Heartache at O’Hare

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You’re already tired from a brutal red-eye and you’re waiting for a connecting flight to nowhere.  You begin to hear angels.  Mr. Tarkovski, Mr. Alfred Tarkovski, please pick up the white courtesy telephone.  This one’s a million miles away.  Speaks like the Goddess Valium reclining on a gossamer bed.  Mr. Tarkovski.  She almost hums the name, all black keys, simple figure floating like a mote above the tarmac.  She’s a jazz singer from another planet.  She once fell to earth and was wounded in love.  So she retreated to a far, far place beyond any reach to call out the names at this airport, knowing that sooner or later he’d pass through and she’d have one last chance to beckon him to the white courtesy telephone …

Comments

[Dee Hicks]

Dixie I know this voice but she's at the Cleveland airport not O'Hare. Maybe they all go to the same school?

[Pam Ashlund]

What a perfect piece of prose Dixie, I was transported to some ancient Homerian place.

One question? Isn't that a TAN-courtesy-telephone in the picture?