tina turned the book over, revealing the cover:
Pride and Prejudice
.

“Is it good?”

Tina nodded.

“I like to read too, but I read slow. Found out I was dyslexic a few years ago. It’s no fun, but I was glad to find out. I was beginning to think I was as dumb as everyone said.”

Great. Another student who was quick to find something—anything—to blame for their—

The girl continued as if Tina had shown interest. “But I can’t blame my parents for calling me that. They didn’t know about stuff like that, like dyslexia.”

Tina turned a page of her book.

“My name’s Mallory. What’s yours?”

Tina closed her book, realizing once they exchanged names there was no going back. “Tina.”

“What do you do, Tina?”

The girl’s manners were impeccable. They did not match the slapdash stereotype of her clothes. Tina braced herself for Mallory’s reaction to her answer. Certainly she wouldn’t be any more thrilled about sitting next to a teacher than Tina was sitting next to a student. “I’m a teacher.”

“Really? Cool. What do you teach?”

“Communication arts.”

Mallory laughed. “No wonder you like to read.”

Tina stroked the book, wishing she hadn’t been so quick to close it. The book seemed to be the only way for her
not
to focus on the girl in the seat beside her.

“I live in Phoenix,” Mallory said. “I’m going back to school Monday. I’ve been visiting my grandpa. He has a lot more rules than I’m used to, but I can handle that.” She grinned. “For a little while anyway.”

I wish my students would have some of your attitude
.

“I like Grandpa Carpelli’s stories. He was overseas in World War II for two years. He didn’t see my dad until he was seventeen months old.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine? Just getting married and then having to be shipped off for so long? I heard in Vietnam they didn’t let soldiers stay more than a year. That’s better, isn’t it?”

Tina shrugged. She’d never thought of it.

Mallory turned in her chair slightly, as if she and Tina were having a heart-to-heart. “But if you’re fighting for something you believe in, then it’s okay, isn’t it? To fight, I mean. To kill. To die.”

Whoa. What a question
.

“Aren’t we supposed to take a stand? Fight for what’s right?”

I do not want to talk about this. It’s way too heavy, and I’m not in the mood
.

“I mean, if we truly believe something with our whole hearts, shouldn’t we be able to fight for it—whether or not we’re a guy?”

She wants to join the military
. Tina closed her eyes and inwardly sighed.

“I’m bothering you. I’m sorry.” Mallory angled her body back to the front again. “I talk too much. My dad tells me that all the time. And lately, I’m worse, as if I’ve got all these thoughts that need to be said out loud.”

The statement was begging for a follow-up question. To ignore the girl’s lead-in would be the epitome of rudeness. Tina put her book in the seat pocket. “And why is that?”

Mallory grinned, obviously thrilled by Tina’s attention. “I’m completely confused about my life.”

Join the club
. “You want to join the military?”

Mallory straightened in her chair and tugged the jeans across
her thighs. “My parents are against it. They think college is the only way and anyone who doesn’t go will amount to nothing.” She looked at Tina. “I don’t believe people have to get a degree in order for their life to count, do you?”

“I think it helps.”

Mallory looked stricken. “But I’ll learn in the service. I’ll learn about service. Isn’t that what life is all about? Serving people the best we can?”

How could she argue? “Yes, that’s true,” Tina said, “but a college degree will get you a much better job, more money.”

“But I don’t care about money!” Mallory lifted her hands and dropped them in her lap. She lowered her voice. “That’s all my parents talk about. Money, money, money. There’s more to life than having a whirlpool tub and driving a fancy car.”

Tina agreed completely but wasn’t about to say so.

“Why would they push me toward something I don’t want? I know I’m the oddball. No one understands, not even my friends. Some of them are going to take a year off and bum around. All the military means to them is a shouting sergeant and obstacle courses like you see on TV.” Her face lit up. “But when Grandpa talks about the war, you can understand why people were fighting. Fighting for their country … making a difference. I feel the tug of that.”

“So you want to wave the American flag? Defend mom and apple pie?”

Mallory’s face was serious. The stud in her nose heaved with emotion. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Tina backed down. She hadn’t meant to be flip. “It’s unusual to find such passion in one so young.” She fingered the edge of her book in the pocket. “I used to have that kind of passion.”

A moment of silence. “For what?”

Tina was taken aback. How had they gotten on this subject anyway?

“Come on. Tell me your passion.”

Tina’s mind flooded with memories. Getting good grades, honor roll, awards—and taunts from the other kids for being smart, fat, and different.
Fatty Tina isn’t lean-a …

“I hate them.”

“Hate who?”

Tina sucked in a breath, ashamed at her admission. “Forget I said that.”

“Somebody didn’t appreciate your passion? Is that it?”

