T

he airport was teeming, everyone trying to get somewhere for the holidays, and Melody found herself second in line behind a man whose large carry-on suitcase fell open and out tumbled a flood of penises.

“Damn it!”

Some landed on the belt for the X-ray scanner, others rolled and bounced on the floor. A woman behind him groaned. “Not now!”

Hastily the man began to toss the penises back into his suitcase, sweeping them from the belt and scooping them from the floor. The woman tried to step around him.

“Hang on,” he said. “I’m in front of you.”

“I’ve got a tight connection—”

“So do I,” he replied, zipping up.

Melody pointed. “You missed one.”

When the man moved to retrieve it, the woman slipped by, placing her tray on the belt in front of him. The belt advanced and her chosen belongings were swallowed into electromagnetic darkness. She followed the arrows and presented her own self to the same. As the man watched her, grumbling and fumbling with his suitcase, it fell open again.

Missed my chance, Melody thought.

He scrambled while other travelers in line behind them began to bark and bleat at his clumsiness. The man was sweating, moving fast —really, doing the best he could—then a pair of TSA agents stepped forward, their round faces aglow.

“Blessed are the merciful,” one said, “for they shall obtain mercy.”

“Yeah, I know, I know!”

Eventually he managed. His carry-on slid into electromagnetic darkness. Melody watched, waiting.

At her flight gate she proceeded down the jet bridge to the hatch and entered the intestinal passage of the plane, making her way through a sea of heads, till she found her seat. To her surprise, it was next to the man who’d preceded her in the security line. He sat by the window, looked up and smiled.

“Hello again.”

She nodded, sank into her cushion, and busied herself with her belt.

“So,” he said, “looks like we’re going to the same place.”

“I got another connection after this one.”

“Yep. So do I.”

Flight attendants commanded their attention for a performance of kabuki, after which the plane started down the runway and with an earnest flapping of wings, it left the ground.

“You on business or pleasure?” he asked.

“Escape,” she said.

“Nice work if you can get it.”

In spite of herself, Melody wondered about him, while hoping the contents in the bin above her head were secure and wouldn’t rain down on her head. It had happened before. She tried to size him up. Did he work in sales? Or was he going home for the holidays, bearing gifts for the kids?

The intercom crackled. “This is your pilot speaking. Where do you think we should go? I’m open to suggestions.”

Around them arose a buzz of speculation, and some birdlike cries of dissent.

“What would you prefer?” the man asked.

“I’d assumed LaGuardia. I guess we’ll see. And you?”

“I’m an artist,” he replied. “I follow my moose.”

Briefly Melody wondered if they might crash, while hoping in sincerity that that only happened to other people.

“Anyway,” she said, “I got another connection after this flight.”

“Yep. So do I.”