EWR

A bell chimed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the good news is that we have just been cleared to land at Newark Liberty International Airport. Please make sure one last time your seat belt is fastened securely. The flight attendants will be coming through the cabin for a final compliance check and to pick up any remaining cups and glasses. The bad news is that the latest weather report has confirmed a Nor’easter is headed our way, here in Newark. We apologize in advance for any inconvenience that layovers might cause you. Thank you.”

A collective groan rose all throughout the cabin. Everyone reacted to the news, except for one couple. I had spotted them earlier, and they had seen me, too. We nodded to each other, in the way strangers are polite with each other when pressed into the unavoidable situations of modern life. We were simpatico.

Context and circumstances are everything.

Live long enough, as I have, and you learn to take the delays and obstacles in life in stride. Though it was far from being Zen, I had come up with a philosophy, though I don’t claim that it contains a speck of wisdom, and that is there are two kinds of people in Life. First, there are those who live the great adventure in a linear fashion.

Birth. School. Marriage. Children. Divorce. Remarriage optional. Death.

Their lives are like using a blender. They press any button, and the blades whirl around in a safe plastic jar, and they never get hurt. All well and good, but they are incapable of consuming anything but baby food. They have mundane families. They attend mundane schools, often in a small radius within or just beyond their zip code. They work mundane jobs. They marry mundane spouses. They buy mundane houses in the burbs. They produce children with lives that are just as mundane as their own. They retire and move to a gated community with a golf course and die in their sleep, and everyone at their funeral talks about how nice they were because they can’t think of anything more interesting to say.

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

Then there are the others. Instead of a blender, they are born with a drawer full of sharp knives, everything a master chef could need and want. How they use the blades to slice, dice, and disjoint the challenges of life is entirely up to them. The catch, though, is that they can’t leave them in the kitchen drawer. People sense talent, so either learn how to use the knives, or people will use them against you. They can’t help themselves, so if you’re talented and understand all the beautiful knives and what can be done with them, you can’t resist either. You will use the knives.

Put another way, it’s the grifter and mark, winners and losers, or whatever other analogy you prefer. Some people are asleep their whole lives while others are vigilant and seize every opportunity. Some may call what I’ve described predator and prey, or flip it into something positive and say, sheepdog and sheep, as if it’s a choice to be one or the other.

I disagree.

You’re one or the other: one of the boring people, or somebody who takes life by the nuts. Call yourself a sheepdog and I’d say you’re deluded and wearing a collar; that, or you haven’t encountered a sheep so stupid that not protecting them is an act of mercy. Like I said, there are two types of people in this world.

The couple I saw earlier are like-minded.

I could be wrong. Returning to Jersey after a long hiatus could be a mistake, too. God knows the Garden State Parkway has an exit for everything.

The wheels touch earth, there’s that squelch of rubber that makes everything, including bone and metal, shudder. An overhead bin has popped loose. I sense that some passengers have found religion until the final convulsive rattle of this cattle car comes to a complete stop. There’s a prolonged moment of silence, and then the final ding of that chime and the voice from the cockpit.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Newark Liberty International Airport. Local time is two forty-five Eastern Standard Time, and the temperature is forty-five degrees Fahrenheit or seven point-two Celsius.

            I sit and wait. The couple does likewise. Our eyes meet. I smile. She smiles. He nods.

Seatbelts unbuckle and almost everyone bolts upright at the sound of the last bell. That bell is the closest they’ll come to a boxer’s realization that they have survived a confrontation with mortality. Conformity prevails. Monotony is restored. After they work their belongings in overhead storage compartments free, they’ll stand, meek and mild as schoolchildren, and wait for the door to unlatch and release them into the terminal. They will tread the steep walkway into another self-contained world, not unlike the mall they frequent in suburbia.

The majority of the herd has deplaned when I reach for my carry-on.

I travel light. They travel light also, especially her, which is rare for women. I’ve watched tickets and the tags that say EWR for the luggage carousel downstairs walk on by. EWR is the code for the airport, or Early Warning Report, to someone with a sense of humor.

We move towards the hatch. They go first. Airline personnel repeat the mechanical mantra of ‘Thank you for flying with us, and have a nice day.’ I make it a point to thank each member of flight crew by name since I was at their mercy, all those miles above the earth.

Then it is into New Jersey, a place where people can’t help but be honest, and brutal.