“Abroche Su Cinturon” were the only three Spanish words Joe Silver knew.  The only reason he knew what they meant were because on every flight, on every tray table in front of him, those words were printed along with their English meanings next to them, “Please Fasten Your Seatbelt.”  He laughed at the way the Spanish words sounded.  What a ridiculous language!  “Abroach Soo Sinturin” he said in his head.  Not like the words’ advice mattered any now. 

When the oxygen masks dropped, Joe Silver knew it was over.  His life, that is.  Both of the 737’s engines had blown and he, along with a couple hundred other lives, were about to cross over to the next world.  It was a red-eye and most of the passengers were asleep when the loud explosions startled them to consciousness, somewhere over the Rockies.  Babies wailed, women sobbed, and all were clutching their arm rests as if they were strangling Hitler.

Joe Silver had been awake the whole time, thinking, occasionally deploying a tear or two.  If he hadn’t been such a complete, inconsiderate asshole, he never would have been in this situation at all.  He would be home with Sarah, his wonderful wife, and Sophie, his beautiful daughter, on this grim Christmas Eve 2009.  He imagined himself tucking in Sophie and kissing her goodnight, feeling her anxiousness of ole Santa breaking and entering into their house by way of chimney.  Preposterous, he thought.  I guess things were simpler as a child.  No worries about the future or the necessity of money…

Money.  Dammit.  If it weren’t for that petty green paper, which probably served a better use as a tree, he would be nice and cozy in the suburbs of Chicago right now.  But no, he had to close that half-million dollar deal with those Japanese investors!  Dammit.  They had no concept of Christmas over there.  Dammit.  He really didn’t have to close that deal.  But it was such an appealing commission: twenty grand.  Not too shabby.

He started to cry as he read “Abroach Soo Sinturin” one more time, snapping him back to the present moment.  Every time he thought about money, his heart beat with meaning as greed took over.  But this time, his hands shook in his death-grip and sweat and tears doused his concerned, yet somewhat relaxed, drunken facial features.  His beard and moustache showed signs of their necessity for a shave, his eyes were plastered in red and pink and surrounding them were shades of a deep blue and solid black.  He hadn’t slept nor done a thing productive in a couple of days.