Many Gods ONe people

by Eric Clark

1 

Little Sis 

ANNA LOOKED up from her plate and lost herself in a selfish gaze at her brother as he stuffed a heaping fork of chicken, mashed potatoes and peas into his mouth. It was a lingering habit of masking the taste of any one particular food he didn’t like by filling the fork with some of everything else on his plate. The hope was that the one item least desired would lose itself among the others; confused taste buds were left unable to distinguish the bad from the good. The fork barely fit, a pea fell to the floor and Lily, the Bichon floor sweeper, keeping a watchful eye for wayward treats, grabbed it in midair. Anna smiled while silently feeling a separation one might expect from twin siblings. But they were not twins. Still, Anna felt betrayed. She understood the reasons why, she just couldn’t help but wish things played out differently. This was supposed to be her special time and yet, he was leaving. They had an unwritten understanding, she thought, but again, she understood. In an effort to stave off further maudlin feelings, she chose a different tack.

“You know you'll probably get malaria over there," she said, as she kicked her brother under the table trying to get a rise out of him. It was in line with what he’d expect; the usual display of sibling love and rivalry that started at birth and defined their relationship for almost two decades.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" She prodded, as she kicked again.

“Hey!” He cried, feigning injury. “Why so much affection today?”

“Well, you’re supposed to be home for winter break,” she said, “not spending it halfway around the world.”

Christopher smirked. Though his smile suggested an upper hand in this particular sibling match, his eyes were sincere and comforting—they were telling another story. He was definitely feeling conflicted about the days ahead and his lightheartedness belied an undercurrent of anxiety. Normally he’d try to give as much as he got when it came to sibling rivalry, but he was older and this time he was trying to play the part. He knew at least this once, was a time to take Anna’s gibes and not push back. And anyway, he was not always the innocent one in these jesting competitions. There were many a time when he was the instigator with Anna simply lost in reverie, wishing to be left alone. Only, having a sibling meant never being alone. As one could imagine, this sometimes was a blessing, sometimes a curse. For the most part, however, Christopher and Anna were buds. They read each other's faces like a book, felt each other’s vibes like feeling someone’s pulse. Though they were separated by almost two years, you might as well consider them twins. He knew she'd miss him and knew this was her way of saying it.

They were both home for college winter break and no sooner did Christopher arrive, he was going to leave. A trip to Africa had been planned for six months and the time for departure was days away. Anna was nervous for him, but in true sisterly love, she expressed her anxiety by teasing him. They didn't have the usual brother-sister relationships you’d see on television. Sure, they had their history of fighting over territory or some such nonsense, the stuff kids always complain about growing up. But as they matured through the mid-teen years, their relationship took on the feel of a well-worn leather glove. They were comfortable hanging out with each other. Christopher could often be found in Anna's room trying to impress her by lying on the floor and tossing a ball up to the ceiling, catching it in the same hand; his coordination and aiming skills often lost on a disinterested sister. Anna, on the other hand, would be laying back on her bed, laptop open to a food recipe site, planning an exotic epicurean delight to show off her creative food chemistry skills. Exotic food, however, was something not on Christopher’s radar. When it came to food, plain and simple were fine. As a backdrop to all this, someone's mobile would always be blue-toothed to portable speakers jamming some recent pop phenom.

 Despite their differences, they hung together like an old married couple knowing exactly how the other felt about most things. Their conversations varied from mutual school friends or teachers they both had in common, to music, movies, or even their mom and dad, trying to decipher their motives for this or that. There was also a lot in their lives that didn't overlap, sports for one, which kept them from rehashing the same territory day-in and day-out.

Christopher tried his hand at baseball, lacrosse and water polo before settling on competitive surfing as something that truly defined him. There was something about the personal-best—competing against himself, that resonated with his personality. Anna started with the usual ballet at three and soccer soon after, but eventually committed to the latter when time constraints forced her to choose between the two. Later, in freshman year of high school, lacrosse would enter the picture. She quickly got bumped up to varsity, in part because the strategy was very similar to soccer and possibly because her brother played lacrosse and schooled her early in stick handling and throwing. Interestingly, varsity had all of Christopher’s classmates and Anna held her own, on and off the field. Socially, she was comfortable moving in both circles—junior and senior teammates and freshman classmates. She had an uncanny matureness beyond her years. You had to be on your toes when in conversation with Anna. It was almost like she saw right through you, discerning motives you never thought you had. Her observant nature made for interesting talk when she and Christopher debriefed at the end of the day.

