Loud Lily #4

Considering the situation, and because Irma had been working for them for ten years already, the airline company decided to fly her first class to her home in Dallas as a gesture of support.

Under normal circumstances, Irma might have been worried that she was underdressed. All the other first-class patrons were wearing cocktail dresses or business suits. Then again, under normal circumstances, Irma wouldn’t even be in first-class to begin with. Besides which, any potential fear of feeling out of place dissipated when the lady with the large lime-green bag, bright red hair and blue nail polish took the seat next to her.

That was thirty minutes ago, before takeoff. Before the lady with the green bag had started talking.

Theresa, Irma had learned, was on her way back to Macon Georgia after a lengthy stay with her business executive son in Los Angeles. The bag had been a gift from her six-year-old granddaughter. For the first thirty minutes Theresa had avoided asking Irma any questions, perfectly content to rattle on about her son’s ritzy LA life. Irma was slightly annoyed and refused to make eye contact, but felt that it might be possible to survive the trip so long as her seatmate wasn’t interested in finding out about her life. And then a bomb fell out of Theresa’s mouth.

“So,” Theresa sighed, “business or pleasure?”

Irma wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Her first instinct had been to say business, but of course, it wasn’t official. She wasn’t being paid. After thirty seconds of silence, during which Theresa gave a small cough to remind Irma of her presence, Irma replied, “Both”, followed after a short pause by “and neither.”

“Don’t worry sweetie,” Theresa said, patting Irma’s forearm, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Irma doubted this fact, but was grateful for the break in conversation, and continued staring forward in the hope that the lady would understand that she wasn’t interested in carrying on the conversation.

After fifteen minutes of silence Beth, one of Irma’s co-workers and close friends, took the opportunity to approach her with a bottle of champagne.

“It’s just a little gift from me and the other girls”, Beth said, holding it out for Irma to see.

Irma peered around the side of Beth to see the other flight attendants standing in the wait station staring at her.

“Thank you,” Irma said, taking the bottle.

“If there’s anything else I can do for you-“

“Actually,” Irma began, handing the bottle back to Beth, “I’d like to get some of this now if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Beth disappeared into the wait station and drew the curtain closed.

Theresa, who had been listening to the exchange while reading her magazine asked, “How is it that you know the other flight attendants?”

Irma, still looking at the closed curtain, responded, “I work with them.”

A small sigh of understanding escaped Theresa’s mouth.

Beth returned with the bottle and a glass full of champagne. She handed Irma the glass and set the bottle in a container on the side of the seat.

“You okay?”

This was a question Irma was already sick of answering and would become increasingly infuriated with over the next several months, which is why she tried so hard to deflect it.

“Yeah, how much longer?”

“A little under an hour left,” Beth replied before adding, “weather allowing of course.”

The mention of the weather was an inside joke between the group of flight attendants. Not a very funny one, but something that helped them remember what they did and how they were special. Irma only nodded as a response.

Beth grabbed Irma’s shoulder and whispered, exactly loud enough for Theresa to hear, “I’m really sorry about David.”

Immediately Irma regretted not laughing at the weather comment. She hadn’t wanted to discuss this with anyone, not at least until she was home. And now Beth had let it out, had practically yelled her secret for the whole plane to hear. She wanted to hit Beth, but the small part of her that knew it had been intended as a kind gesture took control. So instead she mumbled, “Thanks”.

Irma had expected Theresa to explode with questions the second Beth walked away. When she hadn’t, Beth took a small sip of champagne. If she had been paying attention, she would’ve noticed that Theresa had pulled her lime-green bag out from under the seat and set it on her lap. If she had looked over, she would’ve seen Theresa staring at a wallet size photo she held between her thumb and forefinger, a photo of a red-haired teenage girl in a cap and gown.

Instead she took another sip of champagne.

“Husband or son?”

The question had been so unexpected that Irma almost dropped her glass. This time she did look to her left and she did see the bag in Theresa’s lap, but not the photo. Theresa was looking out the window.

“First-born”, Irma replied to the back of Theresa’s head. She waited ten seconds for a response, or even a sign of life. When none came, she returned to her position and took another sip of champagne.

Theresa didn’t speak again until the end of the flight, when they had arrived in Dallas. Irma was getting off the plane. Theresa, presumably taking the same plane to Atlanta, remained seated.

Irma had retrieved her suitcase, stuck what was left of the champagne inside, and begun walking when she felt a hand tightly grip her wrist.

Irma’s first instinct had been that she had violated some policy and was being apprehended. Perhaps she wasn’t allowed to take the champagne. But then she heard the southern accent.

“Redecorate”, Theresa had said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Redecorate”, Theresa repeated. “After the funeral. It helps.”

Irma nodded.

“And write down what you eat each today, because you’ll forget to eat anything at all.”

“I will”, Irma said, for the first time making eye contact with this lady who, up until thirty seconds ago, had seemed so alien to her.

Theresa, satisfied that she had been heard, looked away and released her grip. Five blue fingernails disappeared from view.

Years later Irma’s husband would remember how, all through David’s funeral, Irma kept looking at her wrist, as if she were checking the time.