When we were free to move about the cabin, Charmane’s voice once again filled the plane, “Will Karen Gold please come to the upper-class portion of the aircraft? Will Karen Gold please come up to the upper-class portion of the aircraft?”
Charmane and her co-flight attendant, Carmel, had taken rose petals - don’t ask me how or why they had them on the flight - and placed them all over the front of the first-class cabin. They dimmed the cabin light, and stood behind me with mini flashlights, setting a romantic mood for me when I begged for forgiveness. I stood in the middle of the rose petals, the cheap flashlight beams accenting me in cool, white light. When Karen finally made it through the upper-class divide, I said, “Hello.”
“David?” she said. “What the hell are you doing here? I mean, how . . . why . . . what’s going on??” Karen could not believe her eyes, which were now wide open. She was about two feet from me, in the front of an airplane with the guy she hasn’t seen in weeks standing before her. She was becoming a little freaked out.
When we planned this little encounter, Charmane asked if I wanted the handset that broadcasts over the plane’s speakers. She thought that apologizing so that everyone could hear me might be more endearing. I figured, why the hell not? Nothing was private anymore.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I answered over the loudspeaker.
“But how did –“ Karen started to speak.
“It’s not important,” I pulled Karen over to me, “I want to tell you how sorry I am for everything that has happened. This month has been the worst month of my life. All I can think about is you, and how much you mean to me, and what a mess I made of everything. I want to apologize for not telling you everything that was going on when I met you. I know it was stupid and inconsiderate and disrespectful. I didn’t want to bother you with all the sordid details. I know that I was wrong. I know lying to you was wrong. I’m begging for your forgiveness. I’m pleading for your forgiveness. I know I can’t go back and change anything that happened, and saying I’m sorry isn’t going to make things go back to the way they were, but . . . I just want a second chance. I just want a chance to start over with you. I just want a chance to feel your love again. Can you give me that chance, Karen?” I poured my heart out in a torrent.
Karen listened, then pulled away from me and took a few steps back. Shit, that’s cold. She was standing stone-faced, her arms folded tight to her chest, avoiding my eyes. That’s never a good sign. Then she spoke sorrowfully, almost in tears, “I don’t think I can do that.”
The rest of the airplane could not hear Karen’s answer, but everyone in upper class surely had. They held their breath. My heart sunk. I nearly fainted. I had tears welling up in both eyes. I must have looked like a total sucker standing there in the middle of the rose petals with the crappy flashlights behind me.
Then she continued, “You lied to me,” Karen said, “That’s what hurt me the most. That’s what I can’t forgive.”
Holding back tears, I tried to speak, my voice was cracking, “I want to earn your trust again. I never stopped loving you. I want to earn your love back.”
“I didn’t stop loving you, David,” Karen said. Was this an opening, I thought?
“Can you give me another chance?” I begged.
Then there was silence. I could hear passengers yelling from coach:
“Give him another chance.”
“He loves you.”
“Give him a shot!”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“Yeah, don’t be a fool. Once a liar, always a liar!” There’s always one in the crowd.
Charmaine leaned in. “C’mon, Luv, give the bloke another shot. He really loves you.”
“Karen, listen to the nice, airplane people. Well, not the one who called me a liar - you’re wrong lady!” I said into the handset. “I love you, Karen Gold.”
“I just don’t know,” Karen said, “But, I love you. I do. I want us to work. But-”
“No buts. Please, let’s give this another chance. We can make it work. I can make it work.”
Karen started to tear up, her hands fell to her sides and then moved to shield her face so that we could not see the tears that started to flow, “I . . .” she mumbled. “I love you, David.” She ran over to me and threw her arms around me. “I love you,” she said louder. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
The handset fell from my hands, as I stood there with Karen in my arms for the first time in weeks. I felt complete. “I love you Karen,” I was choked up with happiness. “I love you.” And then, in an apparent subconscious attempt to sabotage myself, I whispered into her ear, “Do you really think we can make this work?”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she demanded.
So I did.