Tina had to laugh. “You are one smart girl.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out.” She twisted a braid around a finger. “It still bugs you?”

Tina shook her head in shame. “I should be over it.”

“Not if it’s your passion.” Mallory’s shoulders heaved with an exasperated sigh. “And the passion is …?”

What do I have to lose?
“I’m passionate about books.”

Mallory’s shoulders dropped. “That’s it?”

“You were expecting belly dancing maybe?”

“No, but …”

Tina could see Mallory file her more exotic expectations away. “When I was in school, it wasn’t cool to like to read, especially if you were homely and overweight, and your face was covered with zits, and …”

“Not much has changed.”

Tina nodded. “Exactly. And that’s what makes me so frustrated. I see it around me every day: cruelty, intolerance, ignorance. The uncool kids getting ripped and—”

“And every time you see it happen, you feel like it was you, all over again.”

Tina’s mouth dropped open.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

Tina pulled her purse from the floor and used her ChapStick. She didn’t need to, but she did anyway.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Tina tossed her purse on the floor and nudged it under the seat with a toe.

“Don’t be mad.”

Tina shook her head and managed a laugh. “I’m not mad. I’m just surprised … at myself. Why have I just revealed my insecurities and inadequacies? Nothing like making a fool of myself to a student.”

“A seatmate.”

Tina accepted Mallory’s smile—and didn’t even mind the nose ring. Much. “Right. A seatmate.”

Mallory nodded approval.

“You’re a good listener, Mallory. For a—” She clamped her mouth closed on the word.

“For a seatmate.”

“Exactly.”

They both watched the blizzard taking place a few feet away. It was almost surreal, set apart from their present by a distance no greater than the thin skin of metal and fiberglass.

Mallory turned away from the snow. “Grandpa says I’m a good listener too. He says no one wants to listen to his stories anymore except me. What he went through makes me proud to be his granddaughter.”

Tina felt sudden tears push behind her eyes. Tears for the girl? Or tears for the girl who was Fatty Tina, the girl who had desperately wanted to hear such words of approval herself? Or tears for the adult Tina who was suffering through her own search for purpose and acceptance? She looked at her lap until the tears retreated. “You’re quite a girl, Mallory. I’m sure your family is very proud.”

Mallory looked toward the icy glass of the window. “I hope so.”

George wanted to die. Now. Forget about killing himself once he got to Phoenix. He wondered if the stewardess had a few dozen barbiturates on her.

He was in the middle seat of three, with a widowed woman who just loved talking to eligible widowed men seated next to him by the window. There was no God.

If the woman had been a rambler, George could have tolerated it. All he would’ve been expected to do was nod occasionally while she gave a monologue. But this woman was a questioner. In the five minutes they’d been seated, she’d already asked where he lived, where he was staying in Phoenix, whether he was married, and whether he had children or grandchildren.

She was in the process of showing him pictures of her grandchild Willy (or was it Milly or Tilly?) when the man seated to George’s left intervened.

“Excuse me? Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

George studied the fortyish man with black hair and a beard. “I don’t think so. You don’t look familiar.”

The man nodded toward the woman and winked. “Why, sure I do. Didn’t you belong to Lincoln Country Club?”

It only took George a moment to catch on. “Yes! Yes, I did!” George angled his body toward the man, leaving the woman holding the family photos in her lap. Once his face was turned away from her, he whispered, “Thanks. You saved me.”

The man laughed and whispered back, “I’ve needed saving a few times myself.”

George couldn’t risk even a glance at the woman beside him. “I’ve determined all widows have widower radar. Either that or someone stuck a Single Old Fool sign on my back without me knowing it.”

The man laughed and held out his hand for George to shake, keeping it close to his chest so the woman wouldn’t see. “Henry Smith, at your service.”

“George Davanos. I owe you one.” He looked the man over and noticed him wringing his hands. “You nervous about something?”

“I don’t like to fly. I
have
to fly all the time for my job—I’m a salesman—but I hate it.”

George leaned back in his chair as much as he dared without opening himself up to the old hot-to-trot beside him. “It doesn’t bother me. The wife and I traveled a lot before.” He shrugged.

“When did she die?”

He decided to give the shortened version. “Seven months ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sure she’d be pleased to see you moving on, traveling without her.”

George slapped the armrest between them. “But I’m not moving on!”

Henry edged away from him, and George reined in his anger. “Sorry. But what you said … that’s what our daughter has been trying to get me to do, and it galls me big time. I don’t want to move on without Irma. We were married fifty-seven years and knew each other a dozen before that. She was my life. And without her I’ve got no reason for living another—”
What am I saying? Shut up, you old fool! Don’t give yourself away
.

Henry’s voice was soft. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”