You see them in any city more interesting than Omaha. You definitely see them if there’s a body of water nearby, a port, blocks of marble from a thousand years ago, or columned bunker-like vaults housing all the imperial treasures mankind’s evil could produce.
Sometimes you see them even if there are none of those things. And you know you’ve seen them because they’re always the same. They always have the same disappointed air, the same sourness. At least, the husband does. Eventually, the wife does, too.
“But Frank, the wine.”
“There’s wine in Alaska.”
“But the cheese.”
“Guess there’s cheese in Alaska, too.”
The retirees on their big vacation. The one they’ve been saving up for. The one that was supposed to be worth it. The toil. The trouble. The tyrannical managers. The ulcer. The insomnia. The procedure. The humiliating work-stress “condition” that had to be kept secret. The counting down the years, months, weeks. The big payoff. Because, after all, it’s Paris, Honolulu, Venice, London, Dublin, New York City, Osaka, Dubai, San Diego, wine, cheese.
Frank thought they should’ve taken the cruise to Alaska like his co-worker Bob and his wife. Bob’s wife loved it. She brought back a pair of napkin holders carved like laughing bears. Nancy would’ve liked carved laughing bears. But she wouldn’t even consider it.
“Daisy’s there and I really want to see how she’s doing.” That was the real reason. Not the museum. Not the hill with the trail going up that everybody’s supposed to hike when they visit. Not the bookstores. (Oh Frank, the bookstores.) None of that.
What it really was: their daughter has been here for six months for a photography program and, in that last selfie she sent, there was someone named “Tony.” But they’d been planning on the big trip since forever. So Frank’s attempts to talk Nancy into something less expensive were doomed from the beginning.
Frank worked the numbers on the flight because if he couldn’t sleep at 3.5 feet, he certainly wasn’t going to at 38,000. The way he figured it, a cruise to Juneau would have been at least 54% less expensive. Some sunsets. Some carved bears. Booze. Peace and quiet for a change. That didn’t sound too bad.
“Daisy’s all grown up, honey. She’s in college.”
“Oh, I know. I know. I just don’t think she’s ready to make any decisions.”
“We weren’t ready to make the decisions we made.”
“Do you think she was drunk in that picture? I mean actually drunk, not just tipsy.”
Frank pulled the complimentary in-flight blanket up to his armpits and continued tapping on his phone calculator, jotting figures on his little yellow pad. And a small fragment deep down, a splinter of the old Frank that hadn’t died yet, thought, I goddamn hope so.
Their luggage was now somewhere over the Atlantic. But at least they’d landed. And where was Daisy? She wouldn’t return their texts. Frank knew his daughter was in town because he looked at the credit card bill before they left Omaha.
You see Frank blinking at a grinning cab driver known for fleecing tourists. You see Nancy clutching her purse to her chest with both hands because she read about people on mopeds snatching purses on the street. You see them peering at the city, at the pollution, and the crowds in a bewildered, disappointed fever. Because neither rivers of wine, nor mountains of cheese, nor bookstores with laughing bears will ever justify what it took to get them here.
For them, the city is a fancy restaurant that isn’t living up to its reputation. You see that and shake your head. Because a city is just a city, regardless of the waters or the marbles or the famous emperor who burned his mother on a tower 700 years ago.
You know you can see Frank and Nancy in every place on earth. You want to hug them and tell them they’re good people. And then you want to sell them a leather belt or a cell phone case or a ride in the back of your decaying Toyota to big ancient ruin on top of hill that everyone should see at least once.
But you don’t because that would freak Frank out. And Nancy, when she calmed down, would say, “Oh, the locals.” So you just watch from a distance as they get in the back of a different cab and take it to overpriced hotel with itchy sheets, where the wine and cheese will not be very good and the gift shop won’t have bears or books.
And you know Daisy is probably naked in bed with Tony right then, high and sweaty, and this makes you glad. Because everyone should be Daisy and Tony at least once or twice before they have to become Frank and Nancy forever.