Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate

by E E Valenciana

  I wandered the streets in a daze for some time. How fortunate indeed I was and gave thanks that my son would not have to confront such perils in what one might call a childhood from hell. Lost in my adventure I pondered the concept of the two boys, Cristiano and Jerome. Naturally the street boy was older, but I was more perplexed by the poker hand the Almighty had dealt out to these two. From Jerome's perspective this did not reflect an all-loving God.

  Suddenly, there was a big commotion as a blue police sedan raced through the streets and screeched to a halt just ahead. I began to weave through the thick crowd to where the circus act was about to commence.

  “They were chasing him,” a woman blurted out. A disturbance was occurring in the semi circle of bodies positioned in the middle of the action. A young Puerto Rican lay pinned to the street by a cop's knee.

  “Why did you run? Why did you run?” Everyone gawked as the man was hauled away. Soon, they all dispersed.

  “It don't mean a thing.” Antimundo began to harden my heart. I felt no sympathy for those thrown so callously into this cruel roulette wheel of life by this silent God.

  “Put your faith in His divine intervention.” I mocked Regina's advice to me. The people I viewed around me would most likely be destined to experience dire disappointment. I froze and became overwhelmed by the deity’s lack of concern for my lost crew.

  “Those ass##### never even found the stolen left landing gear. Who in the hell loses an entire landing gear?” The multiple acts of incompetence made this incident a mockery as my mind then focused in on the poor Mexican families who were at the bottom of the monetary pile.

  “Yeah, we were able to take care of two families for less that seven thousand dollars,” one airline lawyer boosted. “That's right. Just enough money to buy a couple of burros.”

  “What gives the fools of the world the right to kill us?” I screamed out loud on the urban street. No one took notice of my words. Yet, it was happening all around me.

  I could take no more. I retreated into the underground in an effort to find a safe haven. I chose an isolated corner in the never-ending catacombs where I paused to catch my breath. I contemplated my determination to punish the cruel who fed on the weak and helpless. I became dangerously introverted as the crowds swiftly rolled past. Face after face was visible but for a split second then gone and lost forever. No one took notice of the figure hunched in the corner, a derelict fool who deserved not a moment of their acknowledgment. Like a wounded animal disguised in a posture of humility, the thirst for fresh blood beckoned. I resigned myself to Antimundo. On this brisk night, there was no doubt about what his intentions were. The circumstances and atmosphere paired in an eruption of clear hate which fueled the fire in my blackened heart. I quickened my pace through the tunnels to catch the train that would take me downtown. I knew where one such bottom-feeding bastard dispensed his unique variety of evil-doing there.

  Like an impatient marauder I emerged to the streets heading for Hell's Kitchen. My eyes scanned the crowd of faceless figures seeking only the young streetwalker. If I could not find her, I was sure I would find a substitute for there were many more like her in this awful cauldron of despair. I entered a liquor store for more beer, the elixir that would heighten the senses for this grievous bloodsport. I guzzled the liquid swiftly one after the other disregarding any time to savor its flavor. I used it as a trigger, a deadly potion Muerto mixed with my abhorrence. I thought about Mr. Reddick with his initialed clothing. They all thought they were so smart, Ackley with her persuasive manner. The spectrum of chaos I now viewed was reality, these streets I roamed, stalking the leeches that were the henchmen of avarice.

  “There she is.” Antimundo spotted the now-familiar adolescent, our intended bait. The tempo of my pumping heart rose as my prey was close by. I ditched into a pizzeria. I sat, watched and waited.

  “Want a date?” The familiar solicitation phrase was ignored by some and caught the interest of others. A pack of five young men, possibly college students stopped and showed interest in the teenager's proposition. The leader of the group began haggling with the young streetwalker which brought laughter and ridicule from the others. Seemingly filled to the brim with liquor and false bravado the small, burly student seemed to be making some headway in his negotiations when a taller, less intoxicated associate stepped forward and wisely yanked his friend away, rapidly reprimanding him for the error of his ways. Soon, the rowdy rogues disappeared among the crowd that flowed through the streets and the young coquette instinctively turned her attention to other prospective customers.

