*Author's Note: To celebrate the season I thought a simple, sweet love story would be appropriate. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
******
"Sorry, buddy. Can I squeeze in here? Looks like the flight is gonna be packed."
"Yeah, I got lucky and got a window seat in an emergency row. Every inch helps when you're over six feet tall."
"At 5'9" I wouldn't have any idea, but I'll take your word for it," the older man said.
He stuffed his carry-on bag in the overhead bin, double checked his seat assignment, then plopped down in the middle seat. In a noticeably-heavy New York City accent he said, "Now as long as I don't get a screaming baby or some guy who weighs 300 pounds on the other side of me...."
The younger man in the window seat laughed. "I've experienced both of those and I'm not sure which one is worse."
"I rarely ever fly so I can't say I've had either one happen to me, but I'd like to keep it that way if you know what I mean."
He stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Jeff. Jeff Wilcox."
"Barrett Mammon. Nice to meet you, sir," the younger man said.
"Sir? I'm not that old, am I?" Mr. Wilcox said.
"Sorry. Force of habit. I was in the Army for four years."
"Oh, okay. I'm a retired police officer. And thank you for your service, by the way."
"Same to you, sir," Barrett told him.
"Call me Jeff. It makes me feel younger. And before you ask, I just turned 62 so maybe I am that old."
"You look like you're still in great shape to me...Jeff."
"Ah, I try, you know. I walk a couple of miles every day rain or shine and I watch my diet. I even gave up beer a few years ago, so yeah, I give it a pretty good shot."
He looked at Barrett then said, "You look like you're in pretty good shape yourself there, young man. Must be the Army, huh?"
"Oh, not really. I was deployed a lot and that meant long hours, not a lot of exercise, and the food was well, it was usually...edible."
"Then how'd you stay so fit and lean?" Jeff asked.
"Don't laugh, okay?"
"Laugh? Why would I laugh?" the retired cop said wondering what was coming.
"I teach ballet."
"What? No shi...no kidding?" He looked around hoping no child almost heard him swear.
"No kidding. I danced professionally until I was 17."
"Okay, now you're kidding. You were a professional ballerina?" Jeff asked unable to believe his ears.
"Well, men aren't referred to as ballerinas, but yes, I did dance professionally," Barrett assured him. "The term is danseur, just in case you were dying to know."
"Okay, how the hell does a dance...a ballet guy...end up in the Army? And what did you do for Uncle Sam?"
"I was straight-leg infantry. Ended up being a machine gunner."
"No shit?" Jeff said forgetting where he was. "Where'd you serve?"
During the flight, Jeff asked Barrett question after question about his early life in dance, how and why he ended up in the Army and part of a machine gun crew in Afghanistan, and then about where he was teaching and why he was on this flight.
In a word, he'd had his heart broken by a ballerina he'd been in love with and he was so distraught over being dumped he'd done the most opposite thing he could think of and joined the Army and requested to be in the infantry. A little over five years later he now lived and taught in a city just outside of Seattle and he was on his way back from New York and hoped to be home in time for Christmas.
"Okay. I see. I live in Denver now with my daughter and grandkid so I'll guess we'll be parting company when we land," Jeff told him.
"No offense, Jeff, but I hope so. I was checking the weather report and it's supposed to start snowing pretty heavily there anytime now. I really want to make my connecting flight and get out tonight."
"Ahh! It snows all the time in Denver, kid. You got nothin' to worry about. Trust me, okay?"
An hour before they landed, Jeff finally gave Barrett a break from the non-stop talking, so he decided to pull out his Kindle and do some reading. He hadn't made it through three pages when Jeff leaned over and said, "Whatcha readin' there, Sarge?"
Another question about the book followed and Barrett politely turned his device off and listened while Jeff recounted one story after the other about his years on the force.
"So I finally decided to go back to New York and attend one of the big shebangs the NYPD puts on every year. It's was great seeing the guys, you know. Most of 'em didn't show up and several of them have passed on, but there were plenty of guys I know who made it this year."
He leaned over and said, "I'm sure you know all about the passing on thing, huh, kid?"
Barrett did know all about that and never talked about it to anyone. He'd been on the giving and receiving end and both were bad. Watching a friend die in a firefight or from an IED blast was definitely worse, but unlike some of his former comrades in arms, he took no pleasure in taking another man's life.
No, those memories stayed locked up tight in a vault deep inside his mind, and he refused to even visit let alone live there. It was his own personal defense mechanism against PTSD which so many of his buddies lived with, battled with longer after the fight was over, and the cause of quite a few of them taking their own lives. Many of those still alive drank or drugged to excess or did anything else they could to forget. Barrett Mammon simply willed himself not to think about it—ever.
"I do," was all he said without elaborating.
"I still can't believe you do the whole ballet thing. You sure as hell don't look like no twinkle toes." Jeff leaned in close again then said, "No offense."
"None taken," Barrett told him.
"You're a little young, but I wish I could get my daughter to take an interest in a guy like yourself. Ballet aside, any Army vet is a hero in my book, you know what I'm sayin'?"
"I think so," he replied with a smile. "So your daughter is single?"
"Well, she lost her husband, a great guy and a fellow police officer, by the way, in the line of duty three years ago. He didn't have much life insurance and she was having a hell of time financially so I moved out there to help her out. My wife passed away too, a couple of years before my son in law, so this has been really good for me, too. I gotta tell you I really like being around my little girl and her little girl. As in my granddaughter. Anyway, my own girl, Hannah, she's 35 now, and she's got some high and mighty banker guy sniffing around her and I gotta tell ya, kid, I don't much care for him. She's got a five-year old daughter to think about, and this guy ain't nothing but a phony in my book."
"I'm sure your daughter has good judgment, Jeff. Maybe you should trust her."
"Trust her? Look, kid. I know people. I can sniff 'em out in a heartbeat. This guy—Mr. Money Bags, has one thing on his mind. Money. Oh, sure. He comes off all charming and caring, but the bottom line is his bottom line. And this dick..." He took another look around and got a dirty look from an elderly woman. "This...guy...he's been married and divorced twice already and he just turned 40. My girl thinks he's changed, but let me tell you something. Leopards...."
"Don't change their spots," Barrett said finishing the old adage for him.
"Yeah. Damn right. Once a jerk always a jerk." He leaned over and said, "Semper jerk...off. Well, in his case anyway."
Barrett actually laughed for once and not just to be polite.
"Anyway, if you was a few years older, I'd try and get you to step in and get my daughter to wise up before she marries this...jerk...and ends up in some big fancy penthouse all alone day after day while he's out doing whatever rich guys do until he gets tired of her and moves on to the next wife."
"Sorry, Jeff, but I'd have to be staying in Denver for a while to help you out, and with any luck—no offense—that won't be happening."
"Yeah, okay. I gotcha. But still, even you'd be a step up from numb nuts."
Barrett tried not to laugh at the realization that Jeff had no idea by saying 'even you' he'd just issued what his late grandfather had called 'a compliment with shit on it.' His grandmother would have corrected her husband and said, "He means a left-handed compliment, Barrett." His grandfather had been left handed and that would have brought an equally sharp and immediate retort. Just thinking about them and their witty repartee made him smile.
