38
December 1, 2009“It’s just that it’s the day before Christmas Eve, Captain. You know? I’ve got stuff I could be doing. You’ve got stuff you could be doing. I’ve got to buy something real nice for the missus and the little rug rats.” He spoke with a heavy New Jersey accent, but with reverence to the old war captain.
“I understand,” the Captain said. “I’ve got five grandchildren I have to play Santa to, Joe.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Boy, it’s hard enough with two little monsters; but having four kids – and then five grandkids! That has to be one hell of a nightmare.”
The Captain knew better than to be offended. It wasn’t that Joe was really as insensitive as he seemed, he just spoke brutally, but honestly, from his point of view. He knew that this was never the life Joe would have chosen for himself – to have a steady job, a wife and kids didn’t at all suit his personality. He had wanted to be a wanderer – like James Dean in “Rebel Without a Cause;” that’s exactly what he wanted to be, in fact: a rebel without a cause.
“Well, to each his own, I suppose,” the Captain said clearly, ending the conversation. “Ah, here we go.”
Joe followed his gaze towards the door of the small airport, where people were beginning to file out onto the runway. They were still a long way off yet, but the Captain went to go stand over by the stairway into the small plane, to help the women up.
