Don't Say Anything

80. Metal Monster

I’m sitting in a black leather chair with a suitcase at my feet and Will to my left.

“What are you looking at?” Will asks as he places his phone in his carry-on bag.

“The screen over there,” I say gesturing to across the walkway. It’s fascinating to watch people walk by and guess where they’re going: men in suits, children with Mickey Mouse backpacks, military uniforms, college interns, people who look like they just rolled out of bed, and people who look like they spent an hour on their hair to impress the guy handing them their luggage tags.

But what really catches my attention is the gigantic screen behind them. There are thousands of cities lists, constantly changing and shifting order and getting delayed and moving gates. I think about how there are people on all of those flights going for completely different reasons. There might be a man flying to Arizona for vacation and another one flying for a funeral. The atmosphere of this huge building is filled with opposite emotions like I’ve never felt.

“The screen with all of the flights on it?” Will asks.        

“No, the other massive screen across the walkway,” I say rolling my eyes.

He chuckles and sits back in his chair. “You’re so easily entertained.”

My fingers trace over the edges of my passport that Will surprised me with as I continue to look around.    

“Anything that I’ve never seen before is interesting.” I look again for the flight that reads ‘Paris. March 27. 17:00 departure. Gate B5’

“Have you never seen an airport in movies or on television?”

“It’s different. That’s like saying, ‘there’s no point in going to New York to see Van Gogh’s Starry Night because you’ve seen plenty of pictures of it in books.’”

“Have you been to the Museum of Modern Art in New York?” Will asks referring to the home of Van Gogh’s masterpiece.

“Yeah, my dad took me for my Christmas gift a few years ago when I went to work with him. It was one of the best Christmas gifts I’ve gotten.” I pause and look over at him. “But I think it’s tied with getting tickets to a certain art show from a certain someone.”

“Well,” he says with a little half smile. “That was actually more for my benefit. I got to show you off to all of my colleagues.”

“First class for gate B5 to Paris can now begin boarding,” a lady with a voice like she hates her life says over a little speaker.

“I’m sure you’ve been to the Museum of-“ I start saying but Will is already standing. “What are you doing?”

“Boarding the plane. Come on.”

“But they just called first class.” I realize what I’m saying as I’m saying it.

“You think I’m flying coach? Come on, Rosie. Last time I flew coach, a two year old threw up on me. Plus, it’s a business trip, so the company pays for the flights.”

“Okay,” I say standing up hesitantly. Will takes my hand, which surprises me at first, but I relax instantly.

The seats in first class are comfier than anything in my dorm room, probably anything on campus. There’s padded armrests and space to straighten my legs. A lady even came around to ask what we want to drink while the plane is still boarding.

“Make yourself at home,” Will says unbuttoning the first button on his shirt once the lady left with our orders. “We’re going to be sitting here for another nine hours.”