Steven Morris

Steven Morris stood waiting to board his plane. in eleven hours he would be back in Vancouver. That is, if the line ever started moving. Steven glanced at his watch, and tapped his foot, his nice Italian shoe making a soft click with every tap.

“Now boarding all first class passengers for flight 709, bound for Vancouver at gate 82,” said the intercom. Steven could almost see the woman who had said the announcement through the crowd in front of him.

The announcement was repeated in two dialects of Chinese, and the line began to move. He sighed, shaking his head.

“About time,” he muttered. He hated waiting, time is money, and for him, its a lot of money.

“Hello Mr. Morris,” said the pretty young Chinese woman working the gate. Steven smiled his little lawyer smile back at her, the kind that looks sincere but holds anything but sincerity.

“Morning,” he said back. She handed him back his ticket and passport, then waved him through.

“Have a nice flight,” she said as he left through the gate.

“Ha, very funny,” he muttered under his breath as he left earshot.

Steven shuffled along the hallway leading to the plane, the big Chinese businessmen ahead of him taking their good sweet time. he grabbed a copy of the South China morning post as he walked past the newspaper stand. Looking at the front cover he glanced the feature articles.

Seeing nothing that interested him he threw it back onto the cart, in doing so nearly hitting someone. It was only partially accidental.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn't see you there.” The man he almost hit waved a hand, smiling.

“No problem,” he laughed, “Long day ahead, eh?”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Steven. That wasn't it, but the man didn't need to know that.

Steven walked onto the plane, handing his ticket to the stewardess. Yet another young and pretty Chinese girl. They were everywhere.

“To your left sir, end of the aisle.” Steven nodded and turned into the first class cabin. Front row seat. That meant even more space to himself. He genuinely smiled at this. If there was one thing he liked, it was solitude.

He took his suitcase and stowed it in a small cabinet in the wall next to his seat. His seat hardly resembled a seat, more like a bed with bends in it. In fact, he was pretty sure it could turn into a bed on command.

Steven was in the middle of going through the in-flight magazine when his neighbor took his seat. Although he realized how much separation there was between them, he still felt disappointed that someone had to come along and ruin his solitude.

“Hey, guess we’re neighbors, eh?” Steven looked up at the person who had spoken. A teenage boy was placing his various things about the space. It didn't take long for it to look like a teenage boys bedroom.

There were only two seats at the front, separated by one aisle in between. So he would be alone with this boy for the entire flight. Steven grimaced internally.

“I suppose so,” he said, going back to his magazine. A hand appeared in front of the page he was reading. He looked to the boy. He was gesturing to shake.

“Martin Planch, nice to meet ya,” he said with a childish smile.

“Steven Morris, likewise.”

The boy nodded, as if taking in the name, then he sat down in his chair. He looked out the window a moment, then quickly turned back to Steven, who was reading again.

“Hey, how much is it for one of those mags?” Steven looked at him, questioningly, then went back to reading.

“They’re free,” he pointed to a small pouch attached to the wall in front of Martin. Martin looked at it, then laughed, taking the free reads that sat within.

“Cool, this place is awesome.”

“Don’t ride first class often?” Asked Steven, more stating it than asking. Martin didn't notice.

“Never, I hardly even fly. I just got bumped up.”

“Ah, I see.”

“What about you, you ride first often?”

“I suppose.” Steven continued reading, not really reading, mostly just wishing the boy would stop talking and leave him alone. This was not what he paid for when he ordered first class tickets.

“Sweet, must cost you a bundle.”

“My firm pays for it.” Martin nodded, as if understanding.

“That's cool, that's cool. Gotta get me one of those.”

“A Law firm.”

“Oh, like a company for lawyers?”

Steven sighed, “Something like that.”

“So you're a lawyer then?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of law?”

“Corporate.”

“Right...”

“Business law.”

“Right, right,” nodding again, “How's that workin' for ya?”

“Good.”

“And that shortness of breath, what’s that from?”

“What? I’m not short of breath.”

“Oh, sorry, I just assumed with all the short answers you had some breathing disorder or something.” Martin laughed, thinking his joke hilarious. Steven grinned, an empty grin not meant for anything but dismissing the boy. The “Fasten Seat Belt” sign came on and the plane started moving. Martin sat down in his seat and buckled up, pulling out a comic book.

Steven smiled upon seeing this. Of course Martin would be a comic book teen. he had the look of a bored teenager wishing for something more in life. The gelled hair, overly long belt, and no name bulk store clothes done up to look “cool”. It all shouted generic teenage boy. Steven would know, it was what he looked like as a kid.

Hour 5

“Isn’t that something,” muttered Martin, scanning through the hundreds of songs in the entertainment center in his chair. Not only could he access a large selection of movies, television, and music, but he could also play several of the latest video games with it. “Wow, they got The Ramones!”

