Ticket- Object Writing 5 Oct
admin November 30th, 2007
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Started by Paul - Last post by Paul
Ticket- she’s got a ticket to ride, ticket aeroplane, train ticket. Aeroplane ticket. Used to be made of paper, some still are. A glossy cover holding a carbon copied version of your life that’s about to unfold. A typewriter somewhere has struck the paper and the force has descended through layers of blue and red backed copying paper. Miniature droplets of ink have been pressed from copy paper to the facsimile. Some of it has gone blurry and is ill defined - red wine spilt on a table cloth. The sheets are so thin they’re like fairy wings, delicate , but not brittle. Talented hostesses can make them fly. They are paid to be happy, greeting you at check-in counters at weird hours of the morning.
Arriving and being dropped off is a tense affair. Gestapo traffic wardens wave and watch with hawk eyes for any discretion and you’re moved on. Step outside and the smell of jet fuel is underlying everything, I happen to like it. Someone having a final cigarette before boarding is pacing near the door - a reminder of other days, when tendrils of smoke would filter over the back of my tongue and into my lung, making me feel better- or so I thought. I pick up the ‘lighter than air’ ticket and move to immigration. A shopping mall of voices is bubbling near the entrance - people, wishing others well, there are some tears. Serious security looks on. This time I am leaving not arriving. Passport is checked - I look like myself so it must be me. The photograph in the wallet is the happiest one of me ever I think. Just after I had met an exceptional woman. I had to get an emergency passport to fly to New Zealand after discovering my UK one was no longer valid.
