Moondogs - Alexander Yates [32]
“Ain’t that something?” Doug said. “Living right on a volcano. Living on the edge.”
“It’s beautiful.” He returned the postcard. Doug folded it up again, careful not to make any new crease lines, and put it back into his pocket. They both stared out into the terminal. Drowsy families wandered, towing bags and children, parting for stewardesses in smart pastel uniforms who walked succinctly in stilettos. The Buddhist monk had moved to a nearby lounge and sat before a bubbling fish tank that he watched like a television. A Japanese voice erupted over the loudspeaker, announcing an arrival, a departure, or a delay. Outside the sun finally skidded on the horizon. Doug must have noticed Benicio staring.
“We ain’t gonna catch it,” he said, pointing out the window. “We’ve been racing after it all day, chasing it over the whole country, over the whole damned Pacific Ocean to the other side of the world.” He tapped the bar with his finger to indicate which side of the world he meant. “But it’s no use. Watch it now, getting away, while we pit stop here. It’ll be night before we know it, and the moon’ll be out, and you know what? We ain’t gonna catch that either.”
Doug got up from his stool and moved over to the empty one that Benicio had left between them. Benicio took a burning gulp of coffee, eager to finish. “Say, do you feel like you’re missing something?” For an awful moment it seemed Doug would begin speaking about God. “Because you are,” he said. “You’ve lost a day. A whole day, gone just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Like you jumped into the future and skipped yesterday. And I bet you didn’t even notice. Don’t worry, though, you’ll get it back. If you go home.”
“The date line.”
His participation pleased Doug, who laughed a little too loudly. “Sorry,” he said. “So little sleep has got me goofy. And I took these things, on account of I’m afraid to fly.” He paused to rub his chin. “You ever been there before? The Philippines, I mean. Not the date line. Because, of course you’ve been there. We were there together, just a few hours ago, you and I.”
“No. I’ve never been to the Philippines.”
“Me neither. I’m excited.”
“Oh, I thought you said that your wife …” he thought better of it and stopped there. Doug didn’t turn away or look embarrassed. He patted Benicio on the shoulder and left his hand there.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Mail order, right? Well it ain’t that way at all. We’ve been talking, more than six months now on the Internet and the telephone. I’m headed out there to pick her up, maybe stay a while myself. She says this Tay-Gay-Tay is a real outdoorsy kind of place; sounds right up my alley. Says her father is a councilman, whatever that means. I figure I’ll stay there for a while, maybe a few months, and then we can come back to civilization. Now, I know what you must be thinking. I’ve seen that mail order shit all over the Internet, too. You can’t hardly type in Philippines without that stuff coming up. But this is totally different. I guess you could call it carryout.” Doug laughed. It sounded deep and clogged, like wool over an amplifier.
“I don’t think that’s funny,” Benicio said.
“Well … hell, kid—”
“I’m not a kid.” Benicio straightened up on his stool. This tipsy creep was like a worse version of his father. Talking back to him felt good.
“You’re a kid to me.” Doug leaned in, smelling of beer and whatever the seafood option had been on the way over. “You should learn to take jokes as they’re given.”
“Really? You’re going to lecture me, Doug?”
Doug blinked, and got off his stool. The bartender stared at them. “Arguing in airports is a bad idea,” he said. “Everybody’s touchy.” He put more money down on the bar, even though he’d already paid, and left. Moments later a woman announced their boarding in halting English. Benicio grabbed his bag rushed to follow.
AFTER HIS MOTHER had been taken away in a refrigerated van, he’d returned to the hospital to meet the person who’d killed her. It was a girl, just nineteen years old