“The drinks are free and everything, but they hit you

up at the door on the way out.”

— TOM WAITS

THE NUN was shaking my arm, said,

“We’re about to land.”

My mouth tasted of metal and my eyes hurt, I glanced at the window, darkness, punctuated by a huge array of lights. She said,

“They gave us a lovely dinner.”

“I’m glad.”

Anxiety was sitting in my gut like acid. The wheels hit the Tarmac and the nun blessed herself. Within fifteen minutes, the doors were open and passengers began to move. The nun put out her hand, said,

“A little something as a memento of our trip.”

A relic of Padre Pio, she said,

“He’s a saint now.”

Did you go,

“Yeah, way to go bro . . . or congratulations?”

I said,

“Thank you.”

She gave me a look full of what my mother used to call devilment, her eyes dancing,

“ ‘Tis the oddest thing, you were talking in your sleep.”

I waited, fearful of what I might have disclosed and she added,

“You had such a strong Irish accent, isn’t that the quarest thing?”

Then she moved into the aisle, said,

“God keep you safe.”

I intended buying a gun as backup, lest the Lord didn’t hear her.