Later

By Laura Bender

The night had been too short. Already the flight attendant was coming around with a good morning wake-up: hot coffee, a muffin, a mint, and a wash-up in a foil wrapper. I broke a few pieces off the muffin and forced

myself to eat. Breakfast at what felt like the middle of the night was hard to swallow. I washed down the rest of the muffin with a few gulps of coffee, then opened the package containing the towelette. It felt good to wash

my face and hands, and remove the not-enough-sleep from my eyes.

As I freshened up, I thought of the foil-packaged towelette I’d removed from my purse only a few hours earlier. That one had been in there so long the foil had cracked and the towel inside had dried and hardened. I was saving it, but I’m not sure why. Things I save in my purse almost never get used, like the small chocolate bar with pen holes in the wrapper that had sand from shells I was saving sticking to the exposed candy. Or the sugar packet, which had broken out of its wrapper and lay in the bottom, covering all my loose change, and getting under my fingernails whenever I reached for a coin. Or the stick of gum, so hard that a hammer could shatter it. These and several other delights had finally been tossed out in the “I’m going on vacation” cleaning of my purse. I thought of them as I enjoyed the moist cloth freshening my face and hands.

Why hadn’t I used that other towelette, or chewed the gum? Why hadn’t I put that sugar in my tea, or enjoyed the miniature chocolate bar? What had I been saving them for? To throw them away when they finally became unusable? 

What else in my life had I been saving? A fancy dress? A sketch pad? The good dishes? The idea for a book? Hopes? Dreams? Suddenly, all became clear. Life and its treasures were to be experienced, used, and savored, not hidden away for later. For sometimes later never comes, or when it does, it’s too late. The gum has hardened; the towelette has dried out, and I’ve missed it.

Just then, the pilot interrupted my thoughts to tell us we were landing. The flight attendant made a hurried pass down the aisle to collect the refuse from breakfast. I quickly wadded up the cellophane from the muffin, put it inside my empty coffee cup, and gathered it together with the remains of the used towelette. I handed it to the attendant as she passed by. Then I checked my seat belt, replaced my chair back and tray table into their upright positions, and tossed the mint into my purse for later.