It wasn’t Coopers’, his was still in the air. Yet, as a plane taxied along the runway, turned in the direction of his gate, gate B10, he watched.
Shedding a Patagonia puffer Cooper started to pace the space in-between his seat and the row opposite. He no longer could ignore the tightness in his lower back, a result of sitting in the same spot for too long. The discomfort though, on this Sunday evening in early March, after the present weekend, was an anomaly. Cooper’s entire body, spirit included, had been rejuvenated. The best he had felt in quite some time. The weekend serendipitous as a few weeks ago he hadn’t planned to be anywhere near Tahoe, anywhere outside of Los Angeles even, but five hours into a flight delay Cooper was anxious to be home.
“Nine-four-three?” The older woman seated across from him pointed out the window. She had noticed the same plane.
Cooper closed his eyes and shook his head. The woman had said those three numbers so many times he felt her European accent drop and she sounded very American when saying the digits. They had first “spoken” when Cooper arrived at the gate, five and a half hours ago. Knowing no English other than numbers, he’d become the interpreter for the woman and her husband regarding the status of where on earth flight 943 was.
When Gabe ‘the gate agent’, as he always referred to himself at the start of each announcement, initially said the flight was “delayed” Cooper found that tapping his wrist watch to indicate time translated to postponement. When Gabe said it was a “mechanical issue,” Cooper found that mimicking a wrench tightening a bolt passed the message over. When Gabe said it was now “weather,” Cooper’s fingers were snowflakes falling through the air from invisible clouds.
Once the older woman understood his message she would always smile and turn to her husband. Patting the top of his hand, she would lean in and speak softly to him in their language. Even five hours later Cooper couldn’t place the accent. They, maybe, were Swedish or they, perhaps, Bulgarian? If he threw a dart at a map Cooper would have had as good of a guess.
He didn’t mind being their translator as Cooper was fond of the couple’s interaction. The woman reminded him of his own mother. Calm and patient even in an uncertain, senseless, and an unfair world. When his father was alive and she needed to guarantee his attention or seeing him upset, she too gave the top of his hand a pat to let him know that everything was okay. On the day she passed, while he was at her bedside contemplating a blurry horizon, she patted the top of Cooper’s hand.
“This is Gabe the gate agent again,” standing at the podium his voice carried through the overhead speaker. “I know you’re all frustrated. I’m just doing my job, the messenger. I’ll pass your frustration up to the guy’s upstairs. Not upstairs here, cause we’re already on the top floor. I meant the bean counters at the corporate office. Your plane is in the air and enroute. It had to come from an airport farther away. It’s airline logistic magic, you wouldn’t want me to try and explain it all.”
After the announcement the older woman smiled and looked at Cooper. She pointed in Gabe’s direction as if to ask, “what did he say?” He considered for a moment how to translate Gabe’s unconventional message. In the end he simply said “weather” and mimed snow falling through the air.
Cooper left gate B10 and stepped out onto the concourse floor. A series of vibrations in his pocket made Cooper take out his iPhone and read over a string of apologetic text messages from Ulysses, his only friend with a spare key to his apartment. Ulysses wasn’t able to make it across town and check on Cooper’s cat who’d been left alone since early Friday. His text messages mentioned; traffic, a bad date last night, a bad breakfast burrito, an early morning (unclear if he meant today or tomorrow), and a hangover he couldn’t shake. Phone still in hand, Cooper noticed new meeting invites for first thing in the morning, early morning pacific time. Clients working on a Sunday wanting to talk first thing Monday their time, eastern time. He tried not to think about what emails might also be arriving in his email inbox on his work laptop all the way back in Los Angeles. Not with him there in Reno.
As Cooper passed a bank of slot machines, he noticed most of the seats were occupied. The last time he passed by the machines, all the seats had been empty. Back then keeping the cash still in his pocket had been easy but now out of boredom, or intrigue, he considered the activity. Eyeing an open seat at the end of the row Cooper settled in. As quick as the machine ate his dollar bill it started to flash its lights and make carnival noises after he pressed the Play button.
“Goddammit, moment I shift my ass it goes bust,” said a middle-aged man in the neighboring seat as “Mega Winner” scrolled across Cooper’s machine’s screen.
