Free Standby by Kim Fielding Page B

evident. Over lunch, he’d tried desperately—and pitifully—to claim at least
some
cool cred by making it crystal clear he was gay. “I’ve marched in my local Pride parade ten years in a row,” he’d boasted. But that only earned him a lecture from a VP about the privileges afforded to cisgender people.
    He’d known then the job was a lost cause, but still he’d had to endure an afternoon of meaningless questions and rote answers. He’d been relieved when an intern finally dropped him off at the airport.
    He stared at his reflection in the large windows for quite some time.
    â€œNot much to see this time of night,” said a soft voice beside him.
    Tom jumped. He hadn’t noticed anyone sit down. Had he dozed off for a moment?
    The man in the seat next to him was about his age—thirtyish—and very handsome. He wore faded blue jeans and a plain gray T-shirt that showed off his muscular pecs. He had a square jaw and dimpled chin like a superhero, a long thin nose, and amber eyes beneath heavy brows. His auburn hair curled slightly over his collar. He had a nice smile, soft and maybe a little sad.
    â€œI like to watch the airplanes,” the man said, as if offering an explanation.
    â€œUh, okay.”
    â€œHave you ever seen one speed down the runway? There’s that instant when it leaves the ground, and instead of a big, clumsy hunk of metal it becomes something else. It’s transformed into a thing of grace and beauty.”
    Tom was beginning to wonder if the guy was a little nuts. Or maybe drunk. But he
was
really hot, and he seemed far more wistful than dangerous. Besides, a little craziness might break Tom out of his funk and give him something to do besides wander and wait. His exhaustion was making him a little punchy.
    â€œI don’t believe in airplanes,” Tom said. “I mean, I took a physics class in college, so I learned all about lift and stuff like that. But... I don’t know. Seems like bullshit. I don’t see how a little bit of moving air can keep tons of stuff from crashing.”
    The man was grinning widely. “But you fly in planes anyway.”
    â€œI
try
to fly in planes. Today I’ve been only halfway successful.”
    â€œYou try to fly in planes even though you don’t believe in them.”
    Tom shrugged. “I suspend disbelief. Maybe that’s enough to keep me in the air.” He laughed at his lame joke.
    But the guy laughed too and waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe it’s magic.”
    â€œMaybe it is.” And because he was tired and would never see this man again, Tom decided to expound on one of his theories, the sort that was generally fueled by a couple of joints rather than by proper reasoning. “I think lots of things are magic, actually. Like my phone.”
    As the man watched, Tom dug his phone out of a pocket. “This thing is, what, about the size of a deck of cards? But I can use it to call people and even see them while we talk. I can take photos and video, I can play games, I can listen to music or watch movies, I can surf the Internet and send text messages and.... And I can’t actually do any of that right now, because the battery’s dead. But I could if I hadn’t forgotten my charger. People will tell you it’s all about bits and bytes and chips, but I call bullshit. I say it’s just magic.”
    â€œRafael,” said the man, holding out his hand. He looked perfectly delighted.
    â€œTom.”
    Rafael’s hand was very warm and his handshake firm.
    â€œWhere are you headed?” Rafael asked.
    â€œIowa. If I can. I’ve been on standby forever.”
    Sadness flitted across Rafael’s face. “I know how that is.”
    â€œOh, you too? Where are you trying to go?”
    â€œNowhere.” Rafael sighed. “I just come here to watch the airplanes.”
    Considering Tom’s admission about magic in flight