  The time had come for action so I calmly went into the washroom of the small eatery to refurbish the smeared, fading colors on my face, my visual declaration of war. I carefully sketched the white and bright red of my airline logo, an evolution for an avenging muse. Completing my metamorphosis I reached behind and fondled the cold metal hand grip of my precious weapon.

  “What would my crew think of Antimundo's illicit intent?” My mind went to Gary Rollings. His strong character and demeanor made him the perfect candidate for leadership, a company man till the end.

  “He deserved to live not me, not me.” I was engrossed with self pity which fired up my hatred and a desire for blood.

  All at once I sensed a closeness from behind. I turned to stand face to face with a middle aged man smiling intently at me. As I gazed down I witnessed the fool holding what pitiful manly presence he could retain. Such a sinful act was the fatal spark that lit an enormous detonation. Rage was unleashed as the perverted victim hit the floor in a flash, blood running down the side of his face. I instinctively readied myself to strike again.

  “You f###### leech,” I sinisterly whispered. In this pathetic soul I saw them all, Chavez, Montoya, the politicians, the lawyers, the money men. He represented all the bloodsuckers that drained the life and decency from me and my friends, the eternal wounded who would never taste the sweetness of life again. I struck again with a vengeance as he tried to crawl away in the limited boundaries of the lavatory. I retrieved the large knife from its sheath and directed it at my quarry. “Sign the f###### paper.”

  “I don’t have any paper,” he pleaded. “Please, I'm sorry just leave me alone.” The turmoil began to create curiosity amongst those seated in the pizzeria. I stopped, tried to clear my head and became very confused about what was transpiring. For the first time I saw the deep fear in the face of the unfortunate man as my shame surged. Antimundo was delighted.

  “Yes, good. Now run and find another.” I ran into a back room knocking over a young worker in a white apron who was shocked and frightened. I hurried through an alley filled with the smell of urine. My mind wandered to my current crew-mates who worked the flight with me to the big city. Perhaps they were returning from an evening at the theater or a night of fine dining, seated in a clean taxi going to a warm hotel to rest up for the return duty home. I, instead, had opted to be among the filth and vermin, a reasonable setting for the foulness of my deterioration. I slipped calmly into the faceless crowd, thinking about the love that had first brought Sofia and I together. Although nothing definite had been determined I was sure it was gone forever.

  “Hey, you wanna date?” The faint voice of the familiar girl stopped me in my tracks, asking the familiar query of no one and everyone.

  “What's your name?”

  “Suzanne.”

  “Where you from anyway?” I inquired. Confused by my question she answered.

  “Minneapolis, you wanna date or not?”

  “Then we’re gonna get your ass back to Minneapolis.” Up close I could see that she was physically ill. The drugs, the beatings by her pimp, the entire lifestyle were evident. We walked across the street. There I beheld the ever-watchful eyes of the young panderer who pulled the strings of her life. She was his meal ticket and he would not want to let her loose. Heading towards the Port Authority depot I led Suzanne who still seemed in a cloud of intoxication and confusion into a dark alleyway. I
was certain the punk would follow, in fact I was counting on it. I let go of Suzanne and removed my foul weapon from it's sheath. I hid in the darkness.

  “Now get the hell out of here,” I spoke to the young girl. The child became frightened and stood frozen. “Go, home, get on a bus and get out of here. I tossed bank notes at her for the bus fare and she quickly reacted, stooping to grab the money. “You deserve to live. I am the one that belongs with the dead.” Suddenly a light seemed to illuminate in her degraded mind.

  “Home?” She struggled to decipher the concept.

  “Yeah, go home, find joy once again.” I pointed to an outlet in the distance. “Go!” The frail figure stood and backed away, glancing back and pausing before finally disappearing into the shadows.

  “Suzanne.” The pimp was slowly approaching. I now refocused my attention on the unsuspecting brute. The thrill of my plan reached a peak. I whispered.