“Congratulations, sir,” Cooper turned to see a name tag, eye level, that read “Mac.” The man attached to it continued. “You are today’s lucky jackpot winner!”
Cooper asked what that meant exactly but before Mac could answer the middle-aged man in the neighboring seat interjected, “Means you’re one lucky sonofabitch.”
Without acknowledging the neighbor Mac explained how a single machine every day in the airport is selected at random to spin a jackpot, “This was the machine and your spin was the one selected.”
“So, what do I win?” Cooper looked down at the machine’s empty receptacle.
“One hundred dollars,” Mac smile.
“That’s a jackpot? A hundred dollars isn’t a lot of money,” Cooper replied.
The throat of the middle-aged man sitting next to Cooper made a sound of disgust before he stood up and walked away.
“Can I have it now then?” Cooper asked looking back at Mac.
“I’d think so, best to stop when you’re ahead. Watched many men go from small stacks to large ones to none whatsoever. And don’t bother looking for coins on the machine, not there, I’ll cash you out. Step into my office,” Mac waved Cooper over to a small podium nearby. He put a key into a draw on the far side of the podium and slide it open. Mac then handed two bills to Cooper, a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
“I’ve never won much at gambling, especially not on my first try,” Cooper said.
“Take note, this the start of a good luck streak for you,” Mac closed and locked his draw. “Maybe play the lotto when you land, wherever that is.”
“I don’t think this is the start, just being here is something. I won a social media contest for a free trip. You ever heard of Rough Indigo jeans?”
Mac shook his head, “Mine are the ones you get at Costco. A free trip? How’s about that though. Shoot, forget your flight, leave the airport and head to the Golden Nugget in downtown.”
Cooper shook his head, “Flights already forgotten about me. Been delayed, over five hours now, my ride home is nowhere close to being here.
“Five whole hours, huh? But during that time, you won the jackpot?” Mac shifted around a bit and leaned against his podium, “Now that’s a bit of a brain jumbler.”
Cooper pocketed the money and started to turn away.
“Hey, what’d you call them, ‘River Indigo?”
“Rough Indigo.”
“They sell them at Costco?”
Cooper was unsure if they did.
“Well, they a comfortable wear atleast?”
“I didn’t buy any,” Cooper said.
Mac laughed under his breath and turned his attention back to the noisy slot machines in his area as Cooper slipped away into the crowd.
Passing gate after gate Cooper made his way down the concourse, stopping again for a moment to look out onto the tarmac. Another plane coming in off the runway, it wasn’t his. He again was certain of it.
His stomach growled as he reached the concourse end. Cooper turned the corner and approached the Timber Ridge restaurant. He had visited the establishment earlier, 4 hours ago, back then he sat at the bar sipping on a drink.
“Where’d you say you stayed while in Tahoe?” Guy, the guy in the barstool besides him who introduced himself the moment Cooper sat down, had asked.
“Pinnacle Valley. There’s the big advertisement for it on the wall once you get through security.”
Guy took a long, drunken, exhale, “Sure, sure. Stayed there once for a week. Was only supposed to be two nights but then they gave me two more nights half price. Weeknights mind you. Can you believe it, place like that! Views there, my gawd.”
Cooper was offered the same thing, except three nights. He had declined the offer though wanting to go back home.
“What tchotchke did you buy while here?” Guy stuffed his mouth with fries. “Here, I always buy too many,” without wiping his hands Guy produced from his coat pocket several small items—a small wooden tree in particular caught Cooper’s eye.
It was carved in the shape of a pine tree, like the ones outside his room’s window at the resort. It also reminded him of the tiny wooden trees he’d see in gift shops when his family visited Portland one summer. They rented a car, a mini-van, and drove up the Columbia River gorge. He fought with his sister so much on the trip. Now in his thirties he couldn’t recall what any were about. Only how green the trees were, the sound of the wind whispering through them, the smell of pine, his father stopping at every gift shop and picking up little statues of deer, moose, and trees.
Paying his tab Guy insisted he take one. Cooper hadn’t thought of souvenirs during his trip, so choose the tree and barely got a ‘thank you’ in before the man collected his bag and left the bar completely.
