Royal Flush

I watched from my car as she exited the store.

Carrying three shopping bags from three different high-fashion (a.k.a. expensive) designer stores, she adjusted her $500 sunglasses and checked the multi-thousand dollar watch on her wrist.

Her phone must have rang or vibrated, because she shifted her purchases, dug into her overpriced handbag and retrieved a smartphone. As she brought it to her ear, she tilted her face upward, the sun catching and dancing the samba with her blonde hair.

Whoever was on the other end must have said something funny or endearing, because her face brightened and her smile could have powered the city of Miami on a hot summer day.

Whoever. I knew who.

I shifted the car into reverse. How lucky was I to have found this particular space today.

I had watched her habits for the last three months. Mondays and Wednesdays were gym days. Tuesdays were mani-pedi days. And Thursdays .... Thursdays were her days to buy new lingerie.

Thursdays was what he called poker night with the guys

I then shifted the car into drive and idled for a moment. Watched as she threw her had back and laughed. I used to laugh like that.

She stepped off the curb. I pressed the accelerator.

A red teddy, lacy thongs, and tissue paper flew into the air and landed, scattered across the parking lot. I picked up the teddy. My size. Maybe red was my color after all.

17 years too late

Stephanie sat back in the bar booth, holding her rum and diet coke with both hands.

So many memories. So many dreams.

Like pinballs pinging and ponging from flippers to bumpers to flippers to the inevitable loser's alley, where it didn't matter how hard you hit the flippers, or tilted or kicked the machine ... the steel ball just kept rolling past the last set of plastic flips. And then the game was over.

"Stephanie?"

Her mind raced to places, spaces, moments.

Homecoming. Prom. Graduation parties. College. Hanging out. Football games. Studying. Homecoming. Graduation. Jobs.

"Did you hear what I said? I made a mistake. We should have gone for it."

She took a sip of her drink. And another.

Sleepless nights. Unanswered prayers. Staring at the phone. Waiting for the doorbell.

Lyrics ricocheted from one corner of her mind to the other.

Hopelessly Devoted to You (gag). I Can't Fight This Feelin Anymore. You Belong to the City (because that's the song that was playing the one time they slow danced).

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

His was a life of luxury. Trips to foreign lands. An expensive car, big house.
But not of love, as evidenced by two wives. Several children with visitation privileges. Big divorce settlements.

And yet, here he was. At last. What she always wanted. Dreamed of. Hoped for.

I gave you love, she thought. For years and years. Homebaked cookies. Clocking your time from home to first base. Watching football drills every afternoon until game day. Restoring your ego after a loss. Phone calls lasting until 2 a.m. dissecting your silly relationships. Making sense out of your logistic class.Typing term papers. Being there. Always.

Always.

It would be so easy. She could run away. She would be taken care of. He was one who would always call "the guy" for repairs. Pick his underwear off the floor. Put in a pool. Travel to New York for shows and shopping.

For a moment. For a split second. She considered it.

Stephanie stood. She finished the cocktail in two swallows.

"Thanks for the drink. Tell your Mom I said hello."

How did I get here?

The first thing Amanda noticed when she gained consciousness was the humming of the engines, which muffled the voices and other sounds of the cabin around her.

As she opened her eyes, she realized she was high above the clouds. White clouds that looked like a floor. Not fluffy. Not wispy. More like a horizontal white monolith.

Shifting her gaze, Amanda could tell she wasn't in coach. She was flying first class, and was one of only two people in the cabin. The lone other person was a couple of rows ahead of her, and didn't seem the least bit concerned or aware of her presence.

"May I get you another mimosa, Miss?"

Amanda turned to the voice. A young male flight attendant was picking up an empty champagne flute from the seat divider next to her.

"Another?" he asked.

Amanda nodded once, then as he turned to go, asked "excuse me?"

"Yes maam?"

"Where are we?"

"We just flew over Kansas City."

"Kansas City?"

"Yes maam. Will there be anything else?"

"No, I mean yes. Where are we .... going?"

"Going maam?" The flight attendant, whose nametag read Grant, asked, brow furrowed.

"What is our destination?" Amanda asked. Thinking that although she was completely in the dark about her current situation, she wasn't ready for him to cut her off from the champagne just yet, considering she hadn't remembered having ANY champagne, so she said "I mean, I travel so frequently that sometimes I forget what airport I'm about to land. You know, similar to a rock star who plays a different city every night, although of course, I'm not a rock star" she laughed nervously.

Or am I? she wondered to herself. Of course not. She knew her name. She was Amanda Browning. She was 38 years old, and lived on Anna Maria Island in Florida.

"Of course," he smiled with relief. Normally crazies didn't fly in first class, but you never knew.