Chapter 7
Quinnly
Moving through the airport makes me itch.
People have no concept of space, and when someone brushes up against me, even by accident, I have to pause for a minute and breathe.
The ticket booth is automated, which means all I have to do is type in a few numbers and voila, printed tickets are in my hands.
TSA is one of the things I either get through unnoticed, or someone ends up making me angry. The agent waves me through the machine after I’ve gotten everything into the gray bins provided with signs everywhere asking to remove cell phones, batteries, whatever.
The agent stops me with a hand around my wrist, preventing me from getting my things out of the bin. My brain threatens to shut down, but he removes his hand and tells me to step over onto a mat and spread my legs.
I don’t want to, and I know nothing on my body will set off the machine, even my jewelry is undetectable.
Before stepping over to the mat, he looks at another agent who shakes their head, and then coughs to cover a laugh. “My mistake,” he says around another chuckle, “Thought you were someone else.”
No he didn’t.
“No you didn’t.” I try for my sweet, practiced voice. It’s supposed to be unalarming, but this guy’s got some sort of illusion he’s safe behind that little badge on his chest. “Why are you lying?”
His head tilts to the side and his eyebrow arcs, if he’s trying to communicate something with me, the message hasn’t been received.
“I can assure you Miss, it was just a misunderstanding.”
“I don’t believe you,” I press, matter-of-factly.
“Just get your stuff, alright?” He grumbles, shoving the bin my way.
“You’re holding up the line!” Someone shouts, and I really really want to split this guy from belly to throat. My face heats with fake embarrassment, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone yells at you in public.
What I really want to do is pop in a piece of gum, blow a bubble and end his life with my special little travel sized scissors. Too bad, now isn’t an appropriate time.
“Ma’am please collect your belongings and move on,” the agent behind the conveyor says.
Storming around the lying liar, I grab my things and walk to where I memorized my gate.
Stupid people.
Stupid, stupid people and their stupid, stupid lies.
My good scissors are stowed safely away in my checked bag because airport security is insufferable.
It’s a taunt really, with them so close, yet unusable if I want to remain outside the hospital with padded white walls and boring people.
I wanted to cut that TSA agent’s tongue from his mouth, less lies to be spread into the world.
I memorized his face, if I see him again I’ll be sure to take care of him sometime.
The airport isn’t terribly busy, people mill about getting overpriced snacks and coffee.
There are even some places that sell books.
I haven’t flown in a while, mostly because I don’t need to.
I double check my ticket, bypassing all the food to make sure my gate hasn’t changed and I’m in the right spot.
Finding a seat and throwing down the shit in my arms, I claim my area. It’s fairly early, and there aren’t many people here, so I pick the end of the middle row to set up camp. It’s close to the desk, and no one will be beside me.
Dialing Naomi’s phone, I leave her a voicemail letting her know I’m here and ready for my first flight. She won’t call me back, she’s got other plans tonight. Plans that involve a lot of focus.
Unzipping my bag I jostle the things inside to move them around so I can find what I’m looking for.
Ah-ha!
My fuzzy blanket and taco slippers.
Leaning over my legs, I pull on my taco slippers and kick my feet a little. They’re too cute! I have about an hour before boarding, which means I can watch people and make up stories about them in my head until I get bored.
Naomi warned me not to get bored.
She’s probably right too. I don’t wear boredom well, and with the seven hour flight I’m about to be confined on, I should probably get all of my wiggle worms out now. But I’m so comfy, with my blanket tucked tightly around my body and my slippers warming my feet, I don’t really want to move.
There’s a lady on her phone walking toward me, jabbering away so loudly she must think everyone wants to hear what she has to say.
She’s so noisy I could hear her side of the conversation four gates away.
A young guy takes the seat opposite my bench at the other end.
He doesn’t look my way, and instead buries his face into his phone.
I wonder if Washington is home for him, or if he’s visiting like me.
When I take a breath to ask him, the loud lady from before plops down at the end of my row.
Her voice is like acid in my ears, she’s so loud it echoes through the large open space.
If my ears weren’t melting down, I might be impressed.
“Oh yes, honey…” she says, smacking her lips and chomping down on what has to be well used gum. It’s horrendous and I just… can’t. Her laugh seems insincere and childish, like she’s not being serious with the person on the other line.
Uncocooning myself from my blanket, I stand up, stomp over to her, and hold my hand out right at her mouth. Her hand flies up to her chest and she gawks, making another awful noise that grates my sensitive neurons.
“My God!” She plasters herself against the back of the seat, “I don’t have anything for beggars!” Her eyes travel from my split-dyed hair down to my taco slippers, and once again the judgy eyes I’ve come to know are trained on me. “Or… runaways.”
“Your gum,” I snarl.
“Well, I’ve never…” she trails off when I move my fingers in a come here motion. “How rude, young lady–”
“I’m a thirty-one year old woman, and your loud conversation was one thing, but the gum smacking? Now that, I cannot stand. So, spit out your gum, or I’ll dig it out of your mouth. Your choice.” I smile, tilting my head, never breaking eye contact with her so she knows I’m not joking.
Her hand hasn’t moved from where she placed it on her heart, and the person on the other line calls her by name, Cheri, Berry, Mary, I don’t know. Something like that.
“I-I’ll call you back,” she stammers into the phone.
“Gum,” I remind her. “Please.” Naomi always says I need to work on my manners.
The woman’s wide eyes look past me to the guy sitting behind me, when she finds no help she looks up at me and starts to speak, but I asked her nicely and gave her options. Guess it’ll be option two.
Leaning in and wrapping my hand around her neck, I push my other hand toward her mouth.
When my fingers land on her lips she spits the gum out, it bounces off my arm and hits the floor without a noise in the otherwise loud space and I smile.
Letting out a deep breath, I nod and skip back to my spot.
It’s almost as quiet as before my new friends joined me.
She’s lucky Paps taught me not to be so violent out in the open. I could have simply sewn her lips shut. As it is, no one believes they’re in a room with a serial killer until they’re dead.
That’s the true talent, hiding in plain sight.
Shadow: Be good, Menace.