Steven grinned. He remembered listening to the Ramones when he was Martin’s age.

“Now I see why you always fly first,” said Martin, scanning the music. Steven didn’t look up from his laptop, even though the comment was directed at him.

“You must be rich, getting to fly like this all the time.”

“It’s a living.”

“Hell of a living,” he grunted, “Get to do anything fun in “Corporate Law”?”

“Depends on what you call fun.”

“Any big court trials?”

“Nope.”

“Scandals?”

“Nope.”

“Shady characters?”

“Only big fat ones.”

“Huh,” said Martin, taking this information in like he had Steven’s name. He turned back to the music list. “Sounds dull.”

Steven didn’t deny it. He didn’t lead the life of an action hero, or even the life of a rich lawyer. In fact, he hadn’t spent much money outside of living expenses in a long time. The only personal expenses on his credit card bill were for dinners he had taken clients out to. Not even his home was anything special. He lived in a small townhouse in Richmond, near Vancouver. Ever piece of furniture in the place looked like it belonged in a Sears catalog.

“So what do you do for fun, Steven?”

“I work.”

“Come on, there must be something you like to do with all your money.”

“I’m saving my money.”

“For what? Retirement? What then, buy that nice pair of dentures you’ve been dying to get?” Steven shrugged. The kid had a point. Steven didn’t really know why he saved his money the way he did. He obviously wasn’t going to spend it all in retirement, and marriage seemed unlikely, so it wasn't as though he was going to pass it on to any children. It was what his parents taught him to do, really. Go to school, get good grades, become a rich lawyer, pay for their retirement, then save his money for his own retirement. The only thing he hadn’t done was get himself an equally rich and powerful wife to give him some kids, that he could train to grow up just like him.

“Wow, Steven, you need to learn how to live a little:” said Martin, who was busying himself with something on his screen. He pulled out a game controller and pressed some buttons. A message appeared on Steven’s screen.

“The Duke has challenged you to a race,” it read. Steven looked to Martin, who was grinning.

Steven looked back at the screen, then tapped the reject button. The message went away and the movie resumed. Seconds later it paused again, and the message returned, this time inviting him to a battle.

“Alright, no cars, that’s cool, how about a shooter?” Steven rejected, but the message kept returning, every time a different type of game.

He could see that he wasn’t going to be getting out of this any time soon. So he accepted the match.

“One game,” he said sternly.

Hour 9

Steven groaned as he rolled around in his bed. Despite the feather down pillows and comforter, he couldn’t sleep. He was mentally spent from two hours of video games, then another hour of cartoons, or, Anime as Martin called it. Supposedly “everyone loves anime”, at least according to Martin.

Steven had to admit, the stuff was interesting. He remembered cartoons somewhat. Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, but this stuff was in a whole different league. At times it looked real, if it weren’t for the big shiny eyes. And the shows had story, which surprised him just as much. He couldn’t deny he liked the one about the hotshot lawyer with the cheesy hotshot name. The cases were interesting, to say the least.

But, as Steven kept reminding himself, it was a cartoon. No matter how much Martin called it an art form, it was no more art than video games were. Martin hadn’t succeeded in making Steven have fun with the video games. He claimed it was because of a lack of lawsuits, but Steven felt that it was simply because he hated having to stare at a screen that long without blinking.

His insomnia might also have come from Martin’s snoring. The teenager snore, Steven called it. He and his friends had all snored that way when they were younger. It was a mix of blissful ignorance and lack of sympathy for others.

More and more Martin was reminding Steven of himself at that age, and it scared him. It was forcing him to look back at his life. To look at all of the hopes and dreams that he had long since abandoned and forgotten. He remembered how he hadn't really wanted to be a lawyer, he wanted to be an artist. He was always sketching everything as a boy, but when his parents found out, they threw out his sketchbook and pencils and gave him a book about law.

“Artists are poor,” they would say.

“What about all those expensive paintings you take me to see?” Steven would ask.

“Those painters are dead, that’s why their paintings are expensive.” Steven accepted what they said, being young. He didn’t have any reason to question his parents. After all, they knew best, right?

Vancouver

“Well, Steven, its been nice,” Said Martin, having gathered his things and randomly placed them in his bag.

“Likewise, Martin.”

“Still not talkin' much, eh?”

“I’m afraid not, Martin. Maybe next flight,” Said Steven, genuinely smiling.

“Ha, yeah, next time Steven,” Martin started walking away, “Hey, if I ever need a lawyer...”

“Yeah, yeah, look me up,” They walked away from each other, as they left the gate. Martin put on his headphones and ran ahead to find his family. Steven kept walking along to the terminal gate with a slight smile on his face, softly humming the Ramones.