Dinner at the Dietrich's always followed a familiar pattern. The kids were often in their own worlds and it took all of heaven and earth to rouse them to the table before the food cooled. Jen felt like a broken record, always yelling out for her kids to "come on down, the dinner is on the table. It's getting cold!" That last bit always had the tinge of frustration that made them stir. They heard that mantra every night for the past two decades, or so it seemed. If Marley was not working late at the hospital, he was usually already present, trying to make up for often being on-call and leaving the heavy lifting to Jen.

The dinner conversation was usually sparse at the beginning. Not that everyone was busy stuffing themselves, just that that was the tempo. Jen and Marley would glance at each other, then at the kids, wondering who would start. There was always a start. Some small observation or innocuous question that spurred a response, then another statement, then a question, then it was like a snowball rolling downhill. The banter was in full swing. Each night it felt like this would be a quiet one. Then, someone would say something silly like, "I hate Mrs. Beacon, she doesn't know literature any more than she knows how to use a laptop and she's always complaining that she can't make hers work." The other would follow with, "Just be lucky you didn't get Mr. Wallace, he was a real pain." Eventually, the conversation would steer around to friends and Jen and Marley would just sit and act like two flies on the wall. "Therapy," Marley thought. "It's a wonderful thing." They liked to sit and listen to the kids share how they saw the world around them, expressing their frustrations with either a sibling nod of approval or possibly a mocking tease, whatever the situation required, as their kids grew from brother and sister into friends. Marley and Jen never understood why other families didn't eat together anymore. Once, when Christopher said he was visiting a friend at five pm, Marley told him he shouldn't impose himself on a family at dinner time, that it would be impolite. Christopher smiled. "Dad," he said, "we're the only family I know that has dinner together every day. None of my friends do this. They just grab something on the stove and head back to their rooms to watch TV."

This winter break was Anna's freshman year at college and she was eager to share her stories with Christopher over the three to four week break. She missed their casual time together. Over the previous summer, Christopher stayed at college to do the research project that resulted in this trip to Africa. It lasted more than half the summer and Anna felt cheated. Though Christopher came to Providence to move her into her dorm in September, the way she did for him a couple years earlier, it still wasn't enough time. It wasn't like high school when they got to debrief each other every night. She would resign herself to the new reality. He wasn't going to be home this break and she'd have to settle for helping him prepare and waiting in anticipation for what she hoped would be a steady stream of phone-texts and pictures about his adventures.

Christopher, on the other hand, was focused on Africa. If he had any anxieties, they were well hidden. Like most kids, opportunities like this essentially proved to them that they were growing up. Who else gets to travel a day's worth of flying from California to visit East Africa after just two years of college? And not because mom and dad paid for them to go on a protected nice little trip with all the traveling issues well planned out. This one was quite the opposite. The tickets didn't come through until just a couple weeks before. The money was funded from a college benefactor specifically for Christopher to make the trip and present his research in Tanzania. Nothing about who he would meet when he got there was fixed in stone. There were the usual assurances from his professor, but it was all still quite up in the air. Christopher showed no concern about the uncertainties. What he didn’t know, he didn’t know. That was that.

Jen, however, was pure mom. She had her anxieties and didn’t hold back. After all, this was her only boy and sending him off halfway around the world, to an under-developed country, had to give anyone pause. That Christopher was leaving just before the Christmas holiday and would be spending it away from family was another sticky issue that everyone seemed to gloss over but just didn’t sit well with her. Jen knew the knot in her stomach would not settle until she saw him come through customs on his return home. It was all she could think of as she helped him prepare. So, she wanted all the details. 

“You said the professor won’t be picking you up at the airport?”

“No,” said Christopher, “actually, I’m not sure. He said he wasn’t sure.”

“So, someone will be there?”

“Well, I’m not sure of that either, I may have to wait around. It all depends on if the professor is out in the bush and if he’s able to arrange a pickup. Last we spoke, he didn’t have anything firmed up.”

“And, I guess there’s no way for you to call and let me know what’s happening?”

Jen was clearly frustrated. She looked at Marley for support, but he was no help. His half smile said I’m not getting involved. Christopher had warned them things would be loose but still organized.

“Don’t worry Mom, I trust the professor won’t leave me stranded in Africa to fend off hyenas with my bare hands.”

Christopher’s attempt at a little levity was met with a smirk from Jen. In the end, all she got were the plane takeoffs and landings. There was no internet expected, Christopher was told he didn’t need to bring the local currency and there was no direct phone line that his mom could pick up and call for updates on arrival, meals, accommodations, safety—all the usual things that any parent expected to know. Left with many uncertainties, Jen made sure he had the one essential that no one ever thinks to bring on this kind of trip: toilet paper. And of course, Christopher knew how to work his parents. They didn’t hesitate to support him with this opportunity to travel, despite the fact he was flying halfway around the world, without any of the particulars figured out. The least he could do in-turn, was put up with their small requests. His mom packed a couple roles with the cardboard core removed so they would lay flat in his backpack.

