Harry and the aeroplanes

The trouble with Harry was the annoying appearance of the nose cone of a large aeroplane, just at the edge of his field of vision, whenever he was happy. It was a curse. It started when he was about 21. Round about the time he graduated. Just at that time, there was a lot of emotion in his life. All the friends he had made at University were going in separate directions. They had been a great crowd for three years, living through all sorts of ups and downs. Some were going to get married to each other soon, but Harry had no idea where he was headed. He had bombed out on all the job interviews and had little to look forward to other than uncertainty. But his friends made him laugh and they made him happy. And when he laughed, the bulbous nose cone of a large aircraft started to edge into his field of vision, and disappeared as soon as he looked towards it. And he immediately stopped laughing. Every time, the same thing. Someone would say something funny, and Harry would start to smile, then just as quickly he would scowl or frown as he looked furtively away from the speaker. No one knew why he was being so miserable, he hadn’t told them. They assumed he was tired, hung over, or just miserable about leaving University.

After a few months of this wretched nose cone protruding into his fun, Harry learned not to be happy. This kept the aeroplane out of his conversations, but his friends were losing interest in him, as he no longer laughed. They were getting on with their new lives, anyway, in various towns and cities, some overseas, and they didn’t really have time to work out what was wrong with Harry. He met new people, of course, but they didn’t take much interest in a man who never smiled or laughed. Within six months he had become a complete loner. These days he liked to watch movies. But when something funny or happy happened, the aeroplane started to roll in, he turned to look at it instinctively, and it disappeared. Harry became disconsolate, but still never mentioned it to anyone.

His life spiralled down rapidly. The same old story - drinking, late nights, casual affairs with loose women. A meaningless existence, week in, week out. Finally, he worked out what he had to do. He got a job in an airport, where there were nose cones protruding into his field of vision everywhere, every day. He was the guy waving the funny round things on sticks at the big jets, to help them to park. He became happy when he was at work. He was still morose out of work, so he just worked long shifts and shunned the company of people out of work, even though he was popular and friendly in the airport. As long as he was surrounded by aeroplanes, he could be happy.

What a simpleton. Even with a degree he didn’t realise that this was a simple medical condition that affected thousands of people. He didn’t know it yet, but it was going to get worse. But for a some while, he was happy, so the less he knew, the better, as long as he didn’t laugh while directing a big jet to its parking stand. But his sight grew worse. It wasn’t aeroplanes that killed him, but a refuelling truck. Harry saw it approaching at some speed. He was walking right into his path, but thought it was just another chimera. But this one was real, and it bashed the life out of him in a split second. He probably never even knew he’d been hit by a truck.