Pan Am
Time Lapse-
Characters: Colette and Dean
It's another layover but this time she wants it to last forever...
There was something about the Oriental routes that distorted time, dragged it out and bent it so that seconds were slow and meandering while hours snapped by like the newly famous Japanese bullet train. She’d ridden it on her last Tokyo stop over. They all had, piling on in a giggling quartet of blue serge and white gloves, earning censorious stares from the reserved Japanese businessman surrounding them.
She was puzzled at the way such a venerable and ancient culture appeared to have so little hesitation in eagerly adapting to every technological innovation of the modern world. She wondered if the French would ever learn to so easily embrace such progress without first stridently resisting the change by denouncing it with angry editorials in the Paris papers and loud demonstrations at the city’s historic train stations.
The experience was nothing compared to flying thirty-six thousand feet above the earth but there was something about seeing more than clouds and a the distant sparkle of rivers and oceans, something oddly grounding in watching trees, fields and houses blur by at a hundred and a thirty miles per hour. She smiled wryly as she thought only a stewardess would be so blasé about viewing the world in such a unique fashion.
Tokyo didn’t slow down time. If anything it speeded it up so that their layover seemed to be more like twelve hours than thirty-six but here in Singapore that was all changed. Now she felt as though they had forever before their flight left on Tuesday and she planned to make the most of it.
After all, what was it they said, “Time out of place...?”
A disembodied voice spoke from beside her in the curtained darkness murmuring, “Why do I feel so out of place? Why do I feel so out of time?”
She rolled over and faced the dimly shadowed head lying on the pillow next to hers and stuck out her tongue, “This language of yours is so difficult and so ugly.”
“It’s true,” the head nodded agreeably and she could clearly hear his grin echoed in the light amusement of his voice, “We do actually have consonants and aren’t afraid of using them.”
She laughed, it seemed she did a lot of that with him-laughing and she liked it. “We French are serious about three things,” she chastised him mock seriously by waving an elegant, almost invisible finger in front of his face, “Food, love and speech for without these what is life?”
He captured her waving hand in his and pressed his lips to the palm in a tender, delicate kiss, “I’ll definitely give you the food and as for the love,” he paused, his eyes a liquid gleam in the semi-darkness, “I’ve never had better.” His voice was thick with desire as he reached for her, pulling her slight form on top of his body, his planes and her curves melding perfectly together, “With regard to the language...well, I’ll just have to take the bad with the good I guess.”
With feigned irritation, she slapped her tiny hand onto his bare chest, “Idiot,” she said as she bent her graceful neck and kissed him, their lips and tongues and teeth creating an amalgam of heat which spread inexorably across their linked bodies. Her straight hair fell on either side of his face creating a thin curtain of separation beneath which they existed only for one another.
“Je t’aime,” the whispered words floated out onto the dusky darkness creating a fervent prayer that Tuesday would never arrive.
Characters: Colette and Dean
It's another layover but this time she wants it to last forever...
There was something about the Oriental routes that distorted time, dragged it out and bent it so that seconds were slow and meandering while hours snapped by like the newly famous Japanese bullet train. She’d ridden it on her last Tokyo stop over. They all had, piling on in a giggling quartet of blue serge and white gloves, earning censorious stares from the reserved Japanese businessman surrounding them.
She was puzzled at the way such a venerable and ancient culture appeared to have so little hesitation in eagerly adapting to every technological innovation of the modern world. She wondered if the French would ever learn to so easily embrace such progress without first stridently resisting the change by denouncing it with angry editorials in the Paris papers and loud demonstrations at the city’s historic train stations.
The experience was nothing compared to flying thirty-six thousand feet above the earth but there was something about seeing more than clouds and a the distant sparkle of rivers and oceans, something oddly grounding in watching trees, fields and houses blur by at a hundred and a thirty miles per hour. She smiled wryly as she thought only a stewardess would be so blasé about viewing the world in such a unique fashion.
Tokyo didn’t slow down time. If anything it speeded it up so that their layover seemed to be more like twelve hours than thirty-six but here in Singapore that was all changed. Now she felt as though they had forever before their flight left on Tuesday and she planned to make the most of it.
After all, what was it they said, “Time out of place...?”
A disembodied voice spoke from beside her in the curtained darkness murmuring, “Why do I feel so out of place? Why do I feel so out of time?”
She rolled over and faced the dimly shadowed head lying on the pillow next to hers and stuck out her tongue, “This language of yours is so difficult and so ugly.”
“It’s true,” the head nodded agreeably and she could clearly hear his grin echoed in the light amusement of his voice, “We do actually have consonants and aren’t afraid of using them.”
She laughed, it seemed she did a lot of that with him-laughing and she liked it. “We French are serious about three things,” she chastised him mock seriously by waving an elegant, almost invisible finger in front of his face, “Food, love and speech for without these what is life?”
He captured her waving hand in his and pressed his lips to the palm in a tender, delicate kiss, “I’ll definitely give you the food and as for the love,” he paused, his eyes a liquid gleam in the semi-darkness, “I’ve never had better.” His voice was thick with desire as he reached for her, pulling her slight form on top of his body, his planes and her curves melding perfectly together, “With regard to the language...well, I’ll just have to take the bad with the good I guess.”
With feigned irritation, she slapped her tiny hand onto his bare chest, “Idiot,” she said as she bent her graceful neck and kissed him, their lips and tongues and teeth creating an amalgam of heat which spread inexorably across their linked bodies. Her straight hair fell on either side of his face creating a thin curtain of separation beneath which they existed only for one another.
“Je t’aime,” the whispered words floated out onto the dusky darkness creating a fervent prayer that Tuesday would never arrive.