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.Where am I? I cannot move, though I am not restrained.I cannot see, though I am not blindfolded.I am laying on my back on something cold and hard...a marble or granite surface. I am nude as best I can tell. The cool, dank air is tickling my skin all over. There is musky smell in the air. A basement? no. there is something clean about the smell. It's somewhere old, I smell old polished wood, and stone...a church? perhaps.There is a soft droning sound. It's not unpleasant or pleasant. It just consumes the room. It's all I can hear. It's like...a pipe organ, playing notes that don't belong together. but it's not. Maybe it's wind, howling through an opening somewhere...but it's too constant, and unchanging. There are brief sensations of terror, but I don't know why, almost like dementia, fleeting thoughts, that you can't seem to remember only seconds later. What the fuck is going on?Where am I?The sound suddenly stops. Utter silence. Terrifying silence. Then I realize. When the shuttle came back, we loaded up and headed over to the airport, about a five-minute ride. Everything went smoothly, much smoother than it would become after 9-11. I had my passport, in red like most military people, but Marilyn only had her driver’s license. She did pack our wedding license in her handbag since her license still said Lefleur. That was a project for when we got back. We got to the Eastern counter, and before we handed over our luggage, tied onto the handles the special luggage tags for the cruise ship. Once we landed at JFK, our luggage would be sent to the ship. We wouldn’t need to pick it up at baggage claim.It wouldn’t be much different for us. There would be shuttle buses at the airport for arriving passengers to be driven to the dock. That was a good thing, because I hate driving in New York City, and Marilyn simply refused to even consider it. She’s just not much of a city girl. The flight to JFK took about an hour and a half and was on a fully loaded.
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