Now Boarding

I spend most of my time plowing through their David Sedaris collection, which sadly consists of just four books, one of which I found in the fiction section for some reason. Surely this master of ironic narrative writing deserves more than just a few inches on a few bookshelves. There is no justice in this world, but I'll make do with what I have.

One Monday afternoon, I was looking for one of the books my friend recommended, "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim." When I found the book on the shelf, I opened it and found two boarding passes bookmarked between the cover and the first page.

If you've ever flown domestically on American Airlines, you'll know that their boarding passes are flimsy pieces of paper, the kind of stuff you get back as grocery store receipts. They're of no use once you pass the flight gates, so anyone with a book and no bookmark will logically use it as one. Once you finish a book, you'll probably just throw out the boarding pass or keep using it as a bookmark. (It won't last long, though.) If you're clumsy enough to leave it in the book, it will most likely be forgotten at the end of the book, and it will stay there, forever pressed between the last page and the author's short bio on the back flap.

The first thing I looked for, of course, was where the boarding passes took this woman and this book. Just as books can take us to other worlds and open our minds, we can take them to places too and open them, which can be equally as fascinating. It seemed this woman left New York on August 3 for Los Angeles. On August 13, she left Seattle to return to New York. Some sweet West Coast traveling must have happened in those 10 days. Some sweet West Coast traveling I would have killed for on that boring Monday afternoon.

I figured this woman probably checked the book out from the Flushing Library and was probably vacationing in LA. She goes there, spends some time in Hollywood and drives through Beverly Hills. She has the resort thing going and is sipping her margarita, when her friend calls from Seattle and says she misses her. This woman figures, "Hey, I'm on the West Coast already. Maybe I'll rent a car and head up there." They meet, they hug, they laugh about high school and all that good stuff. On the 13th, she has the rented car returned to LA. The woman's friend drives her to the airport, they hug again, and the woman flies back, coach. On the flight, she's finishing up "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim," chuckling to herself at the funny parts as to not disturb the people around her. She finishes the book with about an hour to spare, and she closes it, satisfied. She stuffs the boarding passes into the front cover and falls asleep. When she wakes up, she stuffs the book in her bag, grabs her carry-on, and heads for the baggage claim area, forgetting the boarding passes in the book.

I put the book back on the shelf and left the boarding passes where they were. No, I thought. This isn't my book today. I'll leave this for someone else to find.