“You never know hon, trust me,” she said. 

Christopher just smiled, “Thanks Mom.” His dad had “small requests” too. He would outfit a small medical supply kit with everything from malaria and dysentery medication to simple conjunctivitis treatment. Christopher’s kit could treat anything Marley could think of that would cause irreparable damage if treatment was delayed. 

“Perks of having a father as a doc,” he said. Christopher figured these were minor concessions. He appreciated that his parents hovered, but not too close.

The offer to go on a safari was proposed by the professor he would be working with in Africa, and for Christopher, that made the trip. It wasn't on the table back when he had to commit, but it came as a last-minute benny. A Christmas present in Tanzania.

"Probably," Christopher said with a hint of sarcasm, responding to Anna's threat of malaria. He continued the rally with an amicable tone, knowing full well that she was more concerned than jealous. "Maybe, I'll never make it back. Maybe, I'll go on safari and get eaten by a lion. I bet you'd like that," he added.

"No lion is gonna choose you,” Anna countered with another salvo, “one bite and they’ll spit you out and move on—no spice," she added with a final grin. Christopher returned a smile. This was their usual banter. It would go back and forth until someone's wit clearly out did the other. Anna often got there first. It was as if she always knew where the third rail was and didn't mind a little touch now and then.

"I know you're gonna miss me Anna, but you don't have to be so cruel about it," Christopher quipped. "You need your big brother to help give you direction in life, so, despite your inner wishes, I'll be back, if just so I can harass you the rest of your life." They exchanged smiles knowing this would be the end of it. She let him off easy but that was her going away present to him.

2

Change

THE SUN had settled in the Southern California sky; a red orange fire ball descending off the edge of the world but rising in some other place. Darkness crept into the coastal canyon where Jen and Marley busied themselves with their bedtime ritual: the brushing, the flossing, the facial cleansing. This was followed by climbing into bed and watching the evening news. They’d watched it at six but didn’t mind watching again at least until the weather report, which, in the end, didn’t surprise. In fact, it rarely did. More of the same. On this occasion, Marley noticed that Jen was unsettled. After twenty-three years of marriage, he could sense her emotions from the simple movement of her body. She was less animated than usual. There was no flitting about trying to multitask in preparations for tomorrow’s activities while still tending to today’s. She moved slowly and deliberately and was quieter than usual. His critique of how too many temperature icons the weather forecaster put on the screen, all giving the same number, give or take a degree, went without a response. She usually made some kind of comment just to appease him, maybe finding a number in the desert on the other side of the mountains that was ten degrees higher and say, “See, that’s different. Those people need to know.” Her instinct was optimism. She saw the better side of people, at least their potential to be better, which was probably the same. But this time, she just lay there, her back up against a pillow staring at the television, lost in a trance.

“Hon, are you gonna say anything before we turn in?” Marley prodded. He waited, but she didn’t respond. He looked away to set his alarm clock so as not to make her feel pressed. When he finally turned back, a tear had appeared halfway down her right cheek. Her eyes were glassy with more to follow. Marley took her hand and gave it a squeeze. He knew not to say anything, that it was necessary for her to go through the process without interruption. He muted the remainder of the news and simply sat and waited, squeezing her hand every so often. After a while Jen reached for a tissue, dried her eyes and looked at Marley.

“I don’t know if I can handle this,” she said, sobbing and blowing all at once. “He’s just too young for this. All alone? I can’t relax about it. I’m too scared something will happen.”

Marley didn’t say anything. He waited to let the weight of her emotions settle. He thought about how a bland response of, don’t worry, it’ll all be fine, might sound. Not too sincere, he thought. Instead, he went the other way.

“It’s a bit scary, hon. I know. I’m trying not to let it get to me, but I have a few knots of my own.”

“You don’t show it, much.” Her disbelief hung in the air.

“Well, you know me. I can hide that kind of stuff. The father in me wants to man-up about not coddling the boy too much. Let him strike out and discover the world, kinda thing.”

She looked at him, her face scarlet red from the sobs, more tears running free. It appeared they were at an impasse. She didn’t see a solution that could make her feel better about Christopher leaving on a plane the following day. They were down to the wire and her anxieties were now concentrated in these last few hours. It was as if she was never going to see her son ever again.

“You know hon,” Marley said, “I think he’s ready for this. I think he’s been preparing for this his whole life.”

Jen looked back at him, a little curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “What do you mean.”

Marley realized he had her attention and whatever he had to say had better be good. He wasn’t sure how it would play out, but he had a sense of how it would start and how it would end.

