The Countdown

     The plane landed late . . . or on time. Hard to tell these days. Never early in spite of head winds or tail winds--those predictable, non-pilot-error excuses.

    So, she wasn't worried. She'd started the countdown as the plane began the descent and every time those words scrolled through her brain, she thought of her mother, the eternal sportswoman, forever enamored with games and keeping score on any and everything.

    Which is what she mumbled, inadvertently mumbled, to the young guy sitting next to her, "Time for the countdown," she said.

    "Huh?"

He obviously didn't expect anybody to talk to him, poor guy, alone as she was, but she was used to the peace of solitude (or was it freedom?) and he was too young to know it was okay to be alone.

    "The count-down," she repeated helpfully and more slowly, with a clarifying emphasis on the word "down." 

        No response.

    "Time," she said a third time, even more slowly. "'Time,' I said, 'for the count DOWN.'" She added hand motions this time--the residue of all those years sitting singing the Eensy Weensy Spider with four-year-olds.

She'd always preferred music with movement and hand signs, preferred the distraction of movement because she couldn't really sing or even carry a tune. Her voice didn't/couldn't produce a variety of notes, especially not flats and sharps, so she had learned to cover her droning monotone with the distraction of movement. She was particularly adept at imitating a spider struggling up a water spout, which she was doing now, singing it to herself and moving her hands up, up, up the imaginary spout just as the water poured down and washed the spider out!!

    BUT--a very important but-- "out came the sun and dried up all the rain and . . ." sung, only slightly louder than she intended. 

"See, worked again," she said with her sunniest smile, by way of explanation or, perhaps, as an apology if that's what her seat mate needed. . .

    He smiled wanly, obviously not following her train of thought. Well. maybe he was slow or just  didn't care a wit for the success of a tiny arachnid--his loss. She didn't have time to explain the obvious. The spider was down, and she was up and moving towards the exit. . .  that's all that mattered.