Tamika Flynn (via nightshadetears)
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
think about the concept of a library. that’s one thing that humanity didn’t fuck up. we did a good thing when we made libraries
Headcannon: the September Monologues was a project put together by an intern (I actually used to intern at a radio station and it was more common for interns to make and broadcast their own segments there). Cecil really didn’t want to go on air and update listeners on the fact that Carlos is still not back from the other desert world, because people are constantly calling in and asking. He recorded the fillers in advance, the intern collected monologues and cut it all together. Cecil stayed at home drinking and crying in a quiet room with the radio on and turned it off as soon as he heard Steve’s voice. o~o
Anonymous said: Do you think that Cecil made a scene at Steve's wedding to his sister/Simon? I could just see him sitting front row- or even better- up front as a bridesmaid, interjecting rude comments through the whole thing. Steve finally saying "I do." And then extremely loud, "Oh sure you do! Does the reception have dry scones, Steve?! How about a mountain?! What about an evil government plot, Steve?! Gosh... What a jerk." You should draw it. My life would be made whole.
sorry for drawing Cecil in a bridesmaid dress
oh god everything hurts
there’s a lot of unspoken pressure to keep liking the things you used to like and to keep dressing the way you’ve always dressed and to never question what you believe in and basically “be yourself” has slowly morphed into “be what everyone knows you as” but trust me when i say if you just give it up and simply make decisions and take actions based purely on what would make you happy, you’ll gain a very comforting sense of self peace
The blinking light up on the mountain is the radio tower of Night Vale. Centuries ago.
Station management dwelled inside this mountain.
Cecil brings the universe into existence with his voice.
You are the Smiling God.
Uh oh, just realized there’s less than 24 hours until episode 51 “Rumbling.” Can’t stop thinking about the possibilities.