Love Story: In The Web of Life

phonecoverage.
It hadn't been a good day. I had left thismorning with an unspoken disagreement with my new lady friend,Tina.
I was getting ready to leave my mobile home,next to the end CrystalAire airport runway, a short walk from whereI kept my sailplane. I was saying goodbye to Tina, who is abouttwenty-five years old, five feet four, with olive skin, reddishbrown hair, and a modestly proportioned figure. She is four inchesshorter than me. She doesn't make me feel short. I really like her,except for her irritating lapses into airy-fairy New Agethinking.
"I should be back in early afternoon, aboutfour at the latest. I have planned an easy practice flight." I toldher.
She studied me with that strange stare in herbig light blue eyes and said, "Maybe not. I'll fix a dinner that wecan eat any time if you get back late. We will need beer. There areonly two cans in the fridge. Is there a store at the country clubcenter?"
Becoming irritated, I replied, "My mobile is onthe undesirable periphery of the country club, next to the airport,considered 'the other side if the tracks,' too close to the runway,by those stuffy, mostly retired membership that live in condos onthe golf course. They are not my kind of people; I have neverjoined the club. Use my Porsche to go to that gas station down onthe main highway."
"OK," she beamed. "Have fun flying."
I noticed I was stiff as she gave me a kissgoodbye.
After about a quarter mile trek across thedesert, I saw a hill topped by a big boulder. After climbing to thetop of the boulder, I took out my cell phone and looked. ‘Two bars!Hooray!'
I dialed CrystalAire airport operations. Celia,the high school girl who worked at the airport,answered.
"Hi Celia. This is Dave Willard. I need aretrieve from Rosamond Dry Lake."
"Hi Dave. Are you flying the plane with KingRomeo on the tail?"
"Yes, can you send a tow plane overhere?"
"The last student pilot has just started hislesson. He will probably make four short flights. Dan can come overto tow you back. He will be there in an hour or hour and a half.Exactly where are you?"
I read her the GPS coordinates I had writtendown before I left my sailplane.
"West end of Rosamond Dry Lake, I got it,"acknowledged Celia.
"Since you won't be back until after fivethirty, I won't see you. The office will be closed. See youtomorrow."
"Thanks, goodbye."
I texted Tina, "I won't be back until about5:30. :("
I texted Tina instead of talking to her andadmitting she was right in her intuition about me getting back lateand needing beer. I didn't want to encourage her in makingprognostications about my flying ability.
As I climbed down from the boulder, I noticedanother flash of light under the boulder. ‘I'd better see my eyedoctor and get that checked out.’ I mused and started to walk backtoward the lake.
‘The weekend had started verywell,' I thought. Tina and I were at a Black Tie reception at theGetty Villa antiquity museum in Malibu. She looked fantastic in herblack evening dress, wearing just the right amount of make-up andher hair in a fashionable uplift bum.
"I really want to look at the Cycladic andGreek vase display," she had said as we had cocktails andate hors d'oeuvres in theatrium of the Villa. She steered me to one of the side galleries,filled with large, well lit display cases containing clay–firedjugs, bowls and other containers. She pointed to a large jar andsaid, "This is from the Cycladic civilization, about 3,000 BCE, inthe Aegean Sea. Notice the geometric carving on the jug. No figuresare carved here."
I noticed Paul Jefferies, one of the seniorpartners in my law firm, and his young trophy wife, Elaine, hadjoined us.
Interrupting Tina, I madeintroductions.
"Please continue with your description," saidPaul, "it is interesting."
Tina moved over to another case, leaned over,pointed and said, "By contrast, this jar is from Athens, about 500BCE. Notice how the black figures portray Theseus battling theMinotaur in the labyrinth on the island of Crete. These figuresover here are the youths that were to be human sacrifices. Most ofthe jars in this area are decorated with scenes frommythology."
Paul seemed more interested in looking down thefront of Tina’s dress than noticing the Minotaur.
"This one, over here, depicts Hercules, wearingthe skin of the lion he slew, delivering a mortal blow to Kyknos.These people standing around at the side are theirrelatives."
Paul seemed very interested in skin.
"Very interesting, thank you," said Elaine,looking very threatened by the interest Paul was giving to thelecture, and to Tina. She led Paul away.
It had been a wonderful evening.
A slight desert breeze came up as I continuedto walk, nipping on my water.
I continued to muse, 'Maybe contrast makes goodrelationships. I am a patent attorney dealing with hard scientificfacts. She is a high school teacher, dealing with ideas. If onlyshe would leave this New Age mumbo jumbo alone'
I got back to the sailplane and looked outacross the dry lake. There were still wavy mirages in the distance.It was mysterious that all thermal activity had stopped in this endof the lake.
The air in the Mojave boils like water in a hotpan during still summer days. Streams of bubbles rise from thesurface and form into columns of rising air called thermals.Sometimes they join together to form dust devils, small dirtytornados that suck up everything smaller than a person, oftenrising to ten, sometimes, fourteen thousand feet. I have seen pagesof newspapers floating at ten thousand feet, apparently migratingto wherever newspapers go to die. Somehow, this area of the Mojavewas set on simmertoday.
I placed my emergency pack on the ground as apillow in the shade under the wing, and lay down for a nap. Iclosed my eyes and started to drift off to sleep.
Then, I heard a voice that startledme.
It said, "Take me to your leader."
I wondered if I was hallucinating and, if so,why did I have to do it in a cliché.
I looked around and said, "Who isthere?"
"Over here," the voice said. "The speck oflight."
A few yards away, lying at the border betweenthe dry lake and the shore was a broken clear glass bottle, maybean old Mason jar, from the