Chapter One #2
I had wanted to fight back with a sarcastic comeback of my own, but even if I hadn’t been on the verge of vomiting on Blondie, I knew I would never have the guts to say what I truly wanted to.
Besides, at this point, I didn’t care much about anything more than getting past security and to a trash can or a toilet.
Anywhere but here answering to this moron’s interrogation.
“Is it illegal for me to take my vibrator onto the plane?” I had settled on. I was willing to throw away the vibrator if that meant I could escape to the bathroom I so desperately needed.
“Oh, it’s a vibrator?” His voice was even louder than before. Blonde men could never be trusted. “No, ma’am. It’s not illegal,” he had chuckled as he carelessly tossed it back into my suitcase, not even bothering to put it back in its designated bag.
I had reached for the suitcase, feeling like a greedy little goblin as I tried to zip it as fast as I could.
The propelling in my stomach had intensified as I’d searched for a bathroom.
My vision almost blurred as I realized that there were no bathrooms in sight.
My only option was to get on the tram and try to make it to my terminal, but I knew I couldn’t hold back that long.
Frick!
Acid was rising up my throat as my hair clung to my face. The hold I had on my luggage was slowly slipping out of my grasp from the sweat, and my mouth had gone dry in that way it only did in preparation for vomiting.
I turned back and noticed the trash can next to Blondie.
A microsecond was all it took for me to decide.
My legs, completely soaked and glued to my jeans, carried me as fast as they could until I crashed into the trash can, unleashing everything I’d been holding back.
I could have been cast as the T. rex's voice in Jurassic Park.
“Oh my God! Dude! It’s the vibrator chick!” Blondie’s voice screamed out.
I looked up to see a couple of people recording my lowest moment. As I took a deep breath and wiped my face, it wasn’t but a second before the vomiting started up again.
After what felt like years at sea, but was probably only a few minutes of non-stop thrashing, the storm seemed to have passed.
Trying to regain some confidence and dignity, I told myself I could do this.
I could wipe my face, dust off the humiliation, and be ready for my eight-hour flight.
I had emptied my stomach, and I would make it to Hawaii in time to start my new contract.
The universe must have heard my positive affirmations: I dry-heaved a little more, and as my body focused on fighting the floods at the front door, the back door’s defenses weakened, and then it happened. I pooped my pants in the middle of the airport as a full-grown adult.
When I returned to my seat, Brandy and family had found a way to move four rows back from me.
I guess the silver lining to my situation was that I would get the row to myself.
I took my seat and stared out, seeing nothing but cornflower-blue skies.
The sun was high in the sky and almost blinding at this time of day.
Colorado, I’d found out, had more sunny days than Florida.
Too bad I hadn’t felt sunny here as well.
Denver was the loneliest nursing assignment of my travel nursing career.
Although the staff had been friendly, I struggled to fit in.
It was tradition for the Denver Emergency Department crew to meet for tacos and margaritas after a grueling twelve-hour shift.
Meanwhile, I retreated to my studio apartment, reluctant to admit to everyone that I didn’t enjoy drinking alcohol, a personality trait that was practically unheard of in the nursing world.
Making friends as an adult can be challenging, and it doesn’t take much for people to write you off.
If you get invited to a girls’ night but don’t drink, you probably won’t get asked again.
If you get invited to karaoke night but let your anxiety get the best of you and then cancel at the last minute, you’ll definitely miss out on the next group message.
I found comfort in lying in bed and re-watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother rather than feeling pressured to socialize.
On paper, I sounded like the perfect candidate for travel nursing.
Growing up in a military family, I was a pro at packing up everything and moving.
By the time I was eighteen, I had lived in thirteen different cities thanks to my parents.
Now, at thirty-one, I was single, without kids or pets, and could pick up my life and travel anywhere at any time.
I loved the flexibility travel nursing afforded me, but I didn’t have the typical traveler's personality.
Most travel nurses thrived on meeting new people and easily integrating into new departments.
Instead, I found myself unable to make lasting connections.
I had spent the last several years trying to discover new places, but had yet to find one where I felt I belonged.
I would start each assignment with the hope that maybe I had found the one place I could settle down, but after too long in one place, the itch to move on and try again would resurface.
I closed my eyes now, trying to leave my demons behind in Colorado.
Out of pure exhaustion, I found myself drifting to sleep, but it didn’t last long.
Not even thirty minutes later, I could feel my stomach starting up again.
It was official. The plane could have crashed right then in the middle of the Pacific, and I would have been perfectly okay with that.