“Let me tell you a story about a boy we both know pretty well.”

The lead-in got a smile out of her. She sat up a bit and turned more towards Marley to hear him out.

“So, this young boy seems to have a story book life on the surface. Mother, father, sister, his own room, California living, vacations, the whole bit. All is good, or so it would seem. But if you scratch that surface a little bit you can see that all isn’t that perfect. Christopher starts out in a school where he has to deal with the pure randomness of being one of the shortest kids in all his classes. He’s in the front row of every picture taken, whether it’s school or a sport’s team. Unfortunately, height on the playground doesn’t lend itself to prestige. We both know he had to deal with a lot of issues from some of his classmates over those early years, right?”

Jen nodded.

“And there was that time that seventy-five-pound dog came bounding down the sidewalk when he was just a little tike and essentially ran him over. Remember how he wasn’t too fond of dogs back then?

“And as he got older, he played a few different sports, but baseball was his first love, that was until a ball took a bad hop and smacked him in the forehead. It could happen to anyone, I know. But that was soon followed by a wild pitch where he took it on the side of the face. Wham bam! That’s a lot for a kid to swallow. Baseball was losing its luster. You may not remember, but he kinda shied away from the batter’s box after that.”

“So where are you going with all this,” Jen prodded.

“Well, the world didn’t close in on him after all that, did it? I mean, he was a shy kid back then, maybe you could say he was a little bit afraid of the world. Which you could expect after years of bullying, losing interest in your favorite sport and afraid of dogs, which are plenty in this neighborhood. It’s kinda like someone telling you, ‘Life is rough, start getting used to it.’

“As I recall,” Marley continued, “Christopher chose to stop being a victim of circumstance. He chose to grab the world by the collar and hold on.” Marley chuckled as the image took shape his mind—a globe in a shirt collar with Christopher hanging on for dear life. “I remember the day like it was yesterday, the day the principal called us into her office to discuss Christopher. What was it, seventh grade? Yeah, he was what, twelve or so?”

Jen smiled, her cheeks now a rosy red. Marley smiled back.

“Christopher had decided enough was enough.” Marley went on to tell the story of how Christopher had been caught involved in something unseemly and it was time to come clean. Much to their surprise, the principal, quite aware of the years of abuse that he had endured, was amused by the circumstance, rather than upset. As it turned out, one of the main protagonists in Christopher’s years of angst, was constantly missing his homework. It had gone on for weeks and the culprit was pulling his hair with frustration, doubting his sanity, wondering how he could misplace his papers on such a regular basis. Christopher must have wanted to out himself, because he told a friend, who told a friend. The perfect scheme must have been too perfect to keep a secret. Word got out and Christopher’s deviousness, a twelve-year-old version of retaliation, one should add, gained him new notoriety. He, the little guy, did what no one in his class ever thought him capable of, getting revenge on the bully.

“I remember it,” Jen said with a soft laughter she almost didn’t want to come out. “I remember the principal was all smiles, that she appreciated the subtleness, the canny execution, and the ultimate satisfaction that Christopher must have found comforting. She told us that she’d never seen anything like it. It was a perfect revenge if ever there was one. And, of course, he got punished for it all,” Jen added, with a little circumspection, so as to not seem too delighted by the schadenfreude nature of the whole thing.

“Garbage pickup for a week. She let him off easy because she herself wanted some satisfaction from the whole incident. I think we all took a little too much glee at that boy’s expense, but so be it. The point is that Christopher stood up for himself. He said enough!

“That was just the beginning,” Marley went on, “I remember being quite upset when Christopher gave up baseball. We had so much equipment we had invested in over the years. We spent so much for batting cage practice and sat through so many games that it hurt to throw in the towel. But he said that was it. He was done with it. He moved on to lacrosse full steam ahead. Do you get the irony here? He went from baseball where he got beaned in the head with a baseball to a sport where getting whacked in the head is an intentional part of the game. And he took the X spot position, which for a short kid means going up against beefy defenders. You know some high school football teams have their players play lacrosse in the off season to develop agility and quickness. The big ones play defense. I think Christopher relished the idea of being smaller and faster than those guys. He could dart in and out of situations so fast, he was essentially undefendable. It frustrated the hell out of the other teams. It was as if he finally embraced his size as a gift.”

“I wasn’t too fond of that sport,” Jen interjected. “And when Anna played it and took a stick to the head, I was done with it.” 

