Chapter 13

It’s late Monday night and Lara is upstairs sleeping. In a little over 50 hours I’m going to be live on national television. It’s only slightly frightening.

I think about waiting until the morning to tell my wife, but can’t hold it in any longer.

I pounce on our bed and try and force the words out to tell her everything all at once. “I’m going to New York!”

A subtle noise rises out of her throat. Her eyelashes flutter as though she’s heard something but her brain’s not getting any signals right now.

“HEY! I’m going to be on TV!”

“Eh huh, shmuhhfhg.”

“Did you hear me? I’m going to be on The Today Show.”

Somehow that pierces through her sleeping shell and she is able to form an eloquent response. “What?” If it’s not eloquent, at least it’s coherent.

“I just got a call. I’m going to be on The Today Show on Thursday. I have to fly out Wednesday.”

“You’re going where? What day is it?”

“Today on Thursday. I’ll be in New York on Wednesday. Today’s Monday. Actually Tuesday now.”

“Smfhokay. Have fun.”

“Do you want to come to New York with me?”

“I have to work.”

“Okay, I’m going to buy a plane ticket for me.”

“Okay.”

I think to myself: She won’t remember any of this in the morning. But who cares? I have a plane ticket to buy. I’m going to New York City. I have to pack.

I wake up Tuesday morning, on the last day in November, and feel as though I never slept.

Lara greets me as I am biting off the corner of a Pop-Tart. “So did I dream that or are you really going to New York? Are you excited?”

“Yeah, Brown Sugar Cinnamon is my favorite.”

“No, I mean — “

“Yeah, I know. I’m excited. It just feels like everything has fallen into place.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too much.”

“Now why would you say that?” I’m smiling. “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

“James, you know I’m happy for you.” She plants a small kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I just don’t want you to get bummed out if it doesn’t go well. You’ve never been on national TV before.”

“Ah, you think I’m going to get up there and stutter around like and idiot. I see. I wish you could come with me.”

“Yeah, you need to give me more notice than that to get off work.”

“I know. Maybe when I’m on a whirlwind tour across the country promoting my Dreamachine, you can take some time off and come with me.”

“Don’t they only do that for books?”

“Whatever.”

“So are they paying for your flight and your hotel?”

“Hotel — yes. They’ve got me staying at the Warwick Hotel. Apparently it’s close to the studio.”

“So what about the flight?”

“I had to pay for that myself.”

“Wow. So was that like $400?”

“Um…it was about $800.”

“What?”

“Well, since it’s such short notice. I didn’t have any other options.”

“All right, just keep adding it to the tab. This had better be worth it.”

I don’t say it, but I’m thinking the exact same thing.

I’ve got it all planned out.

I’m booked on The Today Show in New York on Thursday, segment 9. They told me that my segment will begin at roughly 10:22 a.m. EST. Roughly.

I’m flying nonstop out of O’Hare, Wednesday at 9:05 a.m. CST on Flight 452. I should touch down at JFK at 12:29 p.m. EST. Flying time of 2 hours, 24 minutes.

They broadcast Today from Studio 1A in Rockefeller Center. That’s at the corner of 49th St and 6th Avenue. They’ve got me staying at the Warwick Hotel on 54th Street. Check-in at the Warwick is 3:00 p.m. EST. Internet in the room costs twelve dollars.

Tuesday night, we have sex and then I roll over and fall asleep — the Dreamachine is safely packed in my luggage, and not connected to my brain. Tuesday night I have a dream.

It is not lucid.

“We are boarding groups one through four. Groups one through four on Flight 452 to New York.”

There are three sections of seats in coach divided by two aisles. On the sides there are just two seats, with a section three seats wide in the middle of the aisles. Since I bought my ticket this week, I’m in the middle section, middle seat.

I walk down the right aisle of the plane until I get to my row. Of course, I have to step over the guy who’s sitting in the aisle seat of the middle section. He’s wearing a t-shirt and cowboy hat. His t-shirt says San Diego Padres 1998 World Series Champions.

I know for a fact San Diego has never won the World Series. And he doesn’t look like he’s from California. His face looks smooth like worn leather. His breath smells like cheap milk chocolate — the kind you’d find in generic Hershey’s Kisses.

Before I can even buckle my seatbelt, he starts asking me questions. “So why you headed to New York?”

“I’m going to be on The Today Show.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “You famous or something?”

“No, not really. I’m showing off something I’ve invented.”

“Oh.” He pauses again. “What’d you invent?”

I want to tell him that I invented a dream machine. That now you can control your dreams, instead of them controlling you. That I’ve created a way for him to escape his miserable humdrum life.

But I don’t. I lie.

Even in my dreams I’m an asshole.

“I invented a sponge that lasts forever.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea. My sponges only last a couple years.” He pauses. I hope that is the end of the conversation. It isn’t. “But if they last forever, does that mean that I only need to buy one?”

“Yeah. It lasts forever.”

“So it sounds like you won’t be able to sell very many.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Oh.”

The college kid across the aisle on my right is air drumming. His headphones are on even though the flight attendant just said to turn off all our electronic devices. His brown t-shirt has a bleach stain near the collar and his left sock is inside out.

“Welcome to TransContinental Airlines Flight 452.”

The woman in front of me is reading the airline’s shopping catalog. She keeps flipping the pages back and forth. She can’t decide if she wants the patio furniture or the back massager. Her glasses are bifocals that she picked out of the two-dollar bin at a drug store.

“Please put your tray tables up and put your seats in the upright position as the captain prepares for takeoff.”

As the engine whirrs, I mentally recite the Our Father as I learned it. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

As the engines get louder and louder, I’m praying faster and faster. Our Father, who art in heaven. The plane pushes off. Hallowed be thy name. We’re picking up speed, skittering down the runway. Thy kingdom come. The engines are burning hot as the wheels rise off the ground. Thy will be done. We’re lifting higher and higher ready to retract the landing gear. On earth as it is in heaven. The fuel tank ruptures and Avgas starts trickling out. Give us this day our daily bread. The fuel leak catches fire and spreads to the left engine. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. The left engine explodes, rocketing the plane back into the ground we just took off from. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Our plane crashes into a smattering of crushed metal and burning bodies. Amen.