The airplane lazily cuts through the cloudy, gray sky like a bored knife through warm butter. The air is wet and cold. Windy. Inside the plane, the tacky orange carpet screams of gaudy 1960's. The bright, orange seats were plump and cushy. And the place had much more in common with a small 1960's party room/sitting room, than an airplane. The stewardess walked in, carrying cakes and champagne. She smiled a gentle grin, her hair poofed up in a Mary Tyler Moore cut.
"Would you loik some cake, love?" she offers, slightly blushing due to being ever so attracted to the big man sitting in the chair next to her, reading a newspaper. He pulled the paper down, smiling. Around 27-30 years old, his eyes are heavily slanted. He hashigh cheek bones, a round nose, thick Africanesque lips, thick and silky black hair in a short professional neat cut, and dark reddish skin the color of reddish chocolate. His shoulders are wide, and his belly flat. He's built like a linebacker. She giggles to herself, as he reminded her of those statues from America, in front of a cigar store. She flutters her blonde eyelashes, wishing to all damn he'd just take the hint and ask for her number.
"Um, no thank you." he smiles sweetly, eager to get back to his paper.
William Kikiwawason.
Born in Atlanta, Georgia. Moved to Chicago. Got into college, and attended for 8 years. 8 years to get his bachelor's. Then went to Tuskegee, hoping to get a fair shake.
William, a Muskogee kid, went to college. But... college was miserable for him. Because, despite all the love and friendliness shown to him, he was a target. His advisor, Jan O'Henehan, pretended to be helping him, but in reality, she was working overtime to mislead him and destroy his record. Jan was a firm believer in certain religious things, and as a Midwestern woman from the cornfields, she believed it was her duty to make things "right". And she dedicated her life to it. She made sure she was always in charge of the minority students, or was hands-on with their information and their school lives. And always, they ended up quitting college. Or not graduating unless spending nearly a decade in college.
Jan was always giving an "oops, I made a mistake." with these students or scheduling them for extremely religious retreats.
The day William graduated, she was sad. And William smelled something fishy. She was sad, admitting it, but not admitting that she felt as if she failed by him graduating. He was treated by his non-Native American classmates as if he didn't exist. And only called "friend" out of a feeling of duty. That they HAD to do it. He was tired of nobody just saying "Hi." but "HOW!" instead. Or every conversation always bringing up tribes, or tomahawks, or General Custard. He hated it. He hated all those backwards, inbred, psychopathic monsters. He wished they stayed in their damn hick cornfields.
He was given a job from a Canadian Real Estate company, Stokingham, headed by Pierre Jean-Viaulle. Pierre expanded his operation into Atlanta, Georgia, moving there to oversee it himself. He appreciated William's legal and people skills, and threw the newcomer into the thick of the field. Finally given a chance, William proved he succeeds in working with contracts and more importantly, winning people over. With his kindness and gentle personality, in spite of his massive size.
But now, William is enjoying himself. He's only flown in a plane once before. Because of lack of staff, he was offered an international assignment. And he jumped at it. He's to do his usual, but with a client overseas. William knows his neck is on the line. But he loves all of this.
He's being sent to Austria. The flight to England was exhausting. But, as luck would have it, the client wanted him to take first class to Austria from London, for the sake of being refreshed and able to fully explain the ins-and-outs of the business. He eases outward his size 16 shoes, enjoying the freedom to stretch his legs. As the stewardess makes her rounds, she comes back around again, her beautiful face marred by her crooked teeth.
"If you need anything, please feel free to call me. Anytime, love." she blushes hard. Mad inside that he's too shy to just up and ask her out.
"Sure, thank you so much." he smiles, just feeling the nervousness from hoping he doesn't mess this job up.
"Groovy." she flutters her eyes, leaving out.
*********************************
A gorgeously pristine, glossy black car peacefully, yet rapidly rumbles down the road. A Mercedes G-4 Wagen. Like a 1920's Volkswagen crossed with a hummer and given jeep tires. It formerly was a Nazi car. But the ornaments on it have been professionally and tediously cut off and replaced with what looks like a hammer that has an upside-down U for a top. Runic designs lace them beautifully. The car has been tediously customized. As if a despiser of all things Nazi has edited the car to their own proud likings, furiously ripping any and all things tied to the Reich away from the vehicle's every inch. The car barely bumps, as it races down the dark and lonely road at extreme speed.
At the helm of the speeding black wagon is a small German woman with a thick tawny bun. Her driver's hat, like a black police hat, is pulled down over her head, obscuring her face. Her tiny, white hands calmly work the wheel like a perfectionist driver filled with experience. Cheap little 1950s earrings sit in her ears, dull and boring. A gentle German opera whispers from the radio in front.
William sits in the plush backseat, half-way in the twilight of sleep. The music, the warmth, the rocking of the car, and the gentle fall of the snow, all rocked him asleep. The flights were long and rushed. He barely had time to drink a cup of water before running from the Atlanta airport to the London one, and then touching down in Austria. When he landed that evening, it was almost black outside. And had begun snowing. He quickly touched himself up in the mirror with his little cousin's afro pick, splashing water on his face and straightening up his appearance before he had rushed out. He had been thankful for signs in English, since he could barely make out what the German signs said, let alone understand the sweet, smiling people around him. When he walked out, hoping he wasn't stranded, he saw a small brunette, with tawny brown hair, 5 foot 9, about 140 lbs, thin but shapely, standing in a black driver's suit for women. She held up a sign with his name. He walked up to meet her, held his hand out to shake hers. But she pulled her cap down way over her face, which was already hard to see, and abruptly turned around, briskly exiting out the door.
"Damn... well... maybe that's Austrian manners." he thought, as he followed her while carrying his case with him. In the dark part of the driveway, she opened his door in the back and bowed like a female butler. When he stopped in front, trying to get out a normal "Danke", it seemed like she was frozen. Stuck. Like a mannequin. But the moment he "ummm"-ed and got into the car, she abruptly slammed the door and walked to the driver's seat. The seats were immaculate. They were fur. Thick brown fur covered them. And the back of the front seat's leather was embroidered with what looked like runic animal drawings. When she got in the car, silent, she strapped in her belt, and clicked on the radio, whispering German opera through the vehicle.
"Good?" she said in a hard, Rgg-ling accent.
"Yeah. Uh, ja." he said with a hard J. Her pink lips spread into a smile, a flicker of light from her eyes. A flash of red in the mirror, he thought he saw.
"Is "yah", yah." she corrected.
"Sorry... yah."
"Mm-hm." she started up the big car and down the road they had went.
For so long.
Hours maybe.
