Pepper Boy's Adventure In Seattle Part. 2

Pepper Boy's nose trickled and shook as his eyes flaked open and his face screwed up. He forced his arms out awkwardly and yawned, leering and aching while his joints cracked. The airplane was ready to land in Seattle, and the cabin crew were ready to take their seats. Pepper Boy wasn't really asleep, but he had forced himself into a gargoyle-like state of assumed sleep in order to endure the grueling boredom and caged-in terror of his transatlantic voyage. He had survived the 1 hour flight to Dublin, that was easy. A quick glance of Ireland and then onto Phoenix, Arizona. Entering America was daunting and invasive, as bearded and gruff customs guards with vague Southern accents cropped and inspected every part of Pepper Boy's gaunt, pale European figure. His passport was stamped and manhandled relentlessly, his very existence scanned for instances of evil. Perhaps they'd enquire about his atheism. He'd have to be honest, he'd crack under the pressure to start telling lies and fables of God and his mouth would run away with him.

No, new continent, new start, play it cool and no crazy stories yet, he resolved. As he boarded the final leg, the 4 hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, the notion that this final leg will indeed be the second longest part left him pained and crestfallen. But that was 5 hours ago, and that drama was over now.

Pepper Boy's gargoyle-like retreat had paid off, and he was about to descend into Seattle Tacoma International, or whatever it was called. He had been given quite specific instructions by Patrick Richardson, to purchase an American cell-phone and sim Card when he landed in Phoenix, and to call his cell-phone when he did so in order to confirm that he had landed well and was on his way to Seattle. It would also be the first time that Pepper Boy would hear the voice of Patrick Richardson, and what a voice it was. A delicate, yet firm and nuanced Western brogue, Pepper Boy had little experience with discerning American accents but Patrick Richardson's sounded quite traditionally American, which felt comforting yet bizarre enough at the time.

Now that same weird jolting buzz wrapped Pepper Boy up as the plane descended towards the runway. Heads went back, arms grappled onto armrests as the plane dived and struck the ground, jolting a bit as it gradually yet dramatically slowed to a halt. After countless flights in the last couple of years Pepper Boy still found the plane landing process a daunting one. Luckily, this was his last of last for a while, and he let out a sigh of relief. He was finally here, the plane had landed in Seattle and people began to rise from their streets, clutching for their jackets and essentials as they strove for an exit. Pepper Boy took his time and stayed seated as he fingered his shoulder bag and jacket. He was about to set foot in America for real and meet and reside with Patrick Richardson, a well-meaning yet God-fearing man of some moral fibre that bore utterly no connection or relation with Pepper Boy except their Christian names. Pepper Boy still wondered how it had all happened and how Mr Richardson had offered him the invitation in the first place. But nonetheless he knew an opportunity such as this could not be turned down.

Patrick and Monica Richardson were going to greet him in the arrivals area, after he retrieved his bag and made his way down what would likely be an endless labyrinth of stairs and escalators to travel down. It was that moment that Pepper Boy alternately anticipated and dreaded all at once. What would they make of his strange Cumbrian accent and his hair? Would they even understand him well? Would they want to interrogate him instantly about every part of his belief system, values and what wicked culture he was stewing in back in socialist sinful England?

Well all of these paranoid thoughts were about to be put to the test now. After leaving the plane and enduring another rigorous series of stamps and hallways, checks and looks and hallways, Pepper Boy retrieved his scratched brown suitcase from a weirdly massive baggage cart and headed through another set of massive automatic doors as he reached a crowd of baying waiters, eager to greet their friend, associate or loved one.

Tired, nervous and displaced, Pepper Boy strode toward and approached Patrick and Monica Richardson, who themselves stood a bit taken aback, as if confronted with the sweeping reality of it all, then moved to extend their welcoming arms to the gaunt traveler they were about to take in as their own. 

Pepper Boy's Adventure In Seattle

The Pacific Northwest, the mecca for grunge pilgrimage. Pepper Boy never thought he would ever get the chance to experience it in his lifetime, like many things it would remain a distant what-if, never to be achieved. Well the skies of fate or some other out there force had thrown him a bone of destiny. Some man by his namesake had used a simple internet application to add every other Pepper Boy in the virtual hemisphere. In his recent clashes with bad and good fortune in equal measures, being rattled then shaken then gently picked up and guided on Pepper Boy had grown no more or less skeptical, but was acutely aware of the possible qualities of this opportunity. Travel some 5,000 miles to visit and spend time with a family, bearing no connection or history other than name. An invite seemed rude to turn down, and not just to the inviters.

So, after saving up a couple of wages with little effort other than abstaining from his weekly purchases of jigsaws, Pepper Boy hopped on an Aer Lingus flight to Seattle. His journey would be a varied yet disorienting one, from Manchester to Dublin, then onto Atlanta International, then onto Phoenix International, and finally onto Seattle Tacoma. The whole journey would take about 21 hours, but by the time he would get to Seattle it would only be 6 o clock at night, still. Pepper Boy had always struggled to keep to time and organise himself at the best of times, and dealing with that kind of time distortion would prove troubling. Coupled with the pressure of making a good first impression to Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, he was already feeling like his first few hours in Seattle would be difficult ones.

But nonetheless, he had committed, and came too far to pull out of the adventure now. He sat down on seat 25C, an aisle seat, thankfully, and as he loaded his cabin bag into the overhead cabin bin among a crush of Irish and English voices. As he fumbled for his jacket and bag, settling them into neat comfortable spots to lie, he recoiled slightly as he realised what chain of events he undertook to get himself to this point. The cabin crew were finishing organising the people into their designated seats, and were about to begin the safety procedure demonstration thing that they do on every flight. It was all about to happen

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Someone else is out there doing it, and living it, and breathing it better.

Why branch out at all.

What  little catflower is seizing the blue hour

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