“You thinking about food?” Bart the bartender asked in Guy’s absence. “Not on the menu but Chef prepared some chili earlier, likes to make it when it’s this cold out. Just now ready. You may think I’m lying, don’t care if you do, we got the best chicken tenders in town.”
“Saw that,” Cooper said starring at the achievement advertised on the menu. He did love chicken tenders but at the time, flight boarding in 30 minutes, just wanted a drink. Now, five hours later, he wanted the chicken tenders.
“Name is Walter, how we today?” the waiter asked placing a menu down on the table in front of Cooper.
“It’s, okay,” Cooper said as politely as possible.
Walter promised to return for his order when Cooper stopped him, “Actually, I already know. The chicken tenders, please.”
“They’re the best chicken tenders in town,” Walter smiled. “Anything to drink?”
“Bart,” Cooper pointed at the bar in the middle of the restaurant. “He made me a good Ranch Water earlier, I’ll take another.”
Walking away the waiter knocked the top of the table with his knuckle.
Cooper sat quietly and stared out the window. Another plane, not his, he was certain of it, rolled by. Beyond the runway a snowcapped Clark Mountain had storm clouds over its peaks, dumping snow at higher elevations. The body of the mountain was lit in a rust shade of sunlight from the sun setting slowly in the west. It was only a bit longer that the mountain would appear both placid and brooding.
“Bart can’t make a Ranch Water, out of tequila,” Walter was back at the table. “But, we have it in a can.”
Cooper turned to find Walter tableside holding a 12oz Topo Chico Ranch Water.
“That’ll do, this is the exact brand I drink back in Los Angeles,” Cooper said eagerly picking up the can. “I couldn’t find it all weekend while up here.”
Walter again knocked the top of the table with his knuckle as he walked away
Cooper’s long sip of the familiar drink was interrupted by the stare of two big bright brown eyes in his direction. In the booth next to his sat a woman. Early thirties, his age, long brunette hair, big brown eyes, sexy with soft lips, these features turned in their seat and faced his direction.
“Looks like it’s your lucky night,” the woman said smiling to show a perfect row of white teeth.
“How’s that?” Cooper asked grinning.
Her brown eyes shifted to a place over his shoulder and she nodded.
Cooper turned to see a small makeshift stage, a riser barely off the floor, with a brunette female musician, jeans and cowboy boots, sitting on a stool tuning her guitar.
“I actually love live music,” Cooper said.
“Worse ways to spend a delay at the airport.”
“Oh, are you too on the Los Angeles flight?” Cooper asked, hopeful.
“Denver,” the woman smiled. “My gate is next to yours. I’ve heard your last couple of flight announcements and ease dropped on your chicken order. They aren’t lying about being the best… for Reno.”
Cooper laughed louder than me meant to at this. He felt nervous suddenly and took another sip of his drink.
The woman stood up and Cooper couldn’t help but notice the rest of her body, he felt an immediate attraction to her as she slid into the booth, the seat opposite of him.
“I’m Lexi,” she put out her hand. “What, can I call you?”
Cooper tried to wipe the condensation off his hand before placing it in hers, “Cooper.”
The lights above the restaurant grew dim, guitar chords filled the aired. The singer on the makeshift stage started to sing. Her voice, to Cooper, stunning.
Cooper turned his head a bit, “I know this song. Where You Are” I heard it right before this trip. Wow.” Cooper turned his head a bit, “She sounds so much like the artist who sings it.”
“Hi Cooper,” Lexi starred at him with her bright brown eyes a moment longer before she released her hand from his.
“What brings you to Reno?” Lexi asked before quickly adding. “Lies, only.”
Cooper again laughed and considered the question.
“One morning, I’m avoiding work and scrolling through Instagram on my phone and I see a sponsored post for this clothing brand, oddly enough a coworker mentioned the brand to me in passing a day before—which is how I think it ended up on my Instagram feed, cause you know, they listen. But, it’s a contest. “‘Like’ for a chance to win a trip for two to winter wonderland Lake Tahoe’,” Cooper sat back in his seat. “I liked the post and two days later got a DM saying I won, asked me for all my flight info to book tickets. Off I go, here I am.” He gestured out the window, “Your up.”
