A Long Time Between Beers

Bill was horrified. "We don't need a hospital. We need a beer and a shower."

I wasn't going to argue. I had no desire to step inside a hospital, and Bill seemed, almost miraculously, to have snapped out of his strangeness. The crew arranged to take us to a hotel.

We gave up trying to talk. Someone pulled out box lunches. Bill took a bite of a sandwich and smiled. "It's tuna. We finally caught a fish."

I picked up an apple and decided, in a year's time, to fast for 11 days.

The sunset faded, and a few sparkling lights appeared below us.

"What's our ETA?"

"Hermosillo at 7:15. Another hour."

I leaned back against the seat, assuaged by the rumble and the vibration. Finally we slowed and descended. It seemed we were still 50 feet above the ground when the crew member who seemed the most easygoing opened the door, grabbed some white chocks, and jumped. Horror and numbness ran through me. Then I saw the top of his head. I turned to Bill, laughing. "You should see your face. Close your mouth. We're on the ground."

He was furious. "Who are you laughing at? I heard you gasp. You thought he'd jumped, too."

The pilot greeted us. I said, "That was a hell of a smooth landing."