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