  “Psycho-killer qu’est-ce que c’est, fa fa fa fa, fa fa fa fa fa far better, run run run run run run run away.”[10] The street-wise punk was a bit cautious but he had no reason to be fearful, this was his turf after all.

  “Suzanne. Where are you girl?”

  “PENDEJO!!” I cried and attacked. He never saw the blow that connected with his face. The bleeding punk fell to the ground as I ran amok, crazed with satisfaction, preparing to pounce upon him again. I threw off my rain coat and danced about. “DO YOU BELIEVE I AM STUPID? YOU FAKE! YOU LIAR!” The surviving flight attendant from 2605 had lost his mind and was about to lose his eternal soul. Muerto roared with delight applauding from the shadows. The master of death eagerly urged me on and in a fit resembling a rabid dog I continued to hit the pimp's bleeding face with the brass grip of the knife. “YOU KNOW YOU SERVED LIQUOR TO THE PILOTS DURING THE FLIGHT!” I shouted demanding total submission. I pulled his head up by his hair as I placed the blade at his throat. “YOU GONNA SIGN THE F###### PAPER? I ORDER YOU!” My victim cowered in fear on the urine-coated asphalt. He pleaded, eyes closed,

  “Please don’t hurt me anymore. I’ll sign anything. Don’t hit me anymore, please.”

  My eyes zeroed in upon the face of a youth. I froze in a stupor as all my cunning abandoned me. I stood helpless, unable to complete the deed for the beast I had perceived was a mere child himself: children selling children. The boy's blood was spattered on my hand as I clutched the knife and I felt dirty. I slowly backed away with the hope that he would make no move in my direction. I quickly sheathed the vile weapon, wanting to distance myself from my sin. Muerto was not pleased. As was predictable the young girl reappeared and ran to comfort her handler. There was nothing noble in this effort for I simply had lowered myself to the level of those I despised. I began to weep as I ran to join the massive tide of bodies in the streets, then stumbled back down into darkness of the underground.

  “You pussy!” Antimundo was loathsome and shamed me to no end. I continued to cry as I reached the train platform and huddled into a fetal position in a dark corner. My body convulsed and I rocked uncontrollably back and forth. In my discord with Death I had allowed him the opportunity to grasp me once again.

  “Reina, Reina,” I sought her comfort in my mental break down.

  “Can you forgive yourself?”

  “Never, not one bit.” Even in the midst of such a failure my heart remained hardened. I sat in the subway car traveling back to Queens, clinging to my defiance. I continued to embrace the poison and condemned myself to the inevitable pain that accompanies it. Antimundo was again delighted.

  “2605, do you have approach lights in sight?' The voices lingered through the rail car. A hobo slept at one end in tarnished seats.

  “2605, approach lights are on 23-Left.” The beat of the tracks echoed like a shot. I sat quietly on the train underground, in the depths of the tunnels.

  “We're cleared on the right, we're cleared on the right. This is the approach to the god-damn left.”

  “Oh Jesus Christ! Oh F###!”

  “Get it up Carl, you're banking!”

  “I can't! I can't!”

  Emerging from the station I ran all the way back to the hotel, in the shadow of Shea Stadium, hoping to enter unnoticed. There would be no time for sleep as I spent the better part of the morning removing any trace of Antimundo's ugly adventure.

  “Hi Eddy.” A perky crew-member stated as I entered the crew van.

  “We had fantastic seats.” I listened while one lady expressed the delights of her trip into the big city. “A glorious theatrical production,” raved a blond associate.

  “We made the reservations a month ago,” stated another F/A concerning a classy restaurant. “The cuisine was fabulous.”

  “I really f##### up a sleazy pimp last night.” The urge to speak was disgusting yet I was tempted. The anxiety finally began to dissipate as I walked down the jetway at JFK.

  I entered the DC-10 and there sitting in First Class was none other than Shana James.