“Well, you’re right. Christopher did have to pay a price on occasion. I don’t know if you remember, because I don’t think you were at the game. There was one time when Christopher outwitted a defender and then scored a goal. The defender was pissed. He knew full well that the shot-on-goal was a done deal—the ball had left the stick, but he decided to take his revenge and he leveled Christopher with a blindsided check. I watched our pint-sized son go from vertical to horizontal—and hang, still in midair, then descend to a crumpled body on the pitch. I remember there was no movement for an ungodly amount of time. I could barely contain the urge to run on to the field to see how he was doing. I knew if I did it would be the ultimate embarrassment for him. Fortunately, after a while, there was movement; a leg here, and arm there—Christopher lived to tell the tale. I wonder if he still remembers any of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he also got a little concussed.”

“So, are you saying that Christopher is tough enough for Africa? Is that where all this is going?” Jen tried to cut to the chase. She knew Marley could get longwinded and saw the direction it was going.

“Now, now, Jen. Patience. Yes, but there’s more here. Christopher clearly was not the same kid at fourteen that he was at ten. All this stuff happened. It was something that we lived through but didn’t really see happening right under our nose. It was Christopher that paddled out into the ocean and sat beyond the waves for hours every day learning to surf. Where were we? Sitting on the sand in a beach chair. We both knew we wouldn’t be able to save him if anything happened. He knew we couldn’t save him. Yet he went out there into the Pacific washing machine of crashing waves by himself, over and over. I gotta say, that’s some determination. And when he got to high school, did he take up tennis or track and field? No. He did the one sport neither you nor I would have predicted—water polo. It’s brutal—brutal by design, you might say. It’s a sport that strategizes a fight above the water, where everyone watching can see, along with a fight below the water, where only you and your opponent know what’s going on. Imagine, a sport where referees need to inspect your toenails before you can play. It’s like cats fighting in the water. We couldn’t believe that that was what he wanted to do. And he did.

“I gotta say the thing I’m most proud of though is when he tried out for the ocean lifeguard and he didn’t make the final cut. He was very disappointed but kept his cool and his determination. He volunteered in the off year and tried again the following year and was accepted. The Chief told him he was very pleased that he never gave up. Do you remember? He told him that the previous year he had to accept some other applicants because their families were big donors, but he felt Christopher would have been a better choice. I thought that was the best life lesson a kid could learn, and he learned it the hard way, which is the best way.”

“Getting accepted,” Jen said, “wasn’t a cake walk as I recall. There was that ocean swim he had to do and to this day I can’t believe they’d take sixteen and seventeen-year-olds out in the deep ocean and have them swim for hours. It seems way to dangerous.”

Marley grinned. He was now recollecting the details of that swim the way Christopher told it to him that very evening when he returned from the beach exhausted and still a little shaky. Funny that the lifeguard training teams never told the parents what the kids were in for. They must have figured the parents would never ever go for it. Just the idea of it sounds crazy. But after the fact, all one could say was wow.

On a cold May morning, Christopher and a fellow comrade, climbed into a zodiac and headed straight out towards the horizon. When the shoreline was no longer visible, some three miles out, they were ejected from the boat and told which direction to swim. Swim they did. Lying flat in the water, hoping and praying that sharks were not roaming about, or at least not interested in their antics, it took some time before any land was visible. And when, finally, a wisp of terra firma could be seen on the horizon, it was so far off that it never seemed to get any closer. The currents were not always working in your favor. After two hours of swimming the beach was a welcome site. Shaking with rigors and likely hypothermia, they now had to take the written test for the final exam. The pen shook the whole time, but he passed and joined the ranks of an exclusive club of red shorts.

Marley didn’t know if it was just the stroll down memory lane or if these particular stories helped Jen to have faith that Christopher was not the little cute kid she’d always see him as from preschool. He was now a good-looking young man who had two additional years of college under his belt. It may be that Christopher was biting off more than he could chew with this trip, but Marley felt there was only one way to tell and holding him back wasn’t the way.

“Jen, I know you’re not totally comfortable with all this. And I don’t know why, but I have some kind of trust that all will go well. It’s as if God is telling me that he’s going to be okay, that we just have to let go and have faith.”

Jen’s eyes locked in on Marley with a seriousness that took him off guard. He wasn’t sure what was going on in her head. From Jen’s perspective, she loved that Marley had this special feeling, even though she didn’t. She felt that maybe it was a father-son thing, maybe it was just an isolated thing. Either way, she wanted to have hope and decided to ride Marley’s coat tails and let his faith carry her along.

“I guess this is why kids have two parents,” Jen said. “I hope you’re right about this. I want you to be right about this. I need you to be right about this.” Her eyes searched his for some sign of hope. He smiled knowingly and squeezed her hand.

“We’ll get through this, hon. He’ll be fine.”

3

Terminal 2

THE DAY finally came. It was December 23rd and a two-hour drive from San Diego to Los Angeles allowed for a direct international departure. Getting to Arusha required two long legs, Los Angeles to Dublin, Ireland, then Dublin to Kilimanjaro, Kenya. A shorter leg followed to the final destination in Tanzania.

