Timothy:
How had I gone so many years/centuries without her companionship. She made me laugh. She tickled my insides with her playfulness. Her body called to me, scenting the air with her nectar. I could so easily seize her in a romantic embrace that could infiltrate the emotions of those around us. And would I care?
I was kissing my bride with an urgency that surprised me. Where was my calm? How was I losing control? I reminded myself of the guards surrounding us and the people all around us in their rows of self-contained lounge seats. Penelope didn’t deserve the embarrassment my emotional needs would bring her. The Pooka would take over leaving her unable to resist, but . . . I stilled my sexual drive and disconnected from her lips.
A guy across the way was eying Penelope hungrily. Did I blame him? No, but I gave him a stern look that sent his eyes back to the book he was supposedly reading. Likewise, a woman nearby him, gave me a grim look. Her face was disapproving, as if Penelope and I were teenagers making out. I wanted to tell the female that I’d just married my lady. Wasn’t I permitted to have some rather x-rated thoughts and desires?
The male attendant was walking down the aisle to ask for our dinner choices. When he arrived at our seats, I urged Penelope to make her selection. I thought she’d pick the children’s macaroni and cheese, but her decision to order chicken surprised me. My wife always surprised me. I liked that.
I seconded her choice, not to compliment her decision, but because I’d been too preoccupied with other things when I’d instructed Penelope to read the menu options. Frankly, I didn’t care. None of the meals would be good. Cafeteria food at its best, or as Penelope had once described it, TV dinners, a segmented aluminum tray full of preprocessed slops of food. Penelope had informed me that her grandmother missed those dinners. It appalled me that anyone could sink so low, but I hadn’t shared my opinion.
Nostalgia often triggered such favorites, allowing remembrances to much better than their reality. But because of her, Penelope loved the idea of TV dinners.
Penelope’s grandmother had been someone truly special in her life. So, whatever the woman had told Penelope would, of course be highly praised. I hoped Penelope found the airplane meal to be just like those TV dinners. That would surely bring out her breathtaking smiles of delight. I would ignore the blandness of the food and savor Penelope’s joy at eating compartmentalized sawdust sauce and rubberized chicken.