Graham Little

A story about a middle age man off to face the devil.

           Graham entered the airport smiling a thin lipped crack of a smile, barely there to the naked eye, but smiling none the less. Now many might wonder why he was smiling under his current circumstances. He was already more agitated than he could really give an explanation for. The thirty year old Englishmen didn’t have an unusual day. In fact, it was quite ordinary except for one phone call. This phone call lead him to this airport, but other than that there was nothing particularly vigorous that would cause such an agitation as his. Of course, we must always remember, Englishmen are always agitated in some form or another. Never angry, but simply annoyed.

            This agitation did, however, keep his mind occupied as the rest of him moved on autopilot through the baggage check and the ticket counter. He even found his body, not so clumsily, moving through the star bucks counter, adding more agitation to his coot- “Three-fifty for a cup of tea is nearly outrageous!”, “I haven’t seen greater theavery since Robin Hood and with no greater cause!” This pent up agitation found him nearly sick in the bathroom. “-Too afraid to break the male code, than wait for a stall and piss your pants-” The airport to him was madness in a shiny glass building with two towers and an American flag on top. The security check to get on board was the center of madness.

It seemed to Graham, that if there was a gate to hell that the security check at the airport would be it. The fury of angry- or in better terms- pissed off faces, the loading up of ones luggage, the checking of ones soul; it all seed to inhuman to be, well, human. It hardly seemed real to him. For what other place would check your baggage, cart away your material belongings, strip you of your shoes and dignity, and then have you walk through a machine that checks for more, said, valuable belongings.

“Barbaric!”

What might’ve been even more barbaric was the landing and taking off of the plane. Hundreds of people loading into a cramped air tight space, sat in rows made to buy peanuts and over priced carbonations. Now, that was the after shock of the entrance. The place awaiting you after the security checks and load on. Where you were more liable to get physically intimate with your seat mate than learn the first letter of their name. Something thirty year old, button nosed, Englishmen are often agitated with, physical intimacy. His agitation only grew with the on coming baby cries and chattering business men, and clicking of old women. When the flight was all boarded it was then that Graham realized the flight was completely full and cramped, except for his particular row, row 12, in which he was seated in seat A- a window seat. Peculiar when all the other seats were filled with people, and yet his particular row of seats were empty. “A bad omen perhaps”, Graham gobbled in his mind. “If the plane goes down I might be the first to go.” And when the thought crossed he realized it wasn’t so bad, considering where he was heading- the bane of his agitation.

In case, he really gave more thought to this and tarried in his mind all the possibilities of his passing, all the ways he could die, and he secretly planned them all out. Each becoming more painful and gruesome, or glorified and heroice, a great way for a Englishmen to died- as his great fathers ancestors’ did. With each of them a nice optimistic thought of what might happen after his death.

“Well, I’ve survived the gateway to hell, and even hall itself.” He laughed aloud. “I can handle this! …Plus-” Graham shifted in his seat. “-what could be worse than where I’m heading?”

For it, indeed, wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be, and thought a great wave of security was there, a spoon full of agitation lingers and molded in the back of his mind along with the          childhood memories and a reenactment of Mac Beth. In which, by chance, a young boy sitting in the cramped seat before him popped his head up and in quiry to what Graham had said before, questioned.

“Where are you headed that’s so bad?”

“My mothers.” Graham pushed his glasses so unattractively up his nose and thinned out his smile even more.

“And why is that so bad?” The boy croaked.

Graham wondered whether this boys mother would pull her son down and put him in line- “How dare he speak to a stranger about such personal things”- but then he thought better of himself, and as a true gentlemen he replied.

“What could be worse, young lad, than going to see your family, in which your ex wife just happened to show up, whom is now married to your brother?”

“Your right.” The boy frowned. “You’re screwed.”

“Right…” The boys head disappeared and behind the back of the seat. “Well, thanks anyways.”

It seemed to Graham, thought a lot of things seemed to him, that this plane wasn’t in fact hell, but what would await him afterwards. And suddenly all the painful and heroic deaths dusted off in his mind and resurfaced. –“This indeed would be a long flight”- and the agitation would come back, only a bit of agitation though. Because, of course, Englishmen are never angry, just agitated.

 

Author's Note

I wrote this story through a three and a half hour plane ride on a 3X5 notepad with sharpie. Its a first draft at best, but I like it.

Reviews

[Hedra Helix]

I agree with mr Jodie, great characterization. Also I noticed a very cool flow you have to your sentences, a hidden poetry in your prose that's very nice.

[MrJodie]

Do I really need to point out the grammatical and spelling errors??? We need to talk about the settings for spell check in Word. Anyway, a summary review of the story would sound something like this, "Oy, guv'ner. Ay'd 'ave ta say that you got da character-eye-zation spot on." You wrote from the perspective of an annoyed, fairly ordinary, thirty-something Englishman. Brilliant! It needs a little more back story to really make it memorable, though. He's putting himself through an awful lot because of one phone call, why? D****t, WHY?!?! Anyway, good work. Keep it up.