The ride to LAX, as the Los Angeles airport is commonly referred, was a ride quite familiar to the Dietrich’s. Relatives and friends in L.A. meant the trip was made several times a year. As such, the drive took on its usual pattern of disinterest while the kids distracted themselves with mobile phone intrigues. Both Christopher and Anna had their heads down, totally immersed in texting. Like the dinner table, this often devolved into some sort of banter about something—anything really, for that matter. And, as they exhausted texting, boredom infected the mind. Anna, like any teenager, hated boredom. Her favorite pastime of needling her older brother would be a necessary respite. So, after watching several scenic vistas pass by, she started in on Christopher. 

“You know you don't need to go all the way to Africa for a safari. You'll do just fine at the San Diego Zoo and it's probably better. Africa is gonna be anticlimactic since everything will be so far away. Here, at least, you can get up close. Anyways, haven't you seen enough lions and tigers already? We’ve been to the zoo at least a hundred times.”

“Not without bars,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Anna had a point though. Growing up in San Diego meant monthly trips to places with wild animals. There was the San Diego Zoo and the San Diego Wild Animal Park where the animals roamed free, sort of. There was also the Birch Aquarium and Sea World. Natural sanctuaries, news reports of mountain lions roaming into people’s backyards, coyote yelps during the night when they made a kill and the regular rattle snake sighting while hiking near home, made San Diego a veritable wild animal safari within city limits. Wild caged animals for the most part. Not quite the same, Christopher thought. The idea of leaving home for a safari halfway around the world to look at animals he had in his backyard did make him wonder about the utility of this trip. “Why am I really doing this?” The same thoughts nagged at him from time to time. Though he signed-on way before the safari was floated, it became the focus ever since. Now, with Anna’s cut-to-the-chase about safari-San Diego, he wondered again if his research colleagues that passed on the trip maybe had some sort of prescient wisdom about the folly of leaving the comforts of home.

It’s cliché to state the obvious. And the obvious for Christopher was that he grew up in a pretty comfortable home, comfortable family, town, schools, friends. Not that he didn’t have his challenges, as we mentioned already, all kids find adversity, or adversity finds them, even in “Camelot.” The cliché is that kids don’t realize what they’ve got at home until it’s gone. The reality of this was sinking in with Christopher. The anxiety of leaving home was like a seed germinating during the fall months but small enough to ignore, at least initially. Now, riding in the car on the way to LAX, the start of over 13,000 miles around the globe, made him take pause, the way an old oak tree makes you take pause. He hadn’t reached panic mode but the anxiety was palpable. He needed to keep it in check. This unease would resurface later, while he was sitting at the gate waiting to board his plane. Christopher noticed the Ethiopian Airline pilots studying flying charts on computer tablets. The picture did not inspire confidence. He’d never seen American pilots cramming-in last minute information just prior to takeoff. “Great,” he thought “takeoff at almost midnight and my flight crew is new at this.” He hoped this was standard procedure, but it just didn’t look right.

Separation from the parental units was not as bad as Christopher expected. He hoped his mom would keep it together and he knew his dad would do his part to help keep the moment light. The international terminal was the usual cacophony of blaring inaudible public announcements, languages from anywhere and everywhere and everyone traveling with what seemed their entire possessions—no less than four to five suitcases per person. Many of the bags were so old he didn’t think they’d survive domestic travel let alone to far-off lands. Christopher had just a duffle bag and backpack. He often traveled with only the backpack. For him, this was traveling heavy.

The check-in process went without a hitch and before long, he was at the Do Not Enter Without Boarding Pass line. Hugs all around ensued. The usual, “Be safe, text whenever you find internet, send pictures,” followed. “See ya bro,” Anna said, motioning a “high five.” Christopher gave her a bear hug instead. He knew it would have been more fun if Anna could join him on this trip. Maybe someday. Anna whispered in his ears, “Don’t do anything stupid over there.” Christopher pulled her close and held on; he knew this was her way. She cared. They teased each other all the time, but she cared. He did too. He separated and turned away quickly to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t want Anna to notice. After the final goodbye, he made for the nearby escalator. On the ride up, backpack over his right shoulder, looking back over his left, his parents got smaller and smaller. Anna had a huge smile and a slow wave, like you’d see the Queen of England do to acknowledge her subjects. Christopher wasn’t sure if there was a hidden meaning in it. With Anna you just never knew. He was pleased his mom was keeping it together. He wanted his last memory of them to be upbeat. He figured he needed to have the appearance of confidence, if anything, for his mom to know all would be well. He waved one last time before they were out of sight—though not out of mind. He would miss them—missed them already.

