Hi, I have the window seat. How very kind, thank you; chivalry is not dead but I’ll just squeeze by. That’s okay, I’ll just smush them both under the seat and once we’re in the air I’ll take one out and use it as an ottoman. I sit cross-legged so Gracie can be on my lap once we’re off, but thank you. She is, actually. My boyfriend at the time, Ryan, his grandmother had just died and they’d watch the Burns and Allen show together when he was a kid. I wanted a name that could evoke a quality because I knew I’d be repeating it. I didn’t want to name her Snickers or something. “Something! Come here!”
I sat next to a dog and its owner at the Union Square dog run once, and the dog had on a collar that spelled “BOW WOW” in separated silver lettering that slid and turned and the “bow” part was under the dog’s neck. I said to the owner, “I can’t believe you named your dog ‘Mom,’” and he was like, “It spells ‘bow wow.’” I told him that I was joking and then it got awkward, because he seemed to be sad or depressed. These are strange times; maybe naming your dog “Mom” isn’t so odd. It seems like everyone is feeling lonely, in some way—left out.
I’m working on a book, actually. It’s about me. It’s okay, Gracie. She’s on a doggie downer. She’ll be okay once the plane takes off and the slamming doors stop. They bang no matter how you close them, like they were made to slam. Yeah, I like those movies, too. Best in Show’s a classic. You’ll hear more about it. Yes, she’s an emotional support dog, so she can be in my lap. I have the papers in the seat flap in front of me, if you need me to reach down there to get them. Seltzer with ice, please. No, I’m good, no lime; don’t bother.
It used to be so different, flying.
Yes, a book! I realized it was time. There were stories to share that my friends were entertained by, so I thought, you know, tell them. There’s also a literary agent who lives in my neighborhood, whose partner art-directed Party Girl. I started feeling guilty when I’d see him, because he’d say, “I know there’s a book in you.” So I went into a sort of labor and produced a sort of baby, where instead of being human it’s a bound object made of paper called “pages” with words on it. You bring it to life and make it talk. Just don’t leave it alone for too long or it will start crying.
Can you hear Gracie snoring? Her little body vibrates when she does. I use my Southern accent when I talk to Gracie because she’s just too sweet. Being number one on the tarmac is so winning and such an honor, so thrilling. I got interested in acting because I was born into it—born into turbulence. It’s kind of simple: I’m a character actor because I come from a family of characters. When people ask if anyone in my family is an actor, I say all of them. They’re performative people. They’ll star somewhat in this, in the way Mother and Father star in our lives, constantly—as constant as the northern star—but I’ll take the lead.
When my dad and I fought, he’d send me to my room to write him a letter. He wasn’t good at expressing his feelings when he was angry, he was better at letter writing, and since he was an adult and I was just a child, he won. He was passionate and knew how to pull heartstrings. We’d joke in our family that he was the puppeteer and he’d splay his hand wide, moving it slowly from side to side, controlling the strings.
We’ll be in the air soon and closer to the real stars, which make the constellations, which branched the first stories from the heavens.
My book is called You’re on an Airplane. It’s a memoir pronounced with the emphasis on “me.”
Flying can be nice, once you’re in the air. Don’t you wish we could be here forever and never have to land?
