anonymous

the busy airport felt strangely like home; the noise displaced the silence n her head. she clutched her suitcase in one hand and a small mobile telephone in the other, wanting a distraction but unsure who to call. all of her lifelines were hundreds of miles away, and they may as well have been light years away.

people of varied expressions and styles of dress passed her by in every direction. everyone was in a hurry, even those in tropical vacation attire. she meandered along, staring out the long windows at the gigantic jets, turning her gaze ever now and then towards the tourists and business travelers to her left. she didn't pay attention to the constant jostle of hurried traffic passing her or the sea of voices surrounding her auditory space. the phone in her hand rang and vibrated, and she started as if from a trance. she glanced at the display, hit "ignore," and picked up her pace.

the bank of blue screens sat up ahead. she walked towards them with a new purpose. it only took her a moment to find that flight number 923 was still departing on schedule. another glance at the phone still gripped in her palm confirmed that she still had a ridiculous four hours to full before she could even begin to board her flight. time to buy some novels, drink a lot of coffee, forget the reason she was even here.

walking slowly once again, she noticed that there were more people moving along alone than in groups. that comforted her for a moment, then disgusted her. why should i take comfort that anyone else is alone? she pulled a small mp3 player from her purse and and finally let go of the phone, tossing it in the pocket where her headphones had been. after choosing a song, she entered the bookstore, offering a half smile to the cashier.

she blissfully passed half an hour browsing the shelves, losing herself in other people's words. when she had almost forgotten where she was, she felt her phone vibrating in her purse. again, she ignored it, but it brought her back to the present. after purchasing a few novels and magazines, she wheeled her suitcase out of the store and down the corridor to the restroom.

the fluorescent lights and cheap mirrors did her no favors. she sat her suitcase in the corner and stepped close to the mirror, examining her eyes. i look old. i'm 23. how appropriate. i feel old. i shouldn't be doing this. she looked down and washed her hands, thinking about how that didn't matter, that "should," because she just wasn't sure she was even happy anymore. she dashed out of the restroom before the mirror could capture her again.

a small, low-lit coffee shop sat up on the left. she parked on a small overstuffed chair and opened a thick novel, enjoying the anonymity offered by the airport. thousands of people rushing past, carrying their life stories in bags and briefcases, wearing outfits and expressions that only told pieces of their novels. people-watching proved more interesting than the book, and the remaining hours faded quickly.

inhaling, she reached for her purse and suitcase. it was time to go. a panic seized her as she realized that something was very wrong. where the hell is my suitcase? it's gone. she jumped up off the chair, grabbed her purse, and ran for the restroom. i left it in the restroom. shit.


i'm not going to panic, i'm not going to cry. she ran into the restroom, shoved past the line of women, ignoring the startled protests and rude cries. the suitcase wasn't there. of course it wasn't there.

she ran to the customer service desk for her airline. somebody must have turned it in. dumb luck was on her side; there wasn't a long line.

the customer service agent looked up at the harried young woman.

"i need you to help me. i've lost my suitcase." she pulled her driver's license out of her purse, along with her boarding pass.
"i'm sure someone has turned it in. what is your name, ma'am? can you describe your bag for me? what was in it?"
"i'm...emily...harris." she said it haltingly, as if it were an alias. "it's...my suitcase. you know. clothes and...things?" she handed the teenage customer service agent her ID and boarding pass. "i'm on flight 923 to..."
"it's okay, i have your information right here. i'll be right back."

she walked over to the bank of uncomfortable chairs and sat down. there really wasn't anything else she could do now. the flight was boarding, and her suitcase was lost. if someone had stolen it, then she would have to change her entire plan. maybe that was the entire point. then again...

"miss...mrs. harris?"
shit. so much for anonymous. thanks for reminding me.
the customer service agent walked toward her, the suitcase in tow.
it's here. the suitcase is here.
"someone turned your bag in about an hour ago. unfortunately, any unattended bags are subject to search, so..."
"it's all right," she interrupted him. "thank you."
"your flight is still boarding. you can make it."
"thank you. actually...can you tell me where to find the nearest rental car desk?"
the boy gave her a strange look along with the directions.

she stopped along the way to open her suitcase and mail the letter to the address she recognized as home .
i'm going to mail this letter, and then rent a car. i'm going to drive back, and stop if i feel the need to stop. i'm going to play a game with fate here, and whichever makes it back first-me, or the letter-that's what's going to decide what happens. whatever happens, i'm not getting on that plane.
she dropped the letter in the mailbox, reached into her purse, and turned the phone off. she had a long drive ahead of her, and she had a feeling that she wasn't going to want to stop.






a side note to readers:
i write a lot in class, when i am supposed to be paying attention. i don't go back and edit, so forgive any weirdness or incompleteness. this isn't meant to be "fit to publish." this is what goes through my head when i'm less than amused by what's in front of me.