  “Hi Edmundo. Ready for a check-ride?” Perhaps it was karma for my misdeeds the night before. I remained stoic. I accepted my fate. I had been assigned the F/C position at 1R and I made every effort to store my suitcase with its illicit contents across the cabin aft, as far away as possible from my illustrious supervisor. When the gate agent came aboard to announce boarding each of the crew members secured their positions. From 1R I witnessed Shana get up from her first row position, and head directly for a seat in the last row in F/C. There, just inches beneath her posterior lay the hunk of my metal knife.

  I breathed deeply and resigned myself to getting through the six hour flight, and assuring that the service ran as smoothly as possible. Surprisingly I never felt any fatigue considering the lack of rest after my misguided escapades. I assumed there was still a good amount of adrenaline in my system keeping me alert. Once the craft had leveled to its cruising altitude I witnessed Shana writing in her yellow pad, a short scribble here, a longer observance there.

  “You know, I may have the makings of a pretty decent Flight Attendant,” I spoke to myself in jest but then reality gave me a swift kick in the rear.

  “You're a walking time bomb.” The voices chimed in. How could I hope to continue to fly? Doctor Joe had warned me and was very concerned about the possible triggers, unexploded mines that awaited detonation on any given flight I might board. Any fool could see that it was not a matter of “if” but only “when.” Par for the course I dismissed the admonitions and focused on Shana. She seemed completely annoyed by the steady-drinking middle-aged man seated next to her trying to put the make on her. A company woman to the end, Shana endured the irritation. I could have quietly walked down the aisle and eased her torment by inviting her up to the front galley, even grab my suitcase in the process. I imagined her seated on the jumpseat at 1R as I ceremoniously removed my glistening blade. Waving the instrument forward and aft I could instruct her on the proper way to hold the brass knuckled handle. I could demonstrate the best angle by which to score a serious wound upon an opponent. Or, I could just leave her to fend off the vexatious horny dog. I decided not to interfere.

  “I can’t believe you, Eddy.” The remarks came from a pretty F/A on the tram headed for the parking lot. “A cute wife, a son, you have the world on a string.”

  “Thank you, Marsha.” Little did she know just how perilous my situation was. My marriage was in a downward spiral and the reality was that I was merely hanging by a string, inches from total self destruction. The only true joy and anchor of my life was my young son Cris. The love the boy projected released a joy that seemed vacant in every other aspect of the new life this silent God had bestowed upon me.

  I would continue to fulfill all assignments from Scheduling, relishing those with a long layover in urban areas. Antimundo would continue to seek out the seediness, wandering among the darkened alleys of lost souls. I considered myself their companion. Attired for battle, I would enter an endless number of shady dives in various cities with such names such as Club Deuce, We Love
Dirty Blondes, and Dead End Row. Some promised much more than they could ever deliver with names like Happy Angels and Shangri-la. “Excellent, this is where you belong,” the voices would reassure me. On most occasions a skirmish would occur. One person or another with a gut full of liquor could not resist commenting on Antimundo's attire. Here was a phantom who had entered their personal space painted up like some voodoo zombie spoiling their ritual descent into inebriation. The night's risky venture inevitably would end with the flinging of vulgar insults in my direction. Blood would be spilled. The first rays of the morning sun would find me hurrying back to safety, to the well-respected hotel which housed my current crew. There was the surge of shame, creating a great amount of anxiety and regret as I hurried to cleanse myself of the stains of illicit behavior.

  I would always arrive at the lobby on time, dressed in my uniform. I took great pleasure during the ride to the airport listening to fellow crew-members discuss their layover time. One girl shopped at the most elegant retail store finding great bargains while two others attended a musical concert.

  “How about you Eddy, what did you do?” I glanced at the inquiring brunette and smiled.

  “Penance.” The ladies all laughed.

  Chapter IX

  On a bright, sunny day across the basin of the city of the angels the actualities of what was called “deregulation” in the industry came a-knocking at the executive offices on Avion Dr. In recent times, the ever-shrinking passenger loads on all flights across the system became a disease for our airline. The flying public was now more interested in saving a few bucks, choosing to patronize no-frills start-up airlines. The protective shield that had guaranteed the prosperity of many regional companies had been dismantled and prime vacation destinations were now up for grabs. Something had to give and the changes were drastic.