I worked at our plant for half a day, giving another training session and tying up some loose ends. We're doing some construction to the building, as we stopped paying a lease on it and purchased it outright about six months ago. In the end, I think it'll look good... but for now? Now it's an impossibly noisy, dusty warehouse full of echoes and circular saws.
I participated in a couple of conference calls and hit the road. By the time I got to Midway, I just knew I was coming down with a cold: headache, chest congestion, and mild vertigo. I stopped by a store in my terminal to pick up some water, excedrin, and airborne. I didn't notice that the airborne was the effervescent kind - ick! But what can you do? I dissolved three tabs in my bottle of water and chugged it down.
Our flight was delayed due to some weather issues. In the hour and a half between dropping off my rental car and boarding the airplane, the air temperature must have dropped at least ten degrees. I could see my breath there in the narrow accordion hallway as I hauled my suitcase, laptop bag, and bubbling purple water.
I don't claim to understand why, but the more I fly, the more uneasy it makes me. After we took off this afternoon, I made the mistake of peeking out the window. I literally whispered "Oh, God.." when I saw how far down the city was. After that I pulled out my Sue Grafton book and studiously avoided the view.
Luckily for us passengers, it was a nearly empty flight. Everyone got their own row, so I spread out a little bit as I read. We broke the clouds, and the cabin was flooded with sunshine. And it was this, as much as the medicine, that seemed to erase my headache.
Let me tell you, there's something about Atlanta. Every time I fly here, it's the same. A clean smell in the air that's impossible to define. It's warm, humid, almost floral. It smells like the nicest boutique cleaning solution you've ever come across. Magnolia, lemon, cedar. I don't know what it is, but I love it.
And the people here. I don't know if they have more money, or are just better at giving the impression of money, but it's palpable. The young people here are so fit, so well dressed. Every young black man I come across could be an athlete or a famous rapper. Louis Vuitton bags, 6% body fat, brand new clothes, sparkling sneakers. Middle-aged women are slender and blonde. They call you hon, sweetie, or sugar. The younger white girls, like me, wear bright colors and have interesting purses. They have soccer legs and tans. They speak with a southern accent I immediately adopt whenever I'm here. Everyone on the train smells of fresh perfume or citrus aftershave.
Driving down the interstate in my two-door Pontiac rental, I called Courtney. There were tornado warnings on the radio, dark clouds moving in. Rumors of baseball sized hail. It made me homesick, odd as that may sound. We never get thunderstorms up in Washington, and only rarely get hail. The smell of ozone makes me think of our house on Sayles Boulevard, when we were little. The sun would come out after the rain and we'd play in the wet grass. Sometimes we'd go out on bike rides in that hour between a good thunderstorm and dusk.
About ten miles outside my hotel, traffic came to a standstill. Sure enough, it had hailed. With the air outside a mild 70 degrees, there were piles of hail along the sides of the interstate. It looked like a snowstorm had hit. The air felt electric. The sun looked twice its size as it set to my right, a big red circle sinking beneath the clouds.
It's nine thirty here on the East coast, and the lightening is still flashing in the sky. Thunder's rolling every twenty seconds or so. I hope it keeps up. It feels like spring.
No comments:
Post a Comment