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Veronica was one of those women who, not sure if society were the product or the force, had decided to go back to school for her doctorate – only to quit when she couldn’t think up a thesis topic. Not since her piano teacher had left her stranded in the middle of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words, by prematurely dying, had she been so pinned against the wall. It hadn’t helped, either, that her brother’s wife, the missionary’s daughter, was giving birth right and left without so much as a high school diploma. Thankfully, with her mother gone now she might hurt the fewest number of people by leading an absolutely purposeless life.
Frank, on the other hand, after being lured into the woods at the age of twenty by a six pack and a fifteen year old, was no pragmatist. The alleged adolescent was clearly in possession of herself at the time, this being neither her first six pack nor her first venture into the verdure, and he had become the exploited, most particularly by the spiritual leadership of his local sect whose decision to place him under stern social discipline had destroyed all hope of truly meaningful intimacy with a woman. Having spent a fortnight of years suspended between employment and trips to the Netherlands, his was an obligation: he would spend what little energy he could direct toward the sublimely unaccountable.
And, so it was that Veronica and Frank were discovered by each other on the receiving end of a free trip for two to Taipei – each already without their accompanying party. As chaos would have it, they reached the boarding gate of the flight departing San Francisco at precisely the same moment.
.© Ruth Ann Scanzillo
sometime in the 90’s. I have no idea. still had the smith-corona typewriter with the disc drive, so it had to be prior to the 21st century. all rights reserved. Boarding, Zone 1.