From a Distance

From a distance, all you hear is the persistent drone, barely audible, like somebody else’s mosquito. I guess that’s why they call them drones. They can linger up there for days, watching and waiting, probably relieving each other like on-duty patrol cops — like slow-motion tag-team wrestling — like owls, waiting for a mouse to make a careless move.

From a distance, the sound recedes into the background cacophony of fans running, children playing, dogs barking, and the shrill horns of motor scooters in traffic. It blends into the sound of life that reassures grandmothers that all is well when they wake momentarily from their afternoon nap. It is the sound of sudden and inescapable death — the thunderbolt of foreign gods thrown from heaven in retribution for unknown sins.

From a distance, remote operators watch, and guide, and drink Coca Cola, and decide who will live and who will die and when. You cannot know the faces of these nameless watchers. You cannot invite them to your daughter’s wedding or your uncle’s funeral.

The Special Pass

The “Special Pass” hung on a hook by the door of Mrs. Applegate’s fifth grade classroom. The policy was that anyone was allowed to use it, one person at a time, pretty-much as needed. Lord knows, everybody needs a mental-health moment from time to time. The expectation was that no one, except in exceptional circumstances known to the teacher, should need to use it more than several times a week. It was a great system — appreciated and respected by all.

The thing about the Special Pass was that it was, indeed, very, very special. You put it around your neck, stepped out the classroom door and into a very real place that was “somewhere else.” You took the time you needed and, when you were ready, you just walked back through the door, which waited for you, upright on the floor, or ground, or beach — wherever you had gone. And, the best part was that nobody had to wait for you to come back because, however long you spent in your somewhere else, it seemed to everyone back in the classroom as if you had just turned around and walked back in, except in a better mood.

Experience had demonstrated that the “somewhere else” was both flexible and invariably safe. You were always alone, you were anywhere you could imagine that would give a satisfactory time-out, and nothing bad ever happened there. Never. Ever.