Lexi shook her head in what Cooper thought was disbelief.
“You broke the rule,” she pointed a finger at him. “Lies, only.”
“Chicken tenders!” Walter was back and with enthusiasm. He placed on the table a plate of the best-looking chicken tenders Cooper had ever seen. “I brought all the dipping sauces we have too, chef makes them daily. Don’t worry, they’re on the house.”
Lexi stood up and retrieved a bag back from her booth before approaching Cooper, “Got the text, flights boarding,” she showed Cooper her phone, “Hope yours does soon, enjoy your tenders.”
Cooper was still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened as Lexi walked away. He couldn’t help but stare down her backside and before she’d gone too far he noticed the now familiar Rough Indigo logo riding the waistband of her jeans.
Over the next few minutes, slowly, the chicken tenders helped Cooper forget about Lexi, as did the female voice playing throughout the restaurant. The food was bliss, the best tenders he ever had, in truth.
Walter, wiping down the table which Lexi had been sitting at, asked him a question which he did not hear.
Cooper wiped his mouth and asked him to repeat the question.
“First time in Reno?”
He nodded before mentioning though how he had spent most of his time in Tahoe.
“How’s your time here been?” Walter starred out the window at the runway, Clark Mountain beyond it.
Cooper leaned back in the booth. He thought fondly of; Lexi, the old European woman, the hundred dollars in his pocket, Lexi smiling at him, Guy at the bar greasy hands pulling memories out his pockets. Cooper tasted the grease of chicken tender breading between his teeth, listened to the slight (4.7% ABV) alcohol running through his veins (a buzz) and felt the hairs on his neck stand as the singer behind him hit a high note during another song familiar.
“Not bad given the circumstances. I want to come back.”
On the table his phone vibrated profusely. Not having paid it any attention in a while Cooper unlocked the device. Seven text messages and all from the same number. His airline, reaching out about his flight. He needed to be at his gate, immediately. Cooper’s plane was here. He placed all the cash he had in his pocket on the table and grabbed his bag.
Cooper took off through the concourse towards his gate, gate B10. He found the airport more crowded than before. Each gate had a line of passengers that snaked outside their designated seating area and onto the main concourse floor. Cooper repeatedly had to weave through line of stationary passengers after line of stationary passengers. All with coats and carry-on bags to block his way.
Cooper started to feel exhausted. Is it the altitude? he thought to himself.
“Fucking chicken fingers,” he whined feeling out of breath.
Slowly the gate numbers he passed dwindled.
B26, B25, B22…
“This is Gabe, the gate agent,” Cooper heard overhead on the airport PA system. “This is the final boarding call for Cooper Smith, we will be closing the boarding doors shortly. Well, I’ll be closing it shortly. It’s just me here, really there should be more agents at each gate for boarding, don’t even get me started.”
B16, B14, B12
Then, Cooper was there. Gate B10. It was empty, just Gabe the gate agent at the podium contemplating the door to the jetway.
“I’m here, don’t close it!” Cooper yelled as he made it the final thirty feet to the gate.
“Cooper Smith?” Gabe the gate agent asked at the sight of Cooper, who gasped for breath and thrusted a crumpled ticket his way. “Well, it’s your lucky day. Not a moment later the door would be closed and you wouldn’t be allowed onto the plane—it’s an airplane security ‘rule.’” Gabe rolled his eyes backwards. “Well off you go, enjoy your flight and come back soon.”
A minute later Cooper had settled himself into seat C19 on Flight 943 to Los Angeles. Here a sharp pain hit his right hip. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the small souvenir from the guy at the bar. A pointed wooden tree. Holding it in the palm of his hand Cooper took notice of the passengers in the seats around his. Two rows behind was the European couple from before. Both of their eyes were closed as the woman slept on the man’s shoulder, her hand on top of his on the armrest.
Further down the aisle Cooper gazed, looking for another familiar face but there was nobody else that he recognized. Disappointed at this, Cooper placed the tree back in his pocket as a flight attendant announced that the passenger door had been closed and all electronics were to be turned off or placed in airplane mode.