The prospect of a long flight bore like a hangover in Christopher’s subconscious. It was always there, gnawing at him over the past few days though he tried to look forward to rewards at each leg. The first would be Dublin, home of the Guinness Stout. He wasn’t yet legal stateside but stateside was the only place that required twenty-one as the legal drinking age. Of course, as a college kid, it wasn’t like alcohol hadn’t passed his lips since he left home as a freshman. There’s something to be said, though, of going up to a barkeep and asking for a pint, rather than the college frat parties where the beer kegs were essentially illegal but still the routine. He imagined the legal exchange would make the whole experience that much better, tastier even.

The next leg would be Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He didn’t have anything special to expect at this stop except that he would have officially arrived in Africa. He expected everything to be different from anything he had already experienced in westernized culture. It was in Ethiopia that he expected the language barrier and food choices to change. The final leg would be a short hop to Tanzania, the end of twenty plus hours at thirty thousand feet.

As this first leg got underway, the usual annoyances quickly surfaced. There was the required crying baby, sitting rather close. A reclined chair in front that seemed to butt heads with him made any activity to pass the time a challenge. And there was the difficulty sleeping—mostly due to the anxiety and anticipation of the unknown. It was fortunate, he thought, that the flight was a red-eye. He was up early that morning and a midnight flight meant he could sleep to pass the time—except, it would take a couple hours to actually wind-down and find a position that wouldn’t require a chiropractic adjustment after landing. Sleeping on long flights was never quite his thing. For some reason he could never turn off the world and settle into a slumber with two to three hundred people fussing about within arm’s reach. In the end, it did happen for him. When he least expected it, he was out.

Christopher woke to the captain issuing landing instructions. It was all rather indecipherable, what with the Ethiopian accent, the fitful sleep and a crick in his neck. He wasn’t really complaining though. He was happy he actually got shuteye and was excited that Dublin had finally arrived. 

They took off at midnight and arrived in darkness. The hours of flying and time-zone changes meant the actual time had no real meaning to him. The layover was expected to be a little more than an hour and Christopher had the one item on his agenda. It required him to exit first or at least early, find a pub and… well, the rest is obvious.

Deplaning went quicker than Christopher thought possible. Many on the plane were continuing on and didn’t bother to get off. When he got to the gangway and asked the flight attendant about re-boarding, “Forty-minutes” was the reply. Seemed reasonable, he thought. An adequate amount of time to find a pub and have a pint… his ceremonial pint of Guinness.

Terminal 2 at Dublin had the usual hustle and bustle of any airport at 6pm: indistinguishable faces dragging carryon’s to and fro, some casually sauntering along, others actually racing in and out of the those not in a hurry. Christopher found himself near the end of Terminal 2 at Gate 423. There was nothing at this end beverage-wise. He quickly became one of the brisk walkers moving toward baggage claim, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually exit security to find a pub. Having left his passport on the plane, security was not an option. After a bit of weaving in and out at a brisk walking pace, Christopher came upon a map of the airport. A quick scan revealed the unfortunate reality that Terminal 2 only had restaurants, no pubs. Terminal 1, however, did have a pub, the Gate Clock Bar. “Terrific” he thought out loud with a big obvious grin on his face. He turned and was off to the races. A little speed walking, bobbing and weaving, a slight trot here and there, and finally he was at the end of Terminal 2 and following the signs for Terminal 1.

Christopher realized heading into Terminal 1 that he never fixed on where exactly the Gate Clock was. He would need to stop again at a map so as not to pass it by in all his haste. At one point he was moving so quickly in and out of people that he passed by a map, only noticing it several paces after passing it by. He chose to keep moving. A little anxiety was beginning to seep into his consciousness. This might not have been such a good idea, he thought. Any number of things could happen to him and make a forty-minute re-boarding impossible. These terminals were not small—at all.

As luck would have it, between a bob and a weave, Christopher noticed an iconic wood paneled restaurant with The Gate Clock in gold lettering across the top.

“Yes!”

The pub was doing pretty good business as there were people continually ebbing in and out. A queue of seven or eight extended outside the entrance like a serpentine tail. A young lady stood at the head of the tail holding menus and directing traffic. Christopher looked inside and noticed the bar was separate from the tables and hoped and prayed the line would not be necessary. He strolled past the tail of seven or so folks and asked the hostess, “Can I go straight to the bar without waiting?” “Sure,” she replied. Thus, was his first ceremonial entry into adulthood. He was feeling giddy, while still trying to appear mature.

The inside of Gate Clock was all wood paneling, everything: walls, ceiling, floors and stools. It was all brown, inside and out. Not having spent any time in pubs back home, Christopher had no comparison. This must be how the over twenty-one socializes, he thought. 

The bar itself was also crowded, with the wait three deep. Christopher noticed a wall clock showing he had used up twenty minutes since leaving the plane. He only had twenty left. Much as he tried to look casual, like someone who belonged, Christopher couldn’t keep from glancing back at the clock, over and over—tick, tock, tick tock.

Eventually, an older avuncular barkeep with clean trimmed white beard finally strolled over and said, “Aye lad, what’ll it be?”

Christopher hesitated. His moment to shine and he was speechless for an awkward five, long, seconds. It seemed like an eternity. “Guinness,” he finally blurted. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, but the barkeep had already turned to fetch the pint. Christopher eyed the clock. Thirty-minutes had passed. His mind quickly ran through how this would all play out: get the pint, down the pint, pay for the pint, race to Terminal 2… all the way down to end of Terminal 2, and finally board the plane. All in ten minutes. Argh! He thought. It won’t work. “I’m screwed,” he said to himself.

“Final boarding for Ethiopian Flight 505 for Addis Ababa, Gate 423,” came over the public address system.

The barkeep was heading back to Christopher when he finally decided to make a break for it. It was too late to talk or explain or even give a gesture of apology. When the barkeep returned to the spot, Christopher was gone. His pint with froth dripping down the sides, went unclaimed.

The race was on, and indeed, it was a race. Christopher was in a full sprint with wide strides, still trying to bob and weave his way back to Terminal 2. He was glad he left his backpack behind. To avoid full-on collisions, he jumped over a small dog, the only opening between two large groups, and pirouetted around and elderly lady to keep his balance. Hertz might have signed him on the spot had they footage of his acrobatic feats.

“Will Christopher Dietrich  please contact the nearest customer service desk,” blared over the PA system.

Christopher’s heart sank as he scanned left and right looking for evidence of what direction he needed to go. The landmarks of the terminal looked different heading to Gate 423 than they did leaving Gate 423. Nothing seemed familiar. With the hope that everyone was heading in the same direction, he decided to follow the flow of people. He vaguely remembered that there was nothing beyond Terminal 2 so everyone should be heading to one of the 400 gate numbers. He was right. People created a right hand turn up ahead and he decided not to slow for confirmation. His heart was pounding and his mind was blank, but for the numbers of gates going by: 407, 414, 403, 422. The layout of the gates was totally confusing. They did not increase or decrease in a predictable fashion. Gate 402 was next to Gate 414. Gate 405 next to 421. The only thing he knew was that he was heading for the last gate on the left. With that now the focus, the people around him became a blur.

“Last call for Christopher Dietrich,” they continued overhead.

The last few sets of gates Christopher covered in an all-out run. He figured he had nothing to lose except his pride, and that he could do without—at least at this point. When he arrived at Gate 423 his first realization was that all the seats were empty and there was no one queued up for boarding. Standing by the door to the gangway was the diminutive Ethiopian flight attendant that had given him the forty-minute warning when deplaning. She looked him directly in the eye and tapped her finger on her wristwatch and shook her head disapprovingly.

“Thank you,” somehow breathlessly came out of Christopher’s mouth in total exhaustion. “Went to Terminal 1...”

“To get a Guinness from Gate Clock,” interrupted the flight attendant, “and you lost track of time. Seriously, the Irish need to put a pub in Terminal 2. This has caused more delays than you can imagine, Mr. Dietrich.” Her tone was a mix of derision, understanding and slight humor, if one can imagine all three at once.

“I’m so sorry,” he replied, “thank you so much for waiting.”

“I knew you’d come running, just as you did. We actually took bets on how late you’d be. The captain won.”

Christopher smiled. It relieved his anxiety to know she had some levity in her disapprobation. He entered the gangway hoping his heavy breathing would subside before he had to walk the gauntlet past all the passengers. As he expected, he turned to go down his aisle and faces were on him. “Tsk-tsk,” was what he saw in everyone’s glare. A balding middle-aged heavy-set gentleman, seated on the aisle about halfway down, looked up at him and gave him a smile.

“Did you get your pint?” He asked. Christopher was a little taken-aback, wondering how he knew.

“I was that close,” Christopher replied, holding up his fingers with a 1cm gap.

“I had the same idea,” said the older man, “except I knew I’d never make it in my shape. It was too far. They need a pub in Term 2.”

“I totally agree,” Christopher said, returning the smile, “so does the flight attendant,” he added, before continuing on to his seat.

With that, Christopher felt more at ease. He could handle the rest of the stares, knowing that a select few understood the importance of a good brew, a Guinness at an authentic Irish pub.