Welcome to Rainbow Man, a serialized novel about a grieving widower who travels to Spain to find solace and restart a life only to find himself entangled in the counterculture past of a young woman.
Summary of Chapter 1: Robert prepares to travel abroad but remains reluctant, worried, and disorganized. Still, he believes he needs to challenge himself to reinvent a new life and find away out of grief.
Rainbow Man, Chapter 2
It was St. Augustine, the anniversary trip. That was the last time Robert had been on a plane. This flight would not only be the first since then, but it would be the longest plane ride of his life, and much of it, nearly all of it, over water.
How do they keep this thing in the air?
The flight attendant was a pretty woman with an olive complexion, deep brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and dressed in a military-style uniform—dark blue, shoulder straps, and fake brass buttons.
“Sir, you are sitting in an emergency exit row and in the event that anything goes wrong, it is likely we will need your assistance. Are you okay with this, sir?”
Robert thought how odd it was that the attendant was smiling when she explained potential disaster.
“In the event of an emergency, it is possible that a flight attendant may not be able to assist in opening these exit doors. We may be helping other passengers. So, it’s important that you know how to properly operate them.”
The attendant noted the instructions posted on the door and asked that Robert read them. It was then that a large man, after stuffing a soft leather bag into the overhead, fell into the aisle seat in Robert’s two-seat row.
“I know how this works,” the man said to the attendant. He turned toward Robert. “I always request these seats. More leg room, am I right?”
The attendant completed her explanation and asked both Robert and his seatmate to pay close attention to the safety guidelines when it came time for her to announce them.
The man gave the attendant a thumbs-up.
“George,” the man said, offering his hand. “Another business trip for me. Hate these things. Especially the long ones. Been doing it for a long time. Getting old. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right? Company used to give me first class. Not anymore. All the cutbacks.”
The man buckled his seatbelt. Robert did the same.
“And you, what’s your story?” the man asked.
My story? Robert paused, took a breath, and thought for a moment. “Spain. I guess that’s my story.”
“Good thing,” the man laughed, “this plane’s going straight to Madrid.”
The first leg was to New York, but Robert knew what he meant.
“It’s something I wanted to do,” Robert said.
Those words sounded strange to Robert. A trip he wanted to do. That’s not true. Spain was more of an impulse, a yearning sparked by a good book.
“I made this list of things, you see. Things to do in my older years. Things I never got to. I read some Hemingway, and here I am.”
“Are you running with the bulls?” the man asked, knowing it couldn’t be true.
Robert laughed. “I would certainly be killed. Think that might be a bit too much excitement for me. Going to the south. Granada. I hear it’s wonderful.”
“Spain is a good place,” the man said, tucking a navy-blue neck pillow behind his head and leaning against the seat. “Good food. Wine. You know about tapas?”
“Little bites?”
“A lot of it is free. Many times, they’ll keep feeding you as long as you keep drinking.”
“Well, I like a little wine. But maybe not that much.”
“Spain is going to change your mind about that. It does that, Spain. Changes minds.”
Out the window, Robert saw the ground crew moving the last of the luggage from a motor cart to a conveyor belt and into the plane’s belly. He looked for his suitcase but didn’t see it and that worried him a little. Robert closed his eyes and leaned his head on the window. He tried to remember a prayer his mother used to recite when he would go to bed, a prayer to his Guardian Angel, his little body under the covers and his mother sitting beside him with her hands clasped.
It was impossible to sleep on the flight, despite the crew trying its best to help—dimming the lights, pulling all the window shades down. Robert ate the baked chicken and russet potatoes and vanilla pudding, balancing it all as best he could on the tray table. He thought maybe an after-dinner drink of whiskey and ginger ale would help. He hadn’t had a real cocktail in years. But this was vacation, and it might knock him out. It didn’t. Ten dollars was a lot of money, he thought, for an ineffective sleeping pill. So, he watched a movie—The Surprise—Norwegian or Swedish, maybe, with subtitles. It was a comedy about two people who sign a contract to end their lives and then fall in love and change their minds. It was oddly dark and oddly amusing. He read a bit, too, one of Rick Steve’s guidebooks about the south of Spain, a bit of The Sun Also Rises, returning to pages he had dogeared, and For Whom the Bell Tolls. He had carried all three on board, all old paperbacks. He read the section in the guide on the food and wines of Granada and Ronda, the chapters on the travels to Pamplona in Sun, and the last pages of Bell. He had loved the book’s ending—another novel on his list that he had finally conquered—beautifully written despite the machismo that runs through all the sentences. And, of course, the hero carried his name—Robert. But what Robert wasn’t prepared for was how much that ending—one of sacrifice, lost love, and death—would distress him in the second reading, flying high above the Atlantic.
Robert ordered another whiskey despite his better judgment and asked the flight attendant when they might be landing.
“Our arrival time in Madrid is in about three hours. Can I get you anything else?”
Robert shook his head, placed a paper napkin on his tray and lifted the clear plastic cup to his mouth.
“Should have ordered some red wine,” his seatmate said. The man shifted in his seat and opened one eye. He could see the tea-like color of the liquid in Robert’s glass. “You’re going to Spain, remember,” the man added.
“I’m sure I’ll have my fill. I might become a lush.” Robert lifted his glass in a mock toast.
“You’ll be sending a case or two of red wine home before you leave. I guarantee it. You better try to get some shuteye, my friend.”
The seatmate adjusted his neck rest and closed his eyes.
The man’s suggestion sounded like something Debbie would have said. Since her mother’s death, she had been tirelessly looking after her father. Did you take your antacids? Did you make that dentist appointment? Are you eating, Dad? You have to eat. She meant well. Still, many times this made Robert feel like a child, had him questioning his abilities and his mental state, something he didn’t want to think about. Was he losing it? He was older, yes, but he wasn’t helpless. When he told her about the trip, Debbie was full of concerns. All by yourself? Are you sure? Why are you doing this? You’ll get lost, Dad. You’re an old man. You know how you are with directions. Maybe you should go with a senior group, one of those guided bus tours with people your age. Wouldn’t that be a better idea? Wouldn’t that make more sense? In time, she stopped asking. Although he knew Debbie’s worrying wouldn’t end.
With the lights still dimmed and only whispered voices to hear, Robert swallowed what remained of his drink and made a silent salute to his daughter.
It was the announcement to return to your seats and buckle seatbelts that had awakened Robert. The second whiskey had helped, but now the plane was close to landing, below 10,000 feet and beginning its descent to Madrid.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing shortly,” the pilot said over the speakers. “The local time is 9:35. The weather is good. Clear skies and 18 degrees. We appreciate you flying with us. Welcome to Spain.”
Robert’s seatmate drank from his coffee. “You missed breakfast,” he said. “It wasn’t much. A muffin in a plastic wrapper. And this.” He raised his coffee cup.
“Not sure I’m ready to eat. But coffee, maybe,” Robert said, adjusting his seat to the upright position.
“They won’t get you any now.”
“I’ll grab one at the airport.”
“You like espresso?”
“I’ve had it, I think. Strong, right?”
“Espresso is kind of the thing here.”
“Heavy.”
“I love it. But it’s an acquired taste.”
“When in Spain.”
“You should get a hat, too. One of those straw ones.”
Robert had never been much of a hat guy, except his old Bucs baseball cap.
“A requirement in Spain?” Robert asked.
The seatmate lifted his eyes to Robert’s hairline. “People wear hats. You could use one. Not to be too forward, but there’s some skin up there.”
Robert still had some hair, but it had thinned a good deal in the last few years. He had given up trying to cover the bald spot on his crown and was keeping his hair trimmed more closely. He had gone to the same barber, Stanley on Southern Avenue, for decades. Sat in the same chair, usually on a Saturday. But when Stanley’s hands started to shake, Robert switched to the shop on Grandview. He had been troubled by the change. Stanley had been a friend. Robert didn’t know the name of a single barber in the new place. They were always coming and going.
“Hats are everywhere,” the seatmate continued. “Airport shops will have them to buy. You can get a decent one for a few euros. You’d look good in one.”
Robert wasn’t sure about that.
“The sun shines all the time,” the man said.
“A hat and an espresso.”
“There you go.” The seatmate lifted his coffee cup in a toast. “To España!”
Robert had purchased a little translation book at the airport before the flight. He had wanted to study it during the journey but had forgotten. There would be two hours at the Madrid airport before his bus was scheduled to leave and then five hours to Granada. He could teach himself a few things along the way, at least some of the essentials. Where’s the bathroom? Something—baño—right? Robert studied two years of Spanish in high school, but that was a lifetime ago. And as it always goes, you lose it if you don’t use it. He had heard that many Spaniards spoke English, but he didn’t want to be the ugly American. So, he bought the book, and he would study and listen to conversations of the passengers on the long bus ride, and he would whisper new words to himself several times over until they felt comfortable. And when he would arrive in Granada, he would hail a taxi like a Spaniard, wearing the new straw hat he bought for 20 euros at one of those little shops in the airport terminal.
Coming: Chapter 3: Robert meets Chloe, a waitress at a small cafe in Spain, and although he’s cautious in his first night in a new country, he quickly realizes how much he has missed the world he’s been avoiding. How does Chloe fit in and where will his journey take him?
Artwork: Melanie at Indalo Art