134 lines
8.2 KiB
Plaintext
134 lines
8.2 KiB
Plaintext
s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1004
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "Flight To Freedom"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Oregano
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ 01/22/00
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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Que knew he was going to die and asked me to say a few words,
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being the one #ezines person who tried to get to know him in his lonely,
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desperate life. Que often criticized my writing, often harshly, and (I
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would like to think) unfairly; but Que knew that I would tell the truth
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about his life, as empty as it was, and the details of his death, as best
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I knew them. He asked me to say these words about him and have us all
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remember. Or try to remember.
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These are hard times for the family and girlfriend of Que -- I
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would add friends too but Que had no real friends -- his Mother said how
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little she knew him and when I showed her a rough draft of this piece she
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commented how much happier Que was now, after the plane crash, than he
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had been in life.
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I talked to all of Que's family, his mother and father. I talked
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to Que's girlfriend and she gave me the details of his last moments
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before he left Indianapolis before the flight to Pennsylvania. And she
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told me of the argument she had with him driving to the airport to board
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the plane which became his chariot of death. Being that this is so soon
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after Que's death, there were subjects that were too hard for the family
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to discuss and I left a few facts go unreported here by the wishes of the
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family; the drinking for instance. Que must have known that he was going
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to perish in the plane, screaming for his life, trapped like a frog in
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the mouth of a snake. Que sensed this and had a remarkable conversation
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with me before he signed off of IRC for the last time of his life, and I
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think I know his state of mind as the plane's computer switched out of
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autopilot and methodically shut off the engines, one by one, of the 747
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and put the flaps into an unrecoverable spin. But first some background.
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Que craved attention. All of us on IRC knew that, we saw it and
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tried to downplay it, throwing him a bone now and then, humoring him when
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he made an awkward remark, which was pretty much what all Que's remarks
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were. He was a kid who never fit in anywhere. Not such an odd site on
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IRC, IRC is perhaps the last refuge of the misfits. Que took a job at an
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Internet company just so he could spend a few minutes each day, between
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customer service calls, talking to others online. But Que was special,
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he wasn't able to come up with the self-assured false persona we IRCers
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have, he could not survive on IRC and it garnered the pity of us all.
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I talked to Que a little and read some of his stories, which sadly
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were full of spelling and grammar errors to the point where I thought
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they might have been written as a joke that way, perhaps a spoof on our
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culture of correctness. But as I talked to him I saw the earnestness in
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his tone. I was harsh in my criticism at first but softened and finally
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just told him good things after a certain event.
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I had criticized one of Que's poems, telling about all the
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horrible flaws, from structure to concept to the ludicrousness of its
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ideas. Que left suddenly, in a snit, but I was on for another few hours.
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Later, in the morning up popped a name in #ezines I had not seen before,
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Sad4que. I started talking to this person and at first there was no
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response, then "hi?" and "Can you see this?" I was patient and about 12
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minutes later I determined it was Que's girlfriend; she typed at such a
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slow speed, but she was concerned. She gave me a phone number and begged
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me to call. She was at her work, since neither her, nor Que, nor Que's
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family could afford internet service, much less a computer.
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I called up and she was all upset, she talked really fast and I
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could not understand her. She had an accent and for a bit I thought she
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might be crazy. But I got her to calm down and she talked slowly. She
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said how Que was all upset that no one liked his writing. He had not
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eaten in a couple of days and had been having dizzy spells and spent the
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entire day (he IRC'ed at work at night) crying.
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I told the girlfriend that I would try to help out and she thanked
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me. I went to work. I talked to Mogel and he agreed to publish one of
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que's pieces in Hoe. "This is really an inferior file, and I hate to
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sully Hoe's name, but I'll do it if it will possibly bring the child out
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of depression."
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Anyway that is what Que's life was like.
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Let's move forward to his last day. Again, most of this is from
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his girlfriend.
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Sixteen hours before que boarded the plane Que told me about his
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premonition he was going to die. These are all his exact words, not one
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word has been modified from what he said.
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"You should write a rest-in-peace for me." This was the first
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thing he said when he opened a /msg window in my mIRC screen.
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Then I asked him about flying on New Year's even and the great
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possibility that he would die and he said, "Ummm...if I die it will be
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really weird."
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I told him that he would be safe in heaven.
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"I don't really believe in heaven"
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But then it is easier, right, or will you futilely fight to live
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while caught in the hopeless death spiral of the plane?
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"I will embrace it...like a boy embraces Christmas."
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Fifteen hours till he boarded the plane.
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Que went home and ate cereal. His mother offered him a muffin.
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Que refused. A rebellion? I think it was just his way of separating.
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His way of pulling away, cutting the cord with mother to make her pain
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less painful. Instead she felt worse after his death. She never got a
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final chance to say goodbye. In fact her last words to him were, "Well,
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they are in the goodie drawer if you change your mind." She would never
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see Que again. She went off to work at Target, she would return at 5:30
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p.m. Que's plane took off at 5:45 p.m. Que's plane crashed a little
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after 7:00 p.m. Indianapolis time. His mother's pain would never end.
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Que slept. Que woke. Que showered. Que ate and packed. Que's
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girlfriend picked him up for the drive to the airport. Que was sad. Que
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was happy. Que had all sorts of energy. Off to PA for a New Year.
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Start it off right. New life, new friends. His girlfriend was scared.
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She had watched the news.
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We all know what happened New Year's eve. There was a jet in
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Greece that went down, and a jet in Italy, both private jets, but still
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planes, not ready for Y2K.
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"Don't go. Besides you need to spend New Year's with me." She
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said as she drove.
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He had made these plans months in advance, before he met her.
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Too late. Paid for. Death plans in advance.
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The car was quiet for most of the drive, the radio turned on low
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to a country station. Shania Twain, Brooks and Dunn. None of it fit the
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somber mood. I can't imagine Que being quiet. He must have just been
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talking himself into being ready to be dead. I think the falling
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thirty-three thousand feet with the plane spiraling out of control, no
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hope to have it righted and all the people screaming and yelling and
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praying. The sheer panic of it all. I think that was what worried him
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the most, not death itself.
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They checked his baggage. They walked to the gate and Que's
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girlfriend was crying. 7:00 p.m. Indianapolis was midnight in GMT, a lot
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of planes flew their ship's clock at GMT. It was not too late to back
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out. No need to save face, just save your life.
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Que, had a look of resignation. He had given up. He walked on
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the plane.
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Que's girlfriend said they had a final kiss, but I could see from
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her face that the idea of kissing Que repulsed her. She said she wished
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him a good trip, "I expect you back here on Monday and happy to see me."
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Que smiled, then a look of fear, a sudden look like someone on a
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log who loses balance, just for a moment, then goes back to bravado,
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"I'll be here, one way or another." He walked into the plane. And the
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plane flew into the sky. And Que flew to his happiness.
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1004, BY OREGANO